Tuesday, June 28, 2011

The way we were.

Dudes and dudettes,a pearl of wisdom I recently re-learnt. Nothing screams unsexy more than saliva flowing from your lips in a never-ending stream of grossness.

I went to the dentist today. The dentist's chair and I once had a torrid affair,which promptly ended once its sadistic tendencies were noticed by the genius currently writing this sentence. Ah,but it was some sweet,good old-fashioned loving. And I'm only human. Once a relationship starts going sour,it's easier to go back to where you once were than to start looking for new prospects. And so,there I was today,once more,running to the arms of the one who once - loved? - me.

Almost immediately,we resumed our gentle flirtation,but then I quickly realized that nothing had changed. His gold-digging habits had,if possible,worsened over time. Foolishly,I sat in his arms as he caressed me with a touch colder than the ice in his eyes. I told him what brought me to his den once again,and he smiled,a sickening,false smile. He charged me exorbitantly for our conversation alone,which he contributed nothing to except that sickening,false smile.

We switched positions as he tried to draw me in again. The saliva began to flow like a faucet. I decided to ignore it,because after all,what did he matter. I was engaged (next post),not single and searching,or trying to impress him.

Then there was pain. Pain in my heart for letting this happen again,and pain on the teeth he was crudely claiming to fix. I was shocked that he was treating me this way. I bore it,but involuntarily began to whimper. He apologized,but continued. It was over before I knew it,both longer and shorter than I thought it would be. And I didn't think it was supposed to hurt this much. Now I knew.

More exorbitant charges,and receipts. An now unoccupied wallet. An aching heart. A lesson learned. I would go back to where I knew I belonged. I would try and work it out,for empty whispers and sugary nothings did little to ease the torment in the soul that yearned for true love.

Moral of the story? Get insurance,and floss,damnit.


Saturday, June 25, 2011

June 25.

R.I.P. Michael Jackson, King of Pop, Greatest Ever Made.

tSN in North-Eastern and I'm...engaged,and for the military so I'm not usually reachable,and...

Last night on #ATADQ (AkelLoveTwitterAfterDarkQuestion),I asked what it would take for someone to date someone they're completely unattracted to. The answer was mostly money,personality,or boudoir skills...of course. I don't know what it would take. Probably the personality bit.

The other day,I took my cousin to Times Tower to get his Driver's Licence renewed. He needed it urgently for a job application. So,the official we went to asked for a bribe without batting an eyelid. I was surprised,because that's never happened to me so blatantly in-your-face show me the money. What can I say. I'm sheltered.

This man had an intensely advanced skin disease. It made his skin basically look like it was flaking. Ok,no. It was a combination of flaking and slight albinism. It wasn't too pretty. I felt sorry for him. Until he asked for the bribe. Humans really are the same. We walked out of the office.

The next day,I was walking about being gorgeous,the usual,and I get a call from a strange number. Turns out my cousin had filled in my name on a form as a recommender,or something,so he lifted it off the form and called me. He tentatively asked me how I am,thanked me profusely for talking to him-which made me feel bad,because I proceeded to lie about everything in my life (a privilege I usually reserve for my parents) so that he couldn't trace me any further. Then he asked if he could take me out for coffee. I stalled,using yet another lie.

So there was the fact that I was completely unattracted to his physical. And mental-the little I had seen,anyway.

Or maybe I'm shallow.

Would you have said yes?


Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Humans say the stupidest things.

Ever watched or read Bill Cosby's 'Kids say the darndest things?' They really do. I tend to think anything that Cosby puts into production is hilarious,so I may be biased,but that was a really funny show. And why was it funny? Because kids are so unassuming,so innocent,so unpretentious and unadulterated,that they constantly say the things we wish we had the bravery - or lack of societal pressure - to say.

Kids are cute. I'm the first to admit it. Then they grow up into adults. Adult stuff is fun *pause* but adults can be some pretty nasty,annoying creatures. I'm also the first to admit that I was probably much cooler when I was a kid than I am now. Weren't most people? Except for the cruel bullies,coz everyone knows,kids can also be preeeeeetty mean. I look back on playing chobowa in primary school and really wonder what that was supposed to be training for?

