Time is not moving

Time has stopped. The wall clock is stuck on 3.40. The seconds hand is moving backwards! I have been typing for -30 seconds. Amazing. Why do Fridays suck like this. Especially after 2.00. Immediately after lunch, time stops moving.

Was trying to work. Looking at past vouchers (slips of paper bankers use to debit and credit various accounts), I think I am stuck on one date. Can't move forward. I look at one voucher for ages trying to remember what it was I am looking for.

Our mailmarshall script blocked one of my mails because it had the word (f) - rigging. Is that even a word?

The clock has moved one minute forward - every minute takes ten minutes.

Blast it. I shall try as many expletives as I can get away with. Euphemisms of them, not the actual expletives. Give me ideas on how i can euphemise words. 0.5 should have an arsenal at his disposal.

Clock has gone back 3 minutes.

Stifling

I have debated with myself for sometime about posting this. Reason being, I
am not sure if I told the person this post concerns about this blog. Then I
decided that it doesn't matter. If she sees the post its probably all good.

We call her Bananas, 0.5 and I. I refer to her as the 20 year old at times.

The woman/girl is stifling me. Wants to know where I am all the time. Am I
at home? Can she come over? Am I drinking today? Till what time? Have I had
lunch? What was it I ate? Quantity eaten? Don't over eat, don't over drink.
Why haven't you called or sent me a message today? Is something wrong?

At first, which is around 2 or 3 maybe 4 months ago - I tell you I can't
remember when we met but she has an exact date somewhere (at some point
after a month she said, she asked whether I knew what that day meant. After
answering negatively, she goes on to explain that it is one month exactly
since we met. I exclaim that it seems much longer. She stops talking for a
while. I digress).
As I was saying, at first the attention was welcome, plus I was getting
some, so I figured the young lady just wanted to drown someone in her
constant attention, how sweet.

After a couple of months - is it 3 or 4 or more? Are you reading this Miss?
Are you? Anyway, after a while, I can't stand having to keep telling someone
where you are going, with whom, what time you will be there, how long you
will stay and vow that you will behave (whatever that means - I will not
look at other women? Will not talk to other women? Will not buy any female a
drink? Will not take anyone home with me? Will not go to anyone else's
house?).

So is it her age or is it just her? I don't know. I'm getting pretty
agitated with the constant checking up. What to do? Ask the lady to politely
get out of my life? Which means I have to start looking elsewhere for
constant and regular copulation (can I say that?).

Inspired 14 year old

I was at a bookshop yesterday looking for some books my kid bro needs when I wondered towards IT books. I always find myself doing this when I am in a bookshop or lib. Although I don't write code anymore I cant shake off the habit. Its kind of similar to the way I still find myself wondering to the toy car section when I am in a supermarket.

Anyway While checking out some of the books I noticed a young lad flippng through a book titled, 'Programming PHP and MySQL'. Next to him was a middle aged woman who I correctly assumed to be his mum. At some point the mum walked by me and I just had to ask if the book was for the boy and she replied that it was. When I asked her if he needed the book for school, she said that it wasnt and explained that since his dad got him a comp last year he has been spending all his time with it and had taught himself quite a lot. She added that the boy was 14.

I was really curious about the boy so I picked a conversation with him and he explained that he spends a lot of time on the comp, has been developing web sites for guys and while he already had a good understanding of PHP and MySQL he was looking to get a quick reference book.

A few weeks ago I downloaded MySQL with the intention of learning how to use it since every so often I have to work with data that is too large for Excel and Access and would be too slow to anaylse using audit software. However, I have not done anything with it since I installed it not even opened the sample database and here is a 14 year old who instead of playing or in addition to playing computer games is coding.

Screw Dat

Be damned KCB and Safaricom.

I am sure if I had the time and inclination, and was in a different
continent, I could sue both of the aforementioned companies.

How do you claim to offer a service, one as automated as airtime supply
debiting your bank account while loading you up, and the thing works once in
a while. You get to a point where you are dependent on the said system, then
the thing doesn't work. I am getting messages to which I cannot reply, don't
have airtime. And these are important messages - of the female kind, you get
the picture.

