Monday, October 30, 2006

Journey of self

I wanted the title of the post to be more Sade than that. Close enough I guess.
0.5 and I were discussing yesterday, a topic we had been on before, can't remember when.

I guess it started with some grumbling. Guys were getting edgy, nervous, fidgety; the females were getting too comfortable in their roles as tormentors/girlfriends. We wanted out. They were starting to act like it is their duty to keep a guy in line, have him doing what they want when they want. Feel me?

We went about convincing ourselves as to why we had to head for the hills, and fast. We owed it to our sanity to do so.

This is how you get to our predicament, which I think is not exclusive to us. First its all stars and bright lights, and not necessarily in the club. Then they go about convincing you that you are the one. Like it or not, you start getting used to the idea. You mellow. You say those crazy words back, knowing you don't mean them, but you don't want to rock the boat. Rock the boat? More like Titanic the boat on some iceberg. Big crash. Get it?

Before you know it you are spending all your time together. Of course you are not comfortable with it but you hope she will create her own space around you in time. Your place becomes hers. You go along (not all of us, just the silly ones like myself). Then you lose all control as to your movements. You have to inform this someone (or a couple of them) where you are, how long you'll be there (we've done this before eh?). Anyways, you get the drift.

We reflected on back when we could just hook up. Boys only. We could drink ourselves silly, watch some soccer, head off on any tangent we chose, chase members of the opposite sex without feeling guilty, take as many phone numbers as you wanted without having to hit the delete button on your inbox, sent messages, call register, message counter, call durations; being wary of when she would call, is the music too loud? having to run out of the club when she called cause you lied that you were at home, having to come up with endearing messages when she gets it in her head that you've made her mad when she is actually insane, having to buy ice cream, thinking of your evening excuse early in the morning. We remembered when a change of plans was just that, not an invitation to start another round of mean mugging and the 'silent treatment'. I didn't have to be at a specific place at a specific time, sending messages by the minute when you were late, updating her as to your monumental, Herculean efforts to get to where you were supposed to be just to find that she hadn't got there herself. Waiting for eons for her as she takes her time making her hair, when she could have done that much earlier. My money was mine to give to KBL and BAT, plus whomever else I chose. I didn't have to bring someone along with me to distribute to the said parties, without this person ever giving me the chance to give out her money to the aforementioned entities.


I have started the journey. I want to re-discover that guy. The guy who had his own time. Weekday or weekend. Could take off to wherever, whenever.

It should take us about a month or two to get there. I say goodbye to all the 20 year olds, all the "Please Call Me"s, all of you who only call when you get bored and are looking for someone to foot the bill and give you a laugh. All of you who do that voodoo that you do, get me relaxed and complacent, then try and sneak into my head, trying to figure me out. Claiming to know me and what I feel.

Wonder how I got here in the first place? Yup, when I took that number and called. And called again. If you can't close the deal in one week, 4get her. After you close the deal, you have two weeks and then hit the Eject button. Make sure you press the one that will propel you out of there on rocket fuel. Out of that plane! You'd rather hurtle earthwards without a parachute
like Governor Schwarzenegger (is that the spelling?). You are safer that way. I remember a far wiser friend of mine imparting this dose of wisdom ages ago. Sadly, I never listen. Have I learnt? Maybe, maybe not. Seeing as to I fall in love every time I turn around, its going to be a tough couple of months. Ooh, there are so many fine women out there.

The journey starts.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

In search of hobbies

I'm on leave. Have been for the past 2 weeks. If I don't get called back to the office, I will be until mid November. The telly is absolutely excrutiating to watch. Yesterday was my breaking point and I actually switched the thing off at some point. Am I turning into my parents. Ealier in the day I fought the urge to dredge up some phone numbers. I only restored the one. Sent her a text. No response. She probably sensed that I was just bored and looking for a distraction. So far, this is what I've come up with to pass the time.

Drawing/sketching/doodling - I used to enjoy it when I was a kid.
Cooking - The basic survival stuff. No baking or cookbooks.
Perl - It was either this or a trip to the coast.

This should keep me preoccupied for a week at least.

Is this it?

Or as aJamaa puts it, "this can't be it". Something's missing, or somebody is not telling us something. Probably just another phenomenon related to getting old[er].