Adults can say some pretty stupid **. The other day I overheard a conversation about a boy who died,and the person was saying that he wanted to die because he was living a 'reckless' (raving,drinking,etc) life. ???!! First off,who died and made you God? Second,no one really WANTS to die. Do they? I dunno. Maybe I'm being too idealistic here,but I still think that was an idiotic thing to say.

High school was hard for most of us. Mine was easier than most. Except for the fact that I was Adventist. For some reason,Kenyan public schools feel the need to purge the nation of anything that isn't Protestant. We were often persecuted (I feel like John writing Revelation) unnecessarily,but we bore it because it was expected. No one likes students refusing to go for Saturday morning prep,or classes,or exams.

They would tell us that they couldn't give us special treatment because they didn't want the rest of the students to feel bad. They wanted us all to be 'equal'. This was also the reason that they would eventually put a ban on how much 'grub' - junk food - you could carry.

This is not reality. No matter how little grub you carry,or what uniforms you all wear,or what religion you all belong to,humans are not equal. That's not the real world. It never will be. Hell,it's not even Kenya.

The other day, a parent sued my alma mater because the principal would not allow Muslims to wear hijabs. I thought it was a worthy cause,except for the fact that Kenya High is as yet unable to accept anything George Orwell ascribes to. No one is going to see the bigger picture of the supposed and indeed,questionable existence of religious freedom against the backdrop of striving to stick to the rules - least of all an adult.


Sunday, June 19, 2011

Your own personal psychic.

My friend is a successful woman, which basically means she makes enough moolah to be in 2 chamas and keep her parents happy enough to not let them start questioning why they paid for her Masters. She also has a deadbeat boyfriend who she's been with for a year and a half. He looks like he's here to stay...and couch potato, till getting up to get the remote do them part.

Before she got into this relationship, she introduced this manboy - sorry, boy - to her mom. Her mother hated him on sight. Granted, there was an ethnic influence in the general feeling of dislike, but also, she could smell the Eau de Jobless on him soon as he walked through the door. Unfortunately, and typically, her daughter chose to ignore her mother.

Now, everybody knows that mothers have a sixth sense about all kinds of things. They can tell when **'s about to hit the fan. It's terrible, really, because knowing this, we (read I) go out to do things and deliberately prove them wrong, which as we (read I) all know, makes us look even more brainless than how we looked at the start. Which was pretty brainless. The thing is, we lie to ourselves that we know better. And yeah, so-and-so's mom DID know better, but so-and-so was a half wit. I'm much smarter. (you probably aren't) I wonder if that's what my friend was thinking? Either way, her mom was right. He IS a douche, and preeeetty unproductive. Moms, about a hundred billion trillion...kajillion...zillion. Kids, like, 12. (This scorecard is marked from the beginning of time)

I wonder if it's possible to be smarter than our parents? Because let's be honest, we (read I) all (I again) really wish we were. For ONCE, can I just be right about this job/boyfriend/car/religion/restaurant/apartment...the list continues. You know. The one that makes you look stupid. And then, they keep PROVING it. What IS it with this old age/wisdom thing? Are they, like, scared of being mutually exclusive? Sheesh.

My friend is also an atheist. The quickest way to break an African Christian mother's heart (most of them, anyway) is to tell them you do not subscribe to the religion of their ancestors, that in fact you think it's a load of poppycock and you can't be bothered. Which is why she's in church EVERY Sunday.

Yes, it's hypocritical. But there's no way she's going to tell her mother that her child has let her down. Again. No one wants to be that kid. You're stupid, AND you're STILL not listening to your mother about pertinent life stuff. And so, Facada Continua.

I'm not actually sure that's the Latin word for facade. Feel free to quote me anyway. No. No, don't.


Saturday, June 18, 2011


After reading one of my favorite blogger’s posts on how stupid some commenters can get, I was well advised to do some therapeutic venting of my own. This is fashioned after Slim’s own Eff ‘Em Fridays. Yes, I know it’s Sunday and hence the unfortunate lack of alliteration. But it’s my blog. *sighs in satisfaction*

Eff not making enough to move to somewhere in this damned city that won’t charge me exorbitant rates for a space the size of a bed, will always have water and elec and won’t charge me 2 sock when it starts to rain.

Eff matatu condis who believe that karma won’t make their balls shrink.

Eff people who can’t mind their own damn business.

Eff the fact that people get tortured by their own effed up government.