Someone sambaza me.

On Fire

I have just taken off my shoes. Damn it feels good. Aaaaah. I am past
feeling anything. Got home at 2? What time did we leave 0.5? Can't remember.
Anyway. Was woken up at 8.00 by a concerned party. I'm sure I would still be
asleep now. Our manager was just here, I think he was saying something very
important. For the life of me I couldn't focus on what he was saying. I did
the necessary amount of nodding and uhuh-ing. Smiled, said yes and the guy
was satisfied. Trying to recall what he was saying. Damn I'm sleepy. My body
is on fire. I think I am heating up the office.

Damn I'm Sleepy

My head hurts

Blogging from the box.

Hi Kamikaze.
How is your head today?

Going under the knife

I went to see a surgeon today. Just to confirm what I already knew. That I'd be having surgery sooner or later. After a 5 min chat, the guy tells his assistant to book a theatre for next Monday. I tried to make excuses that I'd need to talk to my employer to see if it'd be covered. That was too soon. As it is, I probably got a reprieve of a week or two.

I went to the theatre to ask about how much the procedure would cost. Went through a door with a large red sign saying visitors aren't allowed. I walk in meekly to the sight of guys in those green/blue outfits. What hit me though is that they were wearing some white, heavy looking gumboots. I soon realised that they were actually doctors and not the guys who clean up after. You don't quite see that on the ER-type TV shows. Scary thoughts started creeping into my head. Some are still lingering. I can't quite focus. All this for removal of some teeth.

A feast for the eyes on Waiyaki way.

Guys, did you see those ladies in spectacular blue outfits with a Barclays bank logo? They are soooo fine that I almost stuck my head out of the window and felt like shouting 'Hi. I will do anything you want'.
Caused quite a bit of a snarl up as everybody stepped on the brake to get a better view.

Unfortunately for me, there were not paying attention to people in 14-seater personal cars.

Definitely one of those moments I wish my phone had a camera on it.

Monday+1 Blues.

Almost all men above 20 (in Nairobi) have close-cropped hair.

A few women have close-cropped hair. This is a bold departure from the norm. I admire these women.

A young cop who is a regular on Lang'ata road wears a stud. Stud and gun. Not a beautiful sight.

It is becoming less important to wear a suit or even a tie to work (unless you work for a bank). On pioneering places like ours, jeans on Monday are allowed.

Developer cycles or Machine cycles? Everybody thinks developer cycles are more important. I value smart, compact code. To get smart, compact code, you have to think Machine cycles.

Oracle is over-rated.

Microsoft, despite their demons, are over-trivialised, over-trashed and under-rated. Ever seen Gopher? Or pre-lynx browsers?

Unix and its cousins should remain in the Server room.

Don't drink alone in Nairobi. You will be drugged. Do not leave a stranger as the custodian of your beloved Tusker as you go to weewee in the washrooms.

Took a beautiful girl to Tropez for a drink .......alas she met a couple of men she must have known and was soon traipsing all over the place. I was promptly forgotten. Something flipped in my head and I focused on the bottle infront of me. Later on:
'Aiiii...now you are angry cause I was dancing?'
Smiling brightly 'Me? Angry? No no no ....I was just thinking...I am a bit distracted'

Kamikaze asked a lady for her number and got a landline. He he he...I am still laughing about that one.

Guys, learn to say 'I Love You'. Especially when you don't mean it. Look her deep in the eye, dial back into time for a sad or angry moment, like when that chic humiliated you, and speak the words. With time it will be as easy as breathing. Should teach women a few lessons about cooing 'oohhhh I love you' and staring back expectantly for a similar answer.

It takes two?

So I get an sms on Sunday evening. From a number rather than a name. This is a classic symptom of a [recently] deleted number. It's a Celtel number so it can only be one person. Hi stranger... Apparently I've been quiet.

Half an hour later, I get a call from another number. These are the tricky ones. I pick up the phone and try to concentrate on the voice. Why haven't you checked up on me.... At least I managed to make out who it was, but for the life of me couldn't remember her name. In my defence, I rarely remember much these days. It was her birthday recently and she'd like a gift. At least she said that in a joking manner [or I took it as such].

