UGANGSTAJI

Do you ever have those moments in time where you think 'These niggas don't know me!?

I am having one of those moments. I almost wish I had a piece. But then again I am being drastic. (how about a stun gun? Yes? Yes!)

Some nigga has decided that it would be fun to create a fake profile of me (and other family members) on Facebook. I am taking it extremely personally. Extremely. I almost called someone important on his ass, until I decided I can deal with him myself.

Why am I taking offense to something not-so-trivial?
1. I know this nigga.
2. I am affronted by the fact that he is impersonating me. Especially because he knows me. And spelt my name wrong, the dumbass.
3. *whooosaaaaaaaaah* I come from a family whose name I hold in the highest esteem (I am beginning to feel like the Mafia). I think he needs to know just who he is dealing with...he's been making threats to people (he threatened to shoot someone) using MY FAMILY NAME. I won't stand for it...THIS NIGGA DON'T KNOW ME! And he's going around purporting...iCANT. Siwes take light. My name!! (aki I am finding myself incapable of expression. I can't even explain how important my name is to me.)

I am incensed to the point that I am finding him myself. I am hunting him down. he wants to make a fake profile? He'll make one for every body part I'ma rip off him. (Ooooh, that was nice.)

There will be blood.

Kapisce?

tSN

This post has a bit of cussing.

I thought I would begin this post by stating that I want to be a DJ. This was a fact made even more prominent by attending my (FIRST EVER) New Jack night last week. The DJ did a tip top (ooooh, he's the top, he's the tip, he's the championship/he's the most tip top/Top Cat!) job (not one, not two, but THREE Sisqo tracks! I creamed.) It was awesome. I want to be a dj.

I also went to the doctor's. This is what happens when you decide you are young enough to go around in dresses that have cleavage to your knees. What happens, you ask? You get a chest infection. FROM NOW ON, I will be the chick at the rave in a scarf and a damned poloneck (I already have the Chick Drinking Tea At The Rave base covered). Starting next month.

Few things annoy me because I am passive aggressive, but some things, in the words of Bikozulu, just get my goat. (he. He.) Unfortunately, my got is also rather passive aggressive, so the blog posts only happen a week or so later when I have stewed for week and done nothing except, well, blog. For example, my caretaker.

My instant heater has stopped working, and therefore I am using the kettle to take up-country-like baths. So I call the caretaker and he tells me I have to find AND PAY FOR the electrician to fix it. Now, I don't know how things work in this Adulthood Oh-I-Pay-Rent world, but according to my logic, the landlord should pay for repairs. I am not the landlord. Why does he want me to pay? It is not like I somehow ripped electrical cables out of the wall, or had a wild drunken party that resulted in inexplicable activities (read ripped out-cables). Why is the CARETAKER, he who STILL has not fixed my bulb, telling me to do so in a rude, unseemly, disrespectful, and - I just got a distinct whiff of - misogyny? Yes. I did. OH NO HE DIDN'T.

He told me to call my brother so that my bro could explain to him how 'things work around here'. So I did. My brother was not happy with Mr. Caretaker Man. I dare say he won't be bothering me again, the little prick. The irony is that the Skiza tune on his phone is a gospel song. NKKKKKKT. Few things piss me off more than hypocrisy, specifically that special breed of religious hypocrisy.

Which reminds me. I went to the doctor's, right? I figured while I was there getting healing and drugs (Drugs Are Your Friends), I may as well, you know, ask her, you know, something else that has been bothering me, you know, *whispers* down below. Because that shit is important. And when shit hits the fan...that shit CRAY. (Rolls on Floor Laughing)

She says to me "Oh, that's nothing to worry about. It's probably just technique." I laugh, because, you know. It's funny. Right?

Then she says, "But aren't you too young for that?" My inner goat began to bleat a loud warning. The passive aggressive (other) goat shushed it because it was stunned. And when I and my goats are stunned, we tend to go into Automatic Pilot Mode, engaging in Politeness until something - either the incident or I - go away. So I squirmed and smiled.

AND THEN she says, "Maybe it's a sign from God telling you to stop."

THIS HEIFER!

I laughed, nodded, smiled. She said, "You don't believe a word I am saying, do you." You THINK, heifer? You THINK?

Sigh. It's not that she had an opinion. It's that she felt the need to share the opinion WITH me. When I had not asked for it. When it was completely uncalled for, not to mention unprofessional? And then to wrap that up in a pretty WWJD package? WTF? Yeah, maybe you are too young to...be lying. Or coveting your neighbour's Benz. Or doling out your religious views outside your place of worship.

It didn't get my goat, it got all my damn livestock. GTFOH.

tSN

Because I am famous and because I have said so, so it shall be. I may also want a Persian cat, and a trailer, to house my burgeoning entourage.

Nothing like a teency,weency mention from Bikozulu to make me famous (again), ha. Ah, Biko. So good to me. Lol. WELCOME, NEWBIES! Yes, because I know you're there. Yes, Blogger.com has stats that show me up-to-the-minute...um...stats...about who you are, what browser you're using to find me and what search words you used to do so. I got the POWER! (cue running man. If you were born after 1991, don't bother figuring out the reference. POW!)