Eff new shoes and the blister that is forming on my toe from these ones. And eff Maasai Market for starting to sell sandals for a k.

Eff that it’s mid-month…and I’m broke as all hell…

Eff riding the crimson wave. Eff the pain that comes with it. Eff Eve.

Eff y’all who reply those long-ass texts with ‘K.’ Lol I do it too. :D

Who’re you effing today? :D


Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Today's random thoughts

I lived in Ethiopia for 7 years. When I came back to Kenya, I used to talk about Ethiopia but no one used to believe me. This puzzled me on various levels. How did one have the audacity to disagree with me, and they had never stepped outside Nairobi? Okay, let's go with the 'maybe-they-read-a-lot' spiel. Nah. That was never it.

Anyway, one of the main bones of contention was how much one birr (the Ethiopian currency) was in comparison to the Kenyan shilling. Kenyans seem to have an innate arrogance about how much better they are than other Eastern Africans, and must therefore, of course, OBVIOUSLY, have a stronger currency. When I left, 1 birr was 10 bob. And of course, no one believed that. Because they knew so much better.

Arrogance is the bane of human existence (says the girl whose blog is a shrine to herself). I was having a (gruesome) conversation with my pregnant cousin and my mother about how the reason men beat their wives is because they've arrogantly bought into the lie that perpetuates all -isms of society. They've believed that they are better than women, and that women deserve everything that's coming to them. Cousin spoke of a dude who used to sleep with a gun under his pillow and tell her if she ever wanted to leave him, she'd leave her brains behind. Another used to beat his wife so much it would take 3 months for the scars to heal. Then he re-married a chick who he used to beat over her mother's grave.

The mind is a strange thing. It can convince you to do things you really would not ordinarily be doing (cut off your penis, for example, or stay in an incredibly abusive relationship). According to Cousin and Mommy Dearest, women go crazy when they turn 40. Their minds start screaming at them about how they need something other than their cat to nurture. Their biological clock needles them to a point to a point that they start to throw themselves at men to have a baby, or ask their married friends to be sperm donors.

To be fair, sometimes I think that commonly held beliefs that thus perpetuate religion/mythology (thin line, really, such as the ones stated above) are simply brainwashed into our minds so much that our minds, insane tools of power that they are, simply believe that life is not worth living without the man who batters you into oblivion/diapers you need to change/temple that you cannot live without/prophet that you must commit mass suicides with to make it into the afterlife. But then again, what would I know. I'm just normal.


Friday, June 10, 2011

No man is an island. Unfortunately.

Roald Dahl is a literary god. His ability to weave anything from everything and paint it in your head in such a way that you're right there with the people you're reading about, leaping everywhere in BFG's ear, moving chalk dusters with the power of your mind and actually LIKING life-sized bugs *shivers* gets me every time. There's a certain magic that this man practically single-handedly created, something I wish I could do - the magic of children's fiction. This man is the reason my mind works the way it does sometimes. He's kind of a dealbreaker during 'oh,so who's your favorite author?' conversations. In a parallel universe, I'm sitting at his feet in unadulterated awe, imbibing a wealth of deliciously fantastical knowledge and making up words.

Apparently, though, the person he was in real life probably wouldn't have let me. Supposedly, Dahl was actually kind of...well, mean. He was the old scrooge on the corner waving his walking cane at children for being too loud. People say this is why his vile characters were so deliciously vile - he had an excellent template. The irony is that, of course, that the man wrote CHILDREN'S BOOKS.

I guess I expect everyone who writes children's books to look like Mother Hubbard et al. Most of the time,they don't. There's still a part of me who wants to be an editor for children's books and I *whispers* don't even like children. I wonder if Dahl was aware of this lack of synchrony? Do you think all mean people know that they are so?

Today I was forced into self-reflection. I loathe self-reflection. A much overrated pastime that prompts me into having to admit that perhaps I am not as simply awesome as I assume, and as I assume everyone sees me, and the sun does not rise and set in my every orifice, and my benevolent nature and loving deeds are not garnished with the constant Helen Steiner Rice quotes that incessantly fall from my discerning lips. Golly,I loathe self-reflection. The idea that I have to be truthful about myself to myself, because after all, I'll know if I'm lying? *gasps* Who thinks these things up?