It seems my retention rate for phone numbers isn't very good. I was a bit surprised to learn on Saturday that I'm not the only one who goes through the purge ritual. Apparently depending on your phone, there's an additional message counter that you have to erase. I'm not buying a new phone.

I always have good intentions whenever I ask for someone's number, but being the one who's always smsing or calling takes a toll on me. There was a time once when I had the energy and endurance for this. Back in college there was this chic I used to like hanging out with. Many years later when we were in fourth year in campus [college and campus are different things in this country], I called her up on her birthday [I had just acquired/been handed down a mobile phone]. I knew her birthday off-head! But it was always that kind of 'relationship'. Me being the bugger-boo. So I finally deleted her number and moved on. She sent me a text earlier this year with the usual 'you've been quiet' line. I had to look her number up in my backup phonebook [going cold turkey is hard] to find out who this was.

Basically I can't manage being the one who's always making contact. I'm not the most witty guy anyway, so I run out of interesting and exciting things to say pretty fast. One-way streets aren't the thing for me. And I don't ask for much. Just one sms a month or something.

Do you drive performance?

I have never filled a job performance appraisal. Until now. Somehow, I'd managed to escape it, mainly by working for small[er], techie companies. Who cares about appraisals when you have code to write, and bugs to fix.

After like 10 reminders from my boss, I finally jotted something down. Filling forms is a pretty arduous task but I find appraisals even more so. The concept of blowing ones trumpet is one that I've struggled my whole life with. But your pay increases/bonus/job depends on it. I also have a tendency to focus on why something is working/not working. This means that I may know a solution B and a workaround C, but I'll still be obsessed about findinng out the nature of a problem A. The outcome of this is little to show for lots of toiling at the desk, and in a results driven world, this can be hazardous. I enjoy research kind of stuff because nobody can pin you down to 'have a solution by next week'. Trying to remember/document stuff you did 3 months ago is equally challenging. If you asked me what I did yesterday, I'd have a hard time telling you. Someone in HR has to be convinced though that you actually do something.

I guess it's just one of those things that a guy has to do. I know it could be worse. I could be filling out timesheets.

Femalespeak?

I'm not a newspaper guy. When I was a kid it used to be my duty to buy all the dailies for my dad. I'd sometimes have to walk a distance to get them, and sometimes have to interrupt my playing to do this chore. I think I've just discovered why I don't like the papers.

So when I have one infront of me, and have to look at it out of boredom, duty or to escape the raunchy scene showing on the telly, I turn it over, and look at the sports pages. I'll then make my way to the front page. I only recently started looking at the obituaries. That and 'matangazo ya vifo' of radio used to scare the hell out of me. I move forward to the classifieds to see the newest way of getting your massage parlour at the top of the beauty services list. Then I'm done. If it's a Saturday Nation, I pull out the mag and give away the paper. For this I try to read any articles with interesting headings. One that has interesting [read annoying] headings is the Femalespeak column.

The writer seems hell bent on making me mad. Every single article. I think she just tries too hard. aJamaa has very good advise if you find yourself trying too hard. The most recent rant from her was about how it's the dumb blonde type chics who bag all the good men. Bag? I don't know what to say, but I just hope women-folk treat her advise like one would the House of Yahweh.

It's not easy finding someone you can have a conversation with. And not stereotypically about politics and world affairs. I think aJamaa met someone with whom he could have a discussion about Samurai Jack. You should see the guy telling it himself. I've heard many guys lament how difficult it is to find such a chic.
And it is [or is this another urban legend, like the 'there are no good men' one]. Beauty does count, but since this is in the eyes of the beholder, odds are there'll always be someone who'll find you attractive. The blogosphere is awash with chics I fancy having conversations with. [And I'm in denial about people not beeing entirely truthful on the web] In the real world though, things are slightly different.

Drinks on me sato

The last time I had such an urge to buy drinks was at the end of 2nd year, first sem exams, when a whole bunch of us gathered at Raiyal. This urge isn't as strong as the motivation then for me was much stronger than it is now, but all the same...

Where? The New Verandah perhaps. I figure guys like Kamikaze can just walk down from Tropez, where he'll likely be already.