Aint no justice in this world

It was a nice sunny Tuesday, Moi day afternoon, I had just left one of my workmates wedding when driving down Kenyatta avenue a stupid man in a Pajero sped out of Muindi mbingu street on to Kenyatta avenue and straight into my small gari. He took out my left side light, tore into my bumper and completely destroyed my left wing. Despite the guys valiant attempt I was not hurt and so all I had to worry about was my gari. I aksed the guy what he wanted to do about the mess he created and he insisted that he was insured and so I should take it up with his insurance company. A cop came buy looked at the accident, indicated that they guy was on the wrong and used a stone to mark the position of our cars before asking us to move to Uhuru park to settle our maneno's.

The idiot driver kept insisting that the thing should be taken up with insurance so the cop radio'd central police to have a police cop come complete and accident form or some other strange thing like that. Two and half hours later (he must have been in Nakuru or Narok) the cop showed up with an ugly yellow book took our statements insurance details and asked me to go to Milimani the next day buy an accident abstract form for 200/= and then go to Central to have the form completed. I got the abstract a few days later and in it the cops stated that the guy was to blame but no one was to be prosecuted for the accident. Why that idiot was not going to be charged with careless driving or extreme stupidity remains a mystery to me.

Come the next week I reported the case to my insurance company and they indicated that I should take my car to any garage of my choice and after paying an excess of 20K they will be happy to sort it out. I was in shock. I was hit, I did not do anything wrong, the guy who hit me was insured and so I did not see why I should be paying anything. I tried to reason with the guy telling him that there must be a difference between a guy who damages his car by hitting a tree and an innocent guy who gets hit. After a long discussion the guy says that the only reason we are even talking is that I am comprehensively insured. I ask the guy what would happen if I had been a pedesterian and the guy says that in such a case I would have to go to a lawyer. To console me he added that once the car is repaired they will seek to recover the costs from the insurance company of the guy who hit me and if we are lucky they may pay and then I may get my excess paid back.

I then contacted the guys insurance company and told them my dilemma. The person I spoke to told me to file a claim with my insurance company when I told him I did not have money to pay the excess he said that I would then have to lodge a claim to them in writing with a copy of my DL, police abstract and a quotations from a garage. He gave me the name of a garage which quoted 65K for repairs my jua kali mechanic indicated he would charge 8K and knowing the guy he will do the job for 6K. I lodged all the documents and when I called the insurance company again I spoke to someone else who told me that they were in the process of sending me a letter advicing me to file the claim with my insurance company especially since the guy who hit me had not reported the accident to them. What if the guy died in the accident I asked? The guy just laughed. I took the guy through the injustice associated with me an innocent party having to pay excess for damages caused by their client and after a long while the guy confessed that his insurance company would prefer to deal with my insurance company so that incase my insurance company has any of their outstanding claims they can net them off. It then became clear to me that if I paid the excess there was no way I was going to get refunded.

Its now two weeks later, my car is not repaired and so am driving around with a hanging bumper and a mud-guard that is touching the wheel. As for the guy who hit me, his car had massive bull-bars and so hardly has a scratch on it.

I have worked with insurance companies before, and their management are always complaining about how hard it is to sell insurance since the market sees them as liars and conmen. Sooner or later an insurance agent is going to come and try sell me life insurance will anyone blame me if I refuse to buy?

I need a good ambulance chaser.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

My mum wants grandchildren

Sound like the title of a book. Or a movie a la mode of Honey, I shrank the kids. For me though, it's a lot more real.

It was some time ago now. Can't remember what the prevailing conversation was about, or how the topic came up. I certainly wouldn't bring up anything down this alley. Anyway. I was in the kitchen when I heard her make the remark. "I want grandchildren". Clear and unmistakable. I hadn't laughed out that loud in a while. This was the second time she'd made that exact statement. She'd also made a similar remark declaring that I'm perfectly capable of finding a girl [to marry]. Said in a manner to suggest she felt she need not find one for me. I was plainly embarrassed that time.

Back to the latest incident. I had to curtail my laughter somewhat after taking a glance at her and getting the feeling she was hurt by the way that statement had been dismissed, or otherwise laughed off. I have an older sis who has 2 kids and this was pointed out to her by my small sis, in an effort at consolation. Apparently, they aren't strictly [culturally] speaking her grandchildren. They belong to the other side of the family. Eyes and attention shift back to me. I duck back into the kitchen. This is scary stuff. The kind of thing that would make a guy make a run for it. These aren't the kind of conversations I want to be having. Still. It's another reminder that I'm not very young.