The thing is, though, most of the time, I'm quite fine with my flaws. I feel like,much like battle scars,they add colour to my life,and indeed,character. Perfection is a tad dull,truth be told. No offence, religion. Ha. So what's a little spite here and there? The idiot probably deserved it. The selfishness? Well, I never claimed to be a saint. Low standards means not much to live up to,whoopee! Less energy on my part. I've found ways around my flaws such that if they don't bother me enough to change them, I own them. (that's what I and every other self-help/black American movie call it) I accept it,and it becomes a joke. Because the way I see it,life is really about choice, and I like having the choice to be imperfect.

Unfortunately, obviously, society, being a perennial wet blanket and having spied the glorious fun I'm having not giving a **, sometimes decides to rain on my self-absorbed parade (I think I've used the word 'self' in this post a record number of times) with the downpour of reason. Unfortunately, once again, man is not an island. Damn, damn, damn. And so, some habits must be forfeited for the sycophantic twit of Propriety, or the needling hag, Norms. They're kinda like the two ugly stepsisters - you really wish they didn't exist, but you wouldn't have an amusing supporting cast without them. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that amusing is the word I'd use...

Sometimes, though self-love - also of the showerhead variety - is great, you must decide what of yourself you are willing to give up for the love of others who you cannot do without. You decide where that line is drawn, the line where you start giving yourself up for something you think might be worth it. When you start giving a **. They keep saying it's not all about you, that there IS a bigger picture...but how much do 'they' know, really? 'They' don't even technically have names!

This is the point of that entire rant, can you believe it? Not the contemplation of a certain loose pronoun. A painful lesson I am learning about choice, and about myself, which may just lead me to the Path of Many Cats. People really are overrated. But the thing is, regardless,everyone wants someone other than their reflection to think they're the bee's knees, and does anyone really want to become the twisted recluse living on top of the haunted hill who eats puppies and drove everyone away with his black irredeemable heart? *sighs* I don't know what to do, but some dude said to thine own self be true,right? He was probably on exile.


Monday, June 6, 2011


I was at Pebbles' the other day. We've just discovered Gavin and Stacey,so she bought all three seasons and we squeeze in an episode at every chance we get. When I got there,she gave me a glass of juice and went into the kitchen to get tortilla chips. I got up to put disc 2 season 2 in the dvd player. There was already a disc in. It looked dodgy. It had a picture of Britney Spears and random Asian people on it. It was a 6-in-1 dvd,and none of the titles made any sense.

'Pebbles? What's this?' Pebbles came out of the kitchen. 'Oh that's porn.' Well that made sense,considering the grammar of the titles. 'Is it any good?'

'Well,I mean,half of them are a bit stupid. Like the one about the nuns in the convent is a bit thick. It's just a lot of lotion and moaning.' Pebbles and I can't stand porn that tries too hard. I get that they're not supposed to ati get Oscars for the acting or storyline,but still. A little effort-in another direction-would be nice.

'There're a lot of lookers in one of them.' I ask what lookers are. She gives me a look and explains. 'People generally fall into 3 categories during sex in regards to what they do with their eyes. There's the lookers,who stare at you like it's a movie all through. There's the blinders,eyes completely shut and will not be pried apart by anything but an orgasm. Then there's the absentees,who look around,to the side,up and down,everywhere but your face as if it's a stroll in the park.'

I was thoroughly amused. Moral of the story? Some people just like to watch.


Friday, June 3, 2011

Some people are just rude.

Death is such an inconvenient and inconsiderate truth. I get the evolution/the Good Lord is in the business of clearing and forwarding to the afterlife,out with the old et al,but death just seems a bit unnecessary.

Ok,let me rephrase that. I don't have anything against death. I doubt I'd want to live forever. I think. Make me a vampire and we can check. What I have against the Grim Reaper is his methods. What I wouldn't give to give that cowled figure a piece of mind. Why's it have to be so messy? Can't people just disappear into thin air like bad parents? Must there be sijui bloody accidents and carnage? As if a hospital bill the length of one's right arm (in a bad way) wasn't enough,they also have to die and be put in the ground. You see,this is why death is clearly a dude with a low IQ. No female would've elected to have people die ovyoovyo and then make them pay for it. Like the intense pain and loss isn't enough,no,let's just pile on more holiday joy. The Grim Reaper needs finishing school,damnit. *walks away muttering like Muttley*