The next one

I've always had one reaction on the realization that I like a chic [or vice-versa], and that is to run. It's not premeditated. It just happens. All the time. The first time was in std 6 when my deskie asked me if I could have lunch with her. During the weekend that is. I was stunned. [girls were really intimidating in std 6] Didn't know what to say. Out of my mouth came the words "Why me? Why not Kenneth?". And it's been the same ever since.

I don't have some childhood trauma or other apparent psycho-social explanations for this reaction. It's almost an involuntary response. The only thing I can think of is the thought of being married that seems to rush to my mind. And it's a scary thought. I was telling 0.5 one night after a similar debacle how I'm probably not cut out for this kind of thing. Relationships and the like. I've had some real prodding recently and it's got me thinking. I'll do an imitation of the guy before the firing squad. No moving or squirming. Definitely no running. No seeing. That's next time.

Moving out

Last Friday, I came home to a conversation among my elder sisters and my mum. At some point, the topic of my bro [and to a slightly lesser extent myself] moving out. It's the kind of thing I'd heard and seen before. Anyway. I won't go into complicated domestic details. I tried to point out that this phenomenon was a growing trend, but that was quickly and sternly rebuffed.

At the end of it though, I did consider their proposition. The only reasons I've heard for moving out are 'independence', 'responsibility' and the like. None of that has ever resonated with me. I did get something more tangible and I could relate to. Add to that the feeling that you are being chased away and I got thinking. Ironically, when I mentioned the prospect of looking for a house later that evening, the reaction I got had a tinge of reluctance on their part.

Even more dramatically, my bro moved out over the weekend. No prompting or prodding. He wasn't even aware of the previous night's conversation. I'm not sure if I'll survive on my own [read cook]. Perhaps aJamaa will give me some survival tips when he gets back. I've tried to console myself with the notion that I'd rather pay rent to my folks rather than to some other guy. I may not be moving out next month, or next year, but I'm definitely closer to it than I was a week ago.

Mr and Ms Catho

This sato at carni. [night I presume] I only know this because my small sis told me as much. I tried to mention my age, resisting the temptation to point out that I'd feel like some kind of dirty old man ogling at the younguns [as I inevitably would]. Given Kamikaze has a 20 year old, and someone else I won't mention has an 18 year old. Her response was that I should bring an 'old' friend so that I don't feel out of place. I'm not sure if she meant a male or female friend. Any takers.

Of forwards and speechlessness

I got a text jana evening that went like so.

Touch it gently, put 1finger inside, if the hole's big put 3fingers. rub it up and dwn gently...thats the right way 2wash a glass!!! Ha! Ha!

From a chic of course. First. I rather dislike forwards. [is hate too strong a word]. Second. I really don't like forwards. Third. This particular chic has mentioned that she has a boyfie who she's committed to. So what I don't get is what she expects me to do with such an sms. I could pick it up and run with it as I've done on occassion, but I just stared back at the green screen. Does she want me to reply. Does she think I'll find it really funny [the Ha! Ha! at the end?] and leave it at that. I have no idea.

A tough start to the season

Not if you are a Liverpool fan of course. If so you've seen much worse than a 3 nil defeat in the third game of the season. When your strength is being solid and conceding few goals and this one thing gets a bit dodgy because of guys getting older, ankle injuries, new faces and the like, you are bound to suffer. And Benitez is a cautious guy so attacking play hasn't really caught on yet. In fact, since Houllier was released of the influence of Roy Evans, real and sustained attacking play has been a rarity.

I can't remember the last time Arsenal had to come back from a goal down in so many matches. Knowing their fans, at least the Kenyan ones, it must be pretty tough watching. To be fair to them, they've just been a bit unlucky.

I'm no longer as emotionally attached to football results as I once was. I made a conscious decision to do this, for the sake of my health. Right after Liverpool had a nil-nil draw with Southampton some seasons back after having like 20 shots on goal. I felt physically sick that Sunday evening and vowed not to get so into it. That's the kind of mind set that makes you survive watching your team being 3 something down in a critical match. Thrice.