Well, as I always say to this kind of thing, I have to find a woman first. And that's not an easy thing.

Age ain't nothing but a number?

I can't remember the last time I met a chic who wasn't younger than me. There are loads of lovely young ladies out and about this town. I've asked a number of times where chics our age are. Answers have ranged from "they're married", "at home taking care of their kids" or "they hang out in more posh places".

I do fancy older women, but have no real prejudices or presets about the 'type' of woman I'd be attracted to. I haven't had much luck with the teens. There seems to be a generation gap of sorts. Maybe I just don't have the energy or I'm not as exciteable. Or is it the fact that I'm not a fan of G-Unit or the latest crop of hip hop and R&B artistes. Or is it crunk. Generally I just have a problem relating.

All this pales in comparison though, to my real mental block when it comes to hooking up with younger chics. My small sis. She's 20, I think. The thought of hanging out with her agemates absolutely mortifies me. I try to keep away from her friends and classmates. And I've met a couple who I've found interesting. But I surely daren't act in any manner that could be construed as inappropriate.

I guess when everyone gets older, age differences aren't a big deal or in any way inappropriate. In the meantime, I probably need to get me some 50 cent boots, start listening to the Ying Yang twins and hope I don't get any questioning looks.

Dating a customer care chic

Ok. Truth be told, I haven't dated in years. I think there was the one chic in campus, first year. I'm assuming of course that 2 week relationships don't count.

So I got a number a couple of weeks ago. There's nothing like a new number to get me all excited. In truth, I was a bit apprehensive. The news that she works for Celtel customer care reminded me of another acquaintance who's in the same job and the general difficulty I've had keeping in touch with people who work shifts. Unpredictable and everchanging shifts. There's this other chic I know who's a nurse. Similar thing. How do guys do it. Probably meet up after work, on the days when they're getting off work while the sun is still up. I like going straight home after work. Frustrating.

As it is, my newest acquaintance is still in training and hasn't started actual work [and shifts] yet. A meet-up wasn't thought prudent right away. Initially. To build up the excitement or something. For some reason she changed her mind soon after. I'd just had surgery though and wasn't in any physical or mental state to take her up on the offer to go over to her place. [She recently moved out]

She seemed nice enough. Full of energy. I'm the one making most of the contact though. She asks me to please call her quite a bit. Story of my life. She's asked me to get a Celtel line so that she can call me from work. I understand her frustration even as I feel my own.

Met her briefly on Sato. She was making her way from westi after a Friday night out. [insert another story here]. I was in town paying some bills. I had a big, green umbrella with me. It actually felt like a walking stick. So much for first impressions.

We'll see how it goes.

Break-up Classes

I watched a certain movie, "Breaking all the rules" I think the title was.
Jamie Foxx, Morris Chestnut, that dude from Ally McBeal - the nerd lawyer,
always looked nervous but won all his cases - and finally, the wonderful,
beautiful, vivacious, lip-smacking, chocolate skinned, ebony-eyed,
come-feed-me, out-of-superlatives Gabrielle Union.

Oooooh. This post could quite easily change to one about that fine lady.

Anyways, the movie was about Jamie Foxx, known as Quincy Watson in the
movie, being dumped by some model on the day they were supposed to announce
their engagement...get the movie. Somewhere in there, Quincy wrote a book on
how to break up. Wish It was a real book. Is there such a book?

I have held one policy for breaking up all my life (which means I have
broken up around twice before I think). It is simply not calling, smsing,
visiting or acknowledging the dumpee's existence for a while. They get the
picture and it all fades away.

I have a problem. Have tried the same ploy with a certain lady, previously
acquainted to you via post on this blog. (Sam, how do you link to previous
posts? This is embarrassing). I was recently at the coast (three days away
from the said assailant, three blissful days) and took it as an opportunity
to start the Kamikaze D.U.M.P. Technique (D.U.M.P. is not some acronym, or
mnemonic of sorts, it just looks better). So there I am gleefully in the
coast soaking in the sun, sand, salty water (brine). Wait! Even before I got
to the coast, she is already asking why I haven't told her whether I am
there or not. How nice eh? Wachamoosits!! Let a brother be! Please! Just let
me relax without constantly updating you on what I am drinking, where we
are, when we leave, how I slept, is it fun? Aaaaah.