So clearly, the more famous I get, the more rambly and long-winded. The price of...fame, I guess. (Did you NOT see that one coming? Have you NOT read the URL above?) With the teency, weency mention also comes much pressure. I looked at the last time I posted (yeah, I know) and angry tweets from @untonyto, who sounded positively anguished (autographs outside. Ok, I'll stop) and decided, perhaps it was time.

What's been happening? OMG, where to freaking begin. The last post indicates that I left you all on the tenterhooks (I just used that word in a normal sentence. I'm destined for greatness lol) of suspense. Be easy. Nothing happened. Haven't you ever done anything for the sake of the experience, and not because there was a chance that what you were doing may actually end up being what you end up doing for a while to come? Yeah. That was the case. (like when you go to get tested for HIV and you are OH SO SURE that there is NO WAY you have ANYTHING...but by the time you are getting the prick, you're like, maybe the metal that scratched me on the matatu and left that huge bleeding gash was somehow...maybe the mosquito last night was so insistent because...maybe the ONE TIME...by the time you are waiting for the results, you are planning how to live positively. Which is great. But more often than not, you're hyperventilating and/or talking in a voice that sounds like you've inhaled helium, and you are fine.) There was not a chance, but nonetheless, for future reference, there was NO BABY. You will NOT find a child of mine 18 years from now forging swords in a blacksmith shop (who just finished Game of Thrones, Sn 1? I DID.) Still taking mapplications (the quaint and convenient meshing of man and applications. There's a word for that that I cannot be bothered to look up at the mo.) << *really long paragraph*

Speaking of mapplications, sigh. The Man Front is a hard place to be. C is making a re-entry (but that is a WHOLE other post, and this one has gone on for a bit already). There was a brief fling with Jetson, who seemed promising, but was a summer bunny and thus destined to break my...um...heart...so Jetson was a passing plane that crashed and burnt. Unfortunately, because he was kinda foxy doe. And charismatic. And dark. I like my men the way I like my...night? Stallions? Evil villains in novels? I'm not sure where I am going with this.

Also, I HATE THE CARETAKER IN MY BUILDING. He is, without a doubt, a certified annoying prick. If there was an award for certified annoying pricks, he'd've taken the award six times. Ki-Adele. I think his favourite pastime is to switch my water on and off. Just for kicks. Because it's free. A revenge plan is in the works. *rubs hands together in a gleeful yet sinister manner* This is the dude who tells me I have to find my own fundi for the light in my room. Like I'M the caretaker. WHICH I'M NOT! *woosah* No lights in my bedroom means I almost didn't see the roach on my dresser. Yes, roach. Yes, I TOO do not understand why it was there frolicking about in my things. Like I cook in my bedroom. Like I cook, PERIOD! *sprays Doom and rushes out to write a blogpost* *also, Baygon doesn't work at ALL*

So, yes. Nothing yet. Oh, wait. There was that fun, cheery Nomads Unite post, about Wolverine (The Ex). There's a story brewing there as well. Was the whole point of this post to say keep it locked *throws up gang sign like a cool veejay presenter a la Teroo/Emukule* *they don't ever do that, do they* *reasons I am not a Coca Cola veejay, sigh*, or to get @untonyto off my back? To prove to the world that I can still do it? I am still A GENIUS? To pass time as insecticide seeps into the walls of my room? To have an excuse to watch How I met your mother? To catch Sheep?

We'll never know.

ION, the chick in the Jik ad who sings the Mandoza song...I love that Mandoza song. *TEN! TeteteTEN! TeteteTEN! TeteteTENTENTENteteTEN!!*

tSN

What did YOU do this week?

So I bought a pregnancy test.

Did you know that a test is 100 bob? It costs a hundred bob to find out if you are having a baby, 50 bob for 3 condoms, 30 bob for the daily pill and 120 for a morning after pill. I feel...is not getting pregnant becoming too easy? Lol.

It was so cheap I began to shuku its vibes. Was it from China? No, it said made in Canada. Which means they made it in China and wrote Canada? *shrugs*

It came in a thin little plastic thing that looked like a nail file sleeve. For real. So I went home and looked at it, and read the instructions like 4 times. It said, Do not use if test is not at room temeprature. Make sure sample is also at room temperature. (Sample. Ha.) Make sure the sample level is below the 'maximum' line on the test. But if you can't open the test to check the line, then how do you know how much to pee?

I didn't have anything to put The Sample in. I am not going to tell you what I used. Not because I have sensibilities, but because you probably do. Just know I did throw it away after use. :o)

I watched The Good Wife as I waited for The Sample and The Test to cool. That Eli Gold...me gusta.

So I carefully rip open the fragiley (does that word exist? Do I care? Who am I, and what is my purpose in this world?) encased test. AGH! The maximum line is like TWO MM UP! Damnit!!! *spill spill spill* Still? Damnit! *spill spilll* Ok. Breathe. Still room temperature? Have my sweaty hands RUINED THIS FOREVER!!??*reads instructions once more*

*says fuck it*

*dumps test in The Sample*

*waits*

tSN