Times a wasting

Life is what happens between birth and death. If this statement is true then it must be true that life is time. I have been getting concerned about how much time and consequently how much of my life I am wasting. But, considering that I believe that life is nothing, and all the things I do with life are 'chasing after the wind' then this is not really a big problem.

This is how I waste time.

Procastinating
I procastinate a lot. In my mind there is no use in doing something now if you can do it later. But it does make sense to postponed stuff, what is the use of doing something now that may not have to been done after all since it is overtaken by events.

Running around aimlessly
Samborera, do you remember, advicing me to leave my keys in the same place so that I do not have to look for them every morning? Four years down I still have to spend a few moments every morning looking for my keys, socks, hanky, wallet, bag e.t.c before I leave the house. Its quite possible that I waste up to one day a year looking for stuff that does not need looking for.

Sixth and seventh beer
On a typical Saturday evening, I will pynt until 1 or 2 am. As a result I end up suffering serious fatigue the whole of Sunday. I continue to do this all the time knowing that there is little benefit in having more than five pynts. By the time I am on my sixth pynt, finishing the beer becomes an end in itself, I am already drunk (incidentally at some stage this stopped being a good thing) and tired. But I continuously find myself on my seventh or eighth beer. I would be doing much better if I checked into the pub at around 3 or 4 and left by 11 pm. If I did this I could do something other than suffer all of Sunday.

Refusing to move
When my alarm goes off in the morning, I lie in bed and refuse to move for 2 - 3 minutes trying to find a reason not to go to work. I have done this for the last 3 years without success. I can never find a good reason no to wake up.

On some evenings I find myself stuck infront of the telly watching some crap program instead of going to bed early. So I just seat there and refuse to move.

Refusing to plan
One of the reasons I like you introverteds so much is that I can call you up on Friday at 8 p.m. and arrange to meet at a pub in the course of the evening. No warning is required. I have been known to call a guy up on Friday evening to ask him to host a nyama choma thing at his house the following day. I guess this is why some chiks have refused to go out with me. They do not see how a guy who calls them up on Saturday at 10 am to ask for a lunch date can really be serious about them.

If I could sort the above out then I could have time to do the things I really like doing.

Are You A Player?

Sure. I can kick a ball about, I have decent pace, I know the difference between a defending midfielder and an attacking one, a #11 is on the left flank,a #7 is on the right.

Seriously though, I dont know how guys do it. It is a hard and frustrating business. You will be hard put to convince me that the benefits outweigh the risks (and the losses).
Unless you can split yourself into several copies of your physical self, how do you handle the fact that x of your n girlfriends may want to be with you on the same night of Saturday, say the 14th of February?

Or you can be Einstein (or better still Daniel of the Bible) and somehow manage to stop time, wind it forward and then back so that you can have dates with different women on different instances of the same time?

Or become totally invisible (or better still - selectively invisible) when Sally checks into the same pub as you, and you are having a drink with Selina (and you have the luck of seeing her first?)


Or by saying 'Abracadabra' be able to create pubs and restaurants from thin air complete with waiters, booze and clientele, cause believe me, there are only so many clubs in Nairobi. You will run into her when you are with the other her.

And does it not mean that you spend colossal amounts of money entertaining all those chics?

Since, no mortal human is capable of that, a guy is reduced to a nervous wreck. Having to stake a place out for sterility, shifting eyes about so that he can see before he is seen...and becoming incredibly inventive and original in the yarns produced.

Yet guys do it. With a huge measure of success. Either women know something that we dont, or they are inadvertently helping guys play them.

There are dudes who are always AMAH (always missing at home)....because they brought ladies there and the ladies do not have the courtesy to call when they want to visit! They have this absurd notion ...#Geez let me go and surprise my jamaa today.....trouble is if eerrrrr..., two ladies decide to visit at the same time. Alternatively, they have secured military issue binoculars (and there you were thinking a guy is a bird-watching enthusiast..) so that they see them from far and take evasive action, and drilled a door where previously there was a wall.