As you may gather, this method of mine is not working. Ignored her last
night. She sends two smses this morning asking why. I ignore those. She
calls me at the office, I pick up. She asks if I am mad at her. I foolishly
say no. Should have done the dumping there and then. "As a matter of fact, I
am mad at you. I want to end this." End what? she might ask. "This! This
madness! I am not in control of my life! I want out!!!" Something like that

Honestly, I need help on how to go about this. My plan of being passive
until she gets the message will not work. Anybody. Anything. And I know guys
will say the direct approach is best. Honestly, for me, that approach will
not work. It seems cruel, and I would probably change my mind while in the
process. Where, when, how? These are the things I want to know.

Think I should watch that movie again. Just to see Gabrielle Union again. Oh
yeah, and get some more tips from Quincy "Jamie Foxx" Watson.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006


I just remembered. Got this forward this morning. I am not a fan of forwards, they are so, how do I say this? I guess impersonal is the word.
They make you feel like an item in a list, a number.

I especially detest those forwards a guy sends to you to make up a number,like send this mail to 20 people and something amazing will happen to you.

Anyways, got this forward in the morning, wanted to share it with you then, but was crowded out by work.
I thought it was funny. Chances are you've already heard it, or some version of it. Enjoy.

Man comes home, finds his wife with his friend in bed.
He shoots his friend to death.
Wife says;

"If you behave like this, you will lose ALL your friends".

Cracked me up.

2 Quiet

Haven't heard a peep from anyone for a while.


Anyways, things have slowed down at the office. I guess the boss is past
that time of the month.

Sam. Hurry up and get back to the office, and blog some more.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Friday the 13th

I have this feeling of impending doom. Our boss was on the warpath today,
but she was busy killing everyone else, she didn't get to us guys in

But there is always tomorrow.

What is that called? The fear of the number 13. I definitely have that
malady/condition - trideskaphobia? Where is the internet when you need it.
I'm sure Sam or 0.5 will soon correct any mis-spelling.

Have A Nice Friday. Will definitely be better than mine.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Everyone is the man in their own hood

That's a line from some DMX song, can't remember the title. Guess it just
means that. You go to someone else's hood, you can't be the man.

People here act like this is their hood, and everyone is the man/woman
around here. This is no ones hood. Maybe I'm not saying this right. Still
abit tipsy - 0.5 and aJamaa should still be in bed now. I think I am the
only person awake now. Dangit! I digress.

Its not exactly everyone. Two ladies in particular. Lets call them - uhm,
lets see - mijit and ovabear. Good. Yup, thats it.

Mijit - The Story.

She knows all the "big people". And will keep reminding you of that fact.
Stories are repeated whimsically. On the spur of the moment. Again and
again. "Mimi, If I have a problem xyz, I just call the....Like this day
someone hit my car, I didn't even get out of the car, just called....I need
to use the phone, have to call....Mheshimiwa is coming to the office, I will
bring him around to greet you guys." Dangit!!

Ovabear - Foul Mouthed *&%^£!

This one is on a whole other level. She has managed to get on the wrong side
of everyone in the office. Thats some skill right there. She claims she
doesn't give a hoot what people think. "Mimi! Wacha wajaribu. Kamikaze si
unanijua? Ehe. I don't care. Nani? Hawawezi. Livewire. Eeee. They know I am
fire..." Natter natter natter. On and on. Always in people's bizniz. "What
is happening here? Aaaah. Hiyo si shida. I know these things. Kamikaze,
niulizange hizi vitu". Then she assumes everyone will jump when she wants
something. Walking around with some juvenile swagger. Smirking all the time.
This one!!! Aaaah!

I forgot one other person. Okay, this one doesn't really feel like the
man/woman here. Lets call her - no not that, something I can write down. She
is always complaining. Everything always goes wrong with her. High-pitched
voice. It carries-I hear they say that about some voices. Always telling
other people about what someone has done or is doing wrong, and why it will
fail. Claiming to suffer in silence, when she is busy telling us about it.
Loves blowing up stuff. Her approach, Impeccable. You would think she just
found out someone is embezzling, and she is afraid to say. When you find out
what she is talking about; the most mundane of issues. Whispered in low
conspirational tones. Quite unnerving. Aaaa. Didn't give her a name. I'll
let you know if I come up with one.

