food/love/life/film

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Maroon 5

Monday morning,rain is pouring. I'm sitting in a jav. It's 8:40. I should be on Thika Road by now,on my way to my 9 o'clock class. I get the feeling I'm going to be late. Luckily,this class isn't one of those ones that there'll be hell to pay for if I'm late. The lecturer's kinda cute. (I say kinda when I mean is,but you're not supposed to say such things about your lecturers,so I'm trying to downplay the situation. Without much success.)

The traffic is so bad,the jav decides to take the alternative and illegal route. Unfortunately,he decides this in the middle of the journey with a careless 'Wacha waseme.' Thus,disgruntled customers have to get off the jav. I totally sympathize. Not the greatest way to start a Monday. He probably has a lot of bad karma being sent his way. I,however,am listening to Rock steady on Classic. Whoop. Nothing like soul to make you forget about the drudgery of education.

Still in traffic. I look up to the apartments that we're passing by,and there's a dude calmly sitting on his balcony,taking a smoke,watching the traffic with the unconcerned air of one who won't have to bother with it today. I envy him with a deep envy that only those lodged in between a ditch and a truck seeing their life flash before their eyes can appreciate.

And all of a sudden,I am seized by a flash of inspiration. That's what I should do with my life! To avoid traffic,stuffy javs,waking up at ungodly hours and such mundane yet depressing events...I should become a housewife. I could wake up at 10,and leisurely have breakfast on my balcony while chortling elegantly at the poor suckers down below,have lunch at 2,supervise the help...it could be a wonderful world. Like Zain. The hardest thing I'd do all day would be to put on negligee for one he shows up. Unless that would be too much energy in itself. Which,if you look at the bigger picture,is a good thing. I could stay up late watching TCM movies,and sipping hot chocolate by an electric fire oh look the traffic's moving.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Today's reflections

I don't care what everyone says,drugs are your friend. This is my constant resounding refrain everytime I get tonsilitis. Like now. During my lovely 5 day weekend,I was thoroughly rained on while trying to make my way to Slam Africa. Thus,my tonsils inflamed and I am now sick. And not just a normal kind of pop-a-couple-of-amoxils-and-you'll-be-fine type. Nope. The septic kind. It's really gross. I'll spare you the details and just say it involves pus.

Not to be deterred from my perenially upbeat and positive attitude,I have realized there are a number of things that are wonderful about being sick. For one,everyone seems to want to take care of you. 'Can you walk?' Yes. I'm sick,not maimed. 'Shall I feed you?' refer to above quote...however,to be fair,I have been a tad woozy,so I suppose the questions are warranted. I will not look a gift horse in the mouth when it wants to give me a ride.

So I was chilling at the digz on Sunday,and someone knocked on the door. It was the hot mama from #1. Literally,hot mama. She has 3 kids and looks 25,speaks fluent French and has the body of a petite temptress. It must be hard for guys nowadays to hit on women. Half of the girls on the street have children,but certainly don't look like it. Moms are getting younger and younger. Which is fine,just...confusing. If I was having children,I'd be severely disturbed by the competition.

Ideally,I should've stayed home to recuperate,but I don't like to miss class. Plus I had an exam. So off I went to school. Messy,that. By Wednesday,though,I was like,meh,school's overrated. So I went to the dispensary to get more drugs (yay). The doc told me the drugs I'd been taking were doing nothing so he prescribed some new stuff. I gave the prescription in,then the dude goes follow me. So I follow him and he takes out a syringe. So I'm thinking oh ok,he wants to inject something into my tonsils. Or something. Then he goes I'm going to need you to pull down your pants,or would you prefer to lie down?

The last time I had a butt injection...actually,I can't remember the last time. I was a combination of amused and numb. Wish my rear was numb too,I don't do well with pain. By the way,this is why your mother always tells you to wear nice underwear everyday. After he massaged the tender area,we had a pleasant conversation about whether or not I should remove my tonsils. I then proceeded to get on the bus,sit down gingerly,and go home.

You see this is the great thing about school. (yeah,can't believe I just wrote that either) You have a choice. Class is kinda optional,really. The rat race has no such leeways,and much worse repurcussions. You can't just...leave. And plus,it's a bit like you're being paid to go to school. They give you pocket money and your own room. I totally get the chick from Girlfriends who has 6 degrees because she's scared to get out into the real world. She's the hottest one,in my opinion. She's also probably a mom.

I think I'll have another 5 day weekend. Just for kicks. (and for the sake of recuperation,and the fact that I won't be able to do this from like next year. But we'll go with kicks.)

tSN

Ps. Check out www.sammyonyancha.blogspot.com

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Of Wiles and Women

Ideally,a manfast is me not doing anything with any men-or boys-or males,generally-for a pre-arranged period of time. Who agrees amongst themselves? Me. Though this does tend to make me sound schizophrenic.

Thing is,I'm not good at keeping away. As is clearly evidenced,the male species is the exact definition of a paradox of desires. I want,but then again,I really,really don't.

Maybe the real problem is I know too many boys. Age makes no difference here,I might add. So what does? I guess maturity. And what defines maturity? Different things for different-ok that's another post. But yeah. Too many boys. And I'm a woman. Hear me roar.