Attention

1. Eric, a.k.a ChinaMan will become CELTELese with effect from 19th Sept 2006. Congratulations buddy. You always asked me why I don't go for those drop-dead gorgeous Customer Care chics; Now you will find out yourself.
(You bet your ass that calls for some serious drinking)

2. Matejivu, an introverted who has never posted, has moved into my residential building. My gas is running out buddy. I will be hanging around your house at dinner time.

3. Kamikaze. Break the safe and buy me beer.

4. Samborera. You will have to show up on 'bar summons' sooner or later. Sooner rather than later. It would be very sad if you became burdened with too much money as a result of not spending it wisely in way of having fun every other day.

Of Doctors, Pharmacists and HMOs.

My left eye has some sort of lump (huge). Its been there for about 8 weeks now. I had ignored the thing until everyone started yelling in my face: Dude whats wrong with your eye? Go see a doctor!
My employer provides a very good medical cover (thank God). So I walk into doctor #1 office.
The guy feels my eyelids and shines a bright torch into my pupil. He calls it a "cyst", scribbles something illegible on a piece of paper, certainly does not forget to add 1500/= consultation fee on the HMO claim form and merrily sends me to doctor #2.

Doctor #2.
Asks me to read jumbled letters on a white board. Declares my vision to be something like 6/9. Vision is not my problem.
Is it painful? He asks.
No doctor its not.
Is it a tumor? My turn.
No.
What causes it?
And so on and so forth.
Final advice. Rub lower eyelid with warm water every day. Then visit your pharmacist and buy this drug (insert illegible sht here). Turns out to be eyedrops.
Screech screech on the printer. 1500/= consultation fee. 500/= for the eyedrops. Sign here please. Stamp. MONEY in the bank. Smile for the freaking cameras. Please come after 1 week.

I apply the eyedrops and my eye actually begins to hurt. It also gets a sickly, red hue. No improvement. After one week I go back. I find another doctor, doctor #3. He pulls out my file and reads the prognosis.
Hmmmmmmm. He hums thoughtfully. We still need to observe it for a little longer. He quips. Meanwhile, stop using the eyedrops I will prescribe this ....(hands over an illegible note). Must be the god-complex. Because you cannot get through primary school and high school with handwriting like that. Even university. No one has time to read illegible garbage at school.
Another round of signing and charges.

I present the prescription at the pharmacy. The guy reads it and almost starts smiling (or I imagine it. I am not quite sure). He hands me a box of tablets. Augmentin. Sign here please. Whoa! The box costs almost 3000/=!

There is no improvement, in fact the situation has deteriorated. This is not the first time this has happened. If your cover is good, they hit it like there is no tomorrow. The last time I had malaria, I was given malaria medication and other complementary drugs, which came to a total of 9000/=.
And they never give you generic drugs. Never. You get drugs from Switzerland (made by Pfizer and Roche and cost the engine of a jet aircraft - I read the labels) packed as if they are to be ferried to the Queen of England. These cost as much as 50 times the price of the generics for the same effect. Then they want to spread the treatment over a period so that they bag as much consultation fees as possible.

May be I should not care. Of course everything is legal. Still, it does not sit right with me. Some Docs and Pharmacies are conning HMOs.

Working late

I was in the office more than 12 hours ago. Still here. When will I learn that work never gets finished.

Panado and Puritone

I have been feeling a little under the weather since late last week. Am not sure if I am catching a cold, stomach flu (is there such a thing by the way?), home sick, suffering from stress or just fatigued (highly probable since I have not taken leave since December last year). In my mind there is one cure for flu, migraines, headaches or nausea Panadol and Piriton. I have been taking this combination since I was old enough to swallow pills. I have fond memories of my mum splitting a Panadol tablet in two for me to take when I was around 6 or 7 years old.

So after it became clear to me that I was not going to shake off whatever is ailing me naturally I decided to get some Panadol and Piriton jana evening. I went to a pharmacy near where they are putting me up, coz they do not have dukas here. Having no dukas is absolutely ridiculuous, I am forced to go to a supermarket around 1 km away just to buy a bread. I ask for Panadol at the pharmacy, in return the lady behind the counter gives me a blank look. I try explain that its a mild pain killer taken for head aches. I spell it out, and her face brightens and shows some kind of recognition, if we were characters in a cartoon, a light bulb would have popped up right above her head. She turns round, picks a box from the shelve and presents me with a white box written Panado.I give the box a cursory look and see that one of the ingridients is Paracetemol, it contains 24 tablets and its for headaches, pain and fever. Since their Dasani is called Bonaqua and their traffic lights robots it is perfectly reasonable for me to conclude that their Panadol is called Panado.My deduction is based on my scanty recollection of transitive relations from Basic Maths.