Brain is still in reverse.
I am the man in this hood.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Hi. My name is Samborera

I've never sent an sms to someone I've not met beforehand. That was before Sunday. Now I must confess that I've thought about it before, but the thought of the random number I'd chose belonging to some dude always put me off. If I knew for sure that a certain number belonged to a chic, I'd probably have sent out quite a number of these. I'm surprised I haven't joined the bandwagon of sms dating/match making services. Perhaps a little too close to the lonely hearts column for my comfort. Besides, if I really wanted a number that bad all I'd have to do is hang out with the profilic duo of Kamikaze and 0.5 [the current version as opposed to the old one].

The reason I like sms is that you have time to think about something [witty/funny] to say. This is vital for those of us who don't have a constant stream of lines to mesmerise the ladies. I think I took an hour composing the thing. Do I use Samborera, or do I use Sam. Sam is more sexy, but is that the path I want to go down right off the bat. I'll keep it quasi-conservative. Samborera. [If this was to one anonymous Renisa, I'd of course have started, "Hi. My name is Mr. S". I tell you, I could get used to being called "Mr. S"]

Anyway, so how do you chat up a chic you've never met before, and have no get-out-of-jail situation a la "Do you come here often", "So you like lingala music". And stepping up to a chic you've been dying to talk to takes a lot of Dutch courage. I don't know how I used to do it while sober. Oh yeah. I wasn't sober. I was on drugs.

My one hour sms did pay off. She did reply. And not to ask what kind of moron I was. I can't have done too badly. I could get used to this. A guy can't get too much practice.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006


I feel utterly aggravated. Vexed, annoyed, - jeez, such limited diction -
thats all I have.

I get to the office to find my boss (there is a boss and the manager - I
have it like the boss is the one on top kabisa, manager is below the boss)
has left a letter for me at my table. Some returns are needed pronto.

Fair enough, I get to it.

One hour later, she comes over to my in-charge, grabs a chair on the way,
sets herself down. They murmur some stuff, I'm called over. They are
perusing a different letter. This one is asking for some incomprehensible
stuff. Have I seen the letter before? I'm asked. I think I have, though I
don't say so. I have to think fast. I say yes. Why haven't we responded? I'm
blank. I stare blindly at the paper infront of me like it would give up its
reasons for disturbing the peace. She says she wants answers right now. Cold
sweat. I venture - "Some information was missing, could not find a different
letter to which this one had referenced". Who recieved the previous one? I
don't know. When? August. We are in October. (Silence). Kamikaze, she says,
I want you to trace the first letter, find it, get the information you need,
and get me feedback right now. I don't care if you have to call these guys
(who happen to be in head-office) so that they can send you the information
again. Yes.

She up and leaves. Don't know where to start. My in-charge has left me out
to dry. Want to kick him in the teeth, stop him from grinning like that. I
search in some file where such letters ought to be kept. Nothing. My
in-charge makes a generous gesture of perusing some file. I can see he is
not even trying. I ask him to call the guys and ask for the letter to be
re-sent. He murmurs that he will. I wait, 5 minutes. He is still on the
blasted file. I get up in a huff and ask for the concerned parties' number.
I get it and get to dialling. They don't pick up. I try again and again.

Now I am about to lose it. How can this happen? Someone wants me fired. This
is not my fault. Why am I being punished? I panic. Try and call again. A
bright idea. Send them mail. I calmly put down the phone. My in-charge
coolly asks if I got them. In my best good-naturedly voice I respond that
they were not picking up.

Make my way to the company receptionist, ask to use the mail machine. Type
out an officious email, basically begging for these guys to re-send us the

Get back to making the return.

The boss comes back. Asks for feedback, apparently she waited long enough. I
tell her I couldn't get the letter or the guys on the phone. Have sent
email, waiting for response. She wants to say something. Thinks better of it
and leaves.

Later in the day, my in-charge was regalling the locals with stories of how
I was scared silly, he was not, how I should toughen up. Still want to kick
his teeth in.

Coming up - Sam style - Big Talk In The Office - Everyone is the man/woman
around here

Do women hate clothes?

It seems that I'm only just discovering this fact. This observation doesn't stem merely from one or two posts I've read recently. [I know the the mention of clothes, or lack of them, only features in a couple of sentences, but I see what I want to see. What can I say]

Two other chics I met once also narrated how they prefer walking around the house nude. There's another chic I met who suggested I should do the same. Come to think of it, it seems I've been hearing this a lot recently.