Now,the type of woman I am is the assertive type. You know the kind-I know what I want,and I am more likely to go out and get it instead of sitting in a corner in the club waiting for you to notice how cute I look. Games tire me-but that could have more to do with laziness than womanhood. I'm beginning to think,though,that the assertive woman is a dying breed. Men (boys?),for some reason,are into a subservient breed of woman who just lets them take control. I've had a couple of arguments in the past week about how a woman should let the man control the joint bank account that she finances because he doesn't have a job. !!! Then again,I'm not married,so how would I know what works.

I digress. Sometimes I think my aggression may be the reason I get myself into man trouble. It may set a precedent for a man to stop working for me because he knows I'm going to do all the work. (Then again,it may not) So I decided,I'm going to stop hitting on guys,and let them come to me. This alien concept would go for a month. And then maybe I could finally prove if it's them-or me.

Day 1.

tSN

ps. Check out www.antonyhimself.blogspot.com

Friday, October 15, 2010

A New Dawn

Mr. M. pretends he’s not used to my madness, but he is. It’s perfectly normal for me to make him be my pretend boyfriend. Better the devil you know, right? I’ve had some really random experiences with making strangers my pretend boyfriends. Especially when they’re sexually confused. But that’s a story for another day.

We put KK into Mr. M’s car. When we got to her apartment, we carried her in together. She wetly kissed his chin as she tumbled into her bed. Mr. M. looked at me and said “Yeah, you owe me big time.”
“It’s not my fault!” I said weakly.
“Uh huh.” We got back into his car and started the drive to my place in companionable silence. The thing with Mr. M. and I, we’ve always had an agreement. A very on-an-off one, but an agreement nonetheless. Because of our history, we don’t have to talk too much, and there’s no awkwardness between us. Comfortable.
He pulled up to the parking in front of my apartment and switched off the car.

“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Pause. “So what do I get?”

Crap. I had seen that coming but had been hoping it had taken a convenient detour. Then all of a sudden it dawned on me that I may be those mamas who are addicted to the drama of guys. Like, there was always a stream of men in my life, whether potential candidates (Yu), current candidates (Zain), the-next-one-who-doesn’t know-it-yet (Bharti), the side dish while I’m getting him (Orange), the option who will never be an option but thinks he is (Safaricom)... I couldn’t just be truly single, a factor that has resulted in Mr. M-like situations. My life was becoming a deja-moo (feeling you’ve seen this bullshit before).

So as I sat in that car figuring this out (in a split second of course, because I’m a genius), I decided that I didn’t feel like owing Mr. M. anything. Because of the nature of us, I had that option – of choosing not to – I just didn’t usually pick it. Mr. M. is a biter. ‘Nuff said.

“We’ll do lunch.” There was a sliver of surprise, well-covered. “Ok. Call me.” I got out of the car and walked to my door. He drove away.

Maybe it was time for a manfast.

tSN

p.s. Check out www.gettingontherunway.blogspot.com

Friday, October 8, 2010

Complications

So I like a well-planned threesome. Sue me. (it's all in the detail,I swear) This,however,was not going to be one of them. I could tell. With threesomes,as with 69s and the banana ride at Luna Park (no pun intended),you need a certain level of inspiration for it to come together.

I wasn't necessarily feeling ├╝berinspired that night. But the door of the club was coming ever closer. Escape was my only option. I stopped walking. 'I'm not coming.'
'Why?' They both said. Still bleary! Really?

Now this put me in the position of having to come up with a quick handy and believable excuse. As was glaringly apparent,I did,in fact,want to come. The only reason I was antsy was a,you don't just have a threesome with any Tom Dick and Harry. Just Tom and Dick would be fine. But you see when you replace Dick with Rachel,it becomes complicated. Women are incredibly prone to feeling slighted if Tom prefers Rachel. Especially if it 2 of the 3 are a couple. Which JavaGuy and I weren't. Ok,ok. I was being selfish. More legal action.

Reason B would be really,I just met the guy. Kind of. I mean,I didn't even know his last name. The thought of a one-night-stand-particularly a pretty freaky one like this one-went against every fibre of my being. One word-Herpes. That's ALL I'm saying. In a parallel universe,disease doesn't matter. However,earthling,here,it does.

'My boyfriend is over there.' I said. Tonight was just one of those nights when I wasn't saying the wisest things. And I couldn't prove them,either.
'Oh really?' JavaGuy's eyebrow raised. KK started giggling. So much for moral support. 'Let's go say hi,' she said. Ok so maybe I have a slight problem with confrontation. Lying is easier. *subpoena* I began to look frantically around the club for someone I knew well enough to make my boyfriend. Too drunk...too gay...too short...
And the day was saved,thanks to...Mr.M. I got to him first,next to the bar. 'I'll owe you if you just play along,' I muttered. 'This is my boyfriend,M.' I exclaimed with too bright a smile.
'Hi.' JavaGuy. 'M! Long time never-uh,no see.' KK. 'I have to go,' said JavaGuy abruptly. 'Playing games isn't really my thing.'

I breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away from the bar. KK turned to me,said 'Cockblocker.' and passed out.

tSN

Ps. Check out http://bourgeoisewithoutboho.blogspot.com

:o)

Monday, October 4, 2010

Wanna be on tv?

A quick commercial break...I need people to talk about my blog on telly,so answer these 3 questions asap. Please note that all the answers are contained in the blog...mostly. :o)
1. Who is tSN's least favorite Batman?
2. Which of The Girls rates men using their business cards?
3. What does tSN do?

The most innovative and interesting answers get to...well,I'll let you know later. :o) Email your responses to theepicherself@yahoo.com. Good luck,and stay tuned for the next misadventures of JavaGuy. :o) :o) :*