I then ask the nice lady for Piriton. The blank look returns. I spell it out to her but before I finish she leaves the counter and walks to a drawer on the far side of the room. She returns with a yellow box with the word Piritone on it. Again I deduce that if a guy moves a few thousand miles from home Piriton can become Piritone. I pay her and leave.

When I get to the house I study the boxes a little closer. The Panado I bought is not made by GlaxxoSmithkline so must be fake. The Piritone I bought is actually Puritone and is 'For the relief of occasional constipation'. I think I will try the fake Panadol but I am not going to take any Puritone.

I have decided to take some sick leave today. There is no benefit in me pushing myself when I am here. They cannot fire me or increase my earnings so they are of no use to me.

On another note. I have been summoned back. Looks like someone realised that I may be getting to comfortable here. I will be back in early October, take leave for a week and look forward to the 3 public holidays in the month.

Hoggers and hoarders

There is a breed of guys who can have every other chik and as fate would have it I am not one of them . These guys meet women, pick up a conversation, start flirting and get the women interested in them at an amazing speed. These guys maintain a stack of two or three women. Its a stack because they will pop one woman out and pop a new one in every so often. Some of them choose not to keep the same chik for more than a month. Why should they when they can get every other new chik they meet?

We all probably know a few such jamaas. It is that guy who has two hot chiks but will go out to the pub and pick up other women or who will have women throwing themselves at him at your buddies house party.An unfortunate result of such guys existing is that they create an artificial shortage of women.

Picture this, last Friday I was with one such guy. He gives me a call at around 9pm and suggests that we have a drink. He shows up at the pub with this hot chik with great hair. I am all by my lonesome so in the course of the night there were awkward moments when the two were getting lovey duvvy. That was Friday. I have previously hooked up with him and he was with a different chik.

On Sato I am with the same guy we go to an East African university students thing. The music was good there were all these nice looking young chiks guys around. Everything was good until the pub ran out of beer. I took three different brands of beer. Its amazing how they ran a business. At some point in the night, before beer ran out, I ran into a really hot chik and her friend I make an effort at chatting them up but it just doesnt flow so I walk away. Later in the night I spot the guy I was with deeply engrossed in a conversation with the two chiks I met earlier. The guy is a hoarder.

It was amazing to watch him work his majic. He made it look so simple, so natural, like a walk in the park, or an afternoon nap. There are certain things I cannot do and when I watch someone who has a gift in them I cannot help but get amazed.

No last dialled numbers

That's normally indicative of a purge of my phone book [and all call lists and smss of course]. This is typically triggered by the need to delete a number or numbers, mostly recently acquired, invariably of the chics who ajamaa mentioned [those who are not good for you]. It's purely an act of self preservation. An attempt to save oneself untold agony.

I seem to run into a lot of flashers. These are definitely not good for your health. There's one with whom I had a long-suffering relationship with. I think she was my first flasher. Sure, I was attracted to her, and kept at it. Calling her up on those lonely [horny?] occasions. She actually flashed me sometime recently, after what must be more than a year. She wanted to go to psys and wondered what my plans were. She was meant to call me when she got there. I understood that to mean she wanted someone to buy her drinks. And if she had called, I would have gone...

It's not all tragic though. I've met a couple [this is said in the literal sense of 2] of chics who I've had interesting phone relationships with. There's this one chic who I used to text a lot. I prefer sms. It's the best for flirting. Anyway, smss were 2.50 then, and I still used to end up spending loads of cash on airtime. Then at some point it hit me that this was my small sister's classmate, and I did an Asafa-Powell. Then there was the 25 minute chic. I definitely could not afford to keep that going.

Today morning, I have no last dialled numbers. That's a story for another post.