So, any women out there [I still get amazed that we have readers], who can give a verdict on this one.

Saturday it is

The date is set. I'll be checking in to hosi on Friday afternoon, have the surgery on sato and hopefully leave on Sunday. Probably get a week off after that, then if my boss agrees, I want to take kawaida leave of 3 weeks. To give me a chance to use my F2 complementaries.

All in all, I'll probably be out of circulation for a while.

Monday, October 02, 2006


Managers suck.

They talk to you like you are some retarded dog, meant to run when they want
you to, sit, stand, bark, smile...

They come up with amazing whims - brilliant ideas to them - they want X
report and they want it now. 15 minutes later they come up with report Y,
they want that one yesterday. 5 minutes later, report Z, yesterday before
breakfast. All the while they expect you to smile and say yes like a good
boy, sorry dog.

Makes mondays all the worse.

Guess whos back?

Wassup aJamaa? Good to have you back home.

3 months

I got confirmation of the date I met the 20 yr old.

Relaxing at home yesterday, I get a sms. It goes, wait, let me just get my
phone, had to save this one for reference, here we are, I quote "on 1st
July..." thats all I'll give you folks. Apparently thats when we met.

3 months. It feels like an eternity. Someone told me yesterday that I'm
whipped. That word is offending. This is because I was coerced (spelling?)
into missing soccer on Saturday. I am not whipped, just let a 20 yr old have
her way with me.

Hey Sam, stop with the headlines and give us the d-a-m-n stories!
(mailmarshall is around, shhh).

The 0.5 of old

I am re-tracing back my steps.
To a point in my life where things were simpler. Did a whole lot of purging of numbers.
No more intrigues.
No more rushing of blood into my head.
No anxiety. Will she call? What is she doing now? Why is she mad/moody/sulky/silent?
Things can escalate pretty damn quick.
Ati where are we headed from here 0.5?
My friends, how do you answer that?
Where are we now? I asked back.
She said I am confused. And selfish. She wants to go.

Just as well.
Switching off engines, time to reflect.
I prefer when women break up with me.
That way I get to convince myself I am not cruel. Not riddled with tonnes of guilt.
Then closing the door and moving away becomes a real walk in the park.
And how does one get into such a mess, some of you might ask.
Truth is, there is no answer to that. Its totally discrete.
One day, you are this beer guzzling guy, the next you are deep in these murky relations things.
It is traceable to that moment you take her number.
Not exactly built for this stuff.
Selfish. Can't share my soul. Damn!

The 0.5 of 2003.

Shifting Gears

My mind is stuck on gear 1. Or is it in reverse? I am in the office,
supposed to be working, but it takes me 15 minutes to remember something I
usually have at my fingertips. I am easily confused. Can't think straight.
Have trouble focusing. Clouded mind. Blurry vision.

My manager was just here asking for some figures. Said I would get them to
her. Took me all of 5 minutes to remember where to get them.

One of our posting clerks was asking about some vouchers she left with me
sometime this week, or was it last week? After searching for almost 20
minutes, I was close to panic. Then I remembered I had already dispatched
the blasted things and made required entries, as in, it was all good.

I want to go home.

I have a pal who wants a man

For the second Sunday evening in a row, I get an sms that makes me go hmmm. I can't even remember the last time somebody hooked me up [or attempted as much cause I don't think there were any successes]. I think I remember now. I was 10.

So. Am I interested. I don't know what to say, but I try not to blow the suggestion off outright. The first thing that comes to mind is the apparent dearth of men in this town. Good or otherwise. There was a time I was asking one Dr. Kigz the genesis of this apparent gender imbalance. Did all the men get sent to jail, or join the army and got shipped off to Dafur. Are they all suspected gangsters and have been shot by the cops. What. You go out these days and you see lots and lots of chics. And not only at night. Not that I'm complaining, but the question I was asking is where did they all come from.

Back to my sms. I try not to dismiss the suggestion outright. Ask for information from the chic who is 'recommending' me. She works for Celtel. Customer care dept. 22, luo, slim. [I'm hoping this description is common enough not to identify the person in question] What else do I want to know. I was asking for more information to stall this process. Her number? I send an exploratory sms. We'll see how it goes.

I have so many posts I want to put up. Since Kamikaze has started posting though, the blog probably can't handle all the stuff it'll be getting. Coming soon:

Dating a customer care chic
Age ain't nothing but a number?
My mum wants grandchildren