A chic's kind of place?

Club soundd. Saturday night. We check in. Most of the introverts [at least those who post] were there so I'll leave that at that.

At some point someone mentioned that he'd been told [by a chic?] that this was a chic's kind of place. How. The lighting? The lack of lighting? The ka-dance floor at the corner? What.

Someone had also mentioned previously that it would be the kind of place a guy can meet older women. [I think older in this case means >=23] And when Kamikaze played P.I.M.P and set me up with one of the lovely lasses, enthusiasm to play along was lacking. I blamed it on fatigue.

I probably need to give it another shot.

Political correctness

I stumbled on the pope speaking on telly yesterday night. It immediately occurred to me that I'd never heard his voice. That unmistakeable German-type accent [not sure if he's a native of Germany or Austria or something]. I also noticed the reconciliatory tone of the part of the speech I got. How christians and muslims can work together and stuff like that.

In the modern world, people aren't allowed to have differences, and if they do, they may not voice them. Religion is one topic I learnt to steer clear of discussions or debates on. Ever since in Form 2 when a guy almost beat me up for holding a different view on something or other. [major] Religions are often exclusive by default. No other way to the promised land apart from such and such. These tenets can be preached within a homogenous congregation of believers, but in public, we are all on the same path to the same place.

I'm also reminded of the footballers who at their first press conference [unveiling] at a new club declare how it's the best in the world and the team of their childhood. The exact same thing he said at his previous club, and what he'll confess about his next one.

Saying what is considered acceptable, even though it may not be what you believe. Perhaps this should only be the preserve politicians. Perhaps not. And saying it like it is isn't an excuse to abuse others, but attempting to sanitize everything is futile.

Bond

I don't go to the movies very often. At some point I used to think that one had to go with a chic, so my visits to the cinema have been directly proportional to the number of dates I've had. I will not pursue this line of thought further.

Anyway. There's something therapeutic about a big screen and surround sound, and some movies have to be experienced in such. I remember when we were younger, there used to be a cinema in the vicinity of our neighbourhood. Every so often we would gather [in the literal sense] coins and once we had 3 bob, we would head off to watch some shaolin movie. Those were the best. Invigorating and inspiring. For a week after that, I would be doing my best Bruce Lee impressions.

Bond is the other character that I prefer to watch on a big screen. For me it started way back in primary school when the end of term [or was it end of year] movie screening was invariably a Bond movie. Lately though, I've been rather lethargic and my last really memorable impression of Bond on the big screen was in Golden Eye. And it's not that I haven't wanted to. I have. And I will. The premier is set for Dec 2 in this part of the world. I'll probably catch it sometime during the weekend, provided the queues aren't too long.

How does my cousin see me now?

I started telling the story of my cousins friend who I met over the weekend in Well I would like to finish it off now. That Sato night the Tanzanian 20 year old sent me a text saying she had a 'good time' and asking if I did to. I replied that I enjoyed the tour of Kampala.

So, on Sunday as I was preparing to leave for Munyonyo and was torn between calling her and checking if she still wanted to join me for the trip. Going with her would result in me enjoying her company as opposed to spending the afternoon reading a book or a magazine and having lunch all by my lonesome. On the other hand if she came along the trip would be more expensive and there was always the risk that in a moment of weakness I would make a pass at her and whether she accepted it or not I may regret the decision a few weeks of months down the line. At some point I decided that a guy has to leave dangerously (there is no other way to live anyway). I called her, she said she was game and we agreed on where to meet.

At Munyonyo we went straight to the restaurant coz the rain made the beach unreachable. I ordered a beer she ordered 3 tots of Amarula. I was very concerned that she would get high on me and then I would be in more trouble/better situation than I was already in. The more I spoke to her the more I got amazed at her level of maturity. I know that at 20 even at 23 my worldview was very different from hers. Then I was only concerned about the next pynt and the next chik (who never came along). I ordered another beer and was relieved when she ordered water. We talked for a while and I mentioned that I have been seeing someone at least 3 times. My intention in doing this was to protect myself from myself, lay the facts down so she could make an informed decision and building an exit strategy (never start a new project without a backout plan). We spent the afternoon at the beach took a few photos a few more drinks and headed back to Kampala in the evening.

on the trip back we were seated at the back seat of the cab. While I was leaning on the door on the extreme right she had moved towards the centre (I interpreted this to be an invitation for physical contact). At some point she said she was sleepy (she had been studying/partying the previous night), I pulled her down to my lap telling her it was a nice place to sleep. When we got near town I bent down to her and asked if she wanted to come and watch rugby with me (actually meant to say come and watch me watch rugby) in the hotel room and head back to school later. I know what you are thinking, but a I am a man and she is gal and men are supposed to make passes at gals so I was only doing what comes naturally to me. But she very politely declined my offer. I tell you I need to reconsider my attitude towards 20 year olds if she is a fair representation of her ilk.

Tuesday evening was supposed to be my cousin's and her friends last day at school and they planned to go out to some club. I had indicated a willingness to drop by and buy a few drinks (a jamaa has to live dangerously). But on Tuesday my cousin gave me a call and told me she wasnt feeling well and so could not go out but needed some cash to do some shopping. We agreed to meet and I have to admit I couldn't help wondering if the Tanzanian would be there. I met my cousin at some street corner and it was evident she wasnt feeling well. She had suffered from pneumonia a few months earlier and it looked like it was acting up again. The Tanzanian was there and I tried to avoid eye contact and anyhting more than three word sentences (How are you? How was the exam, I am tired, Take care of my cousing e.t.c). After a few minutes I left them feeling relieved, worried about my cousin and wondering if I was going regret not pursuing things with the Tanzanian further.

Later that evening I received a text from the Tanzanian saying she was really bored and would like to come over to my hotel and watch a movie if it wasnt too much of an inconvenience to me. I swear a jamaa spent like 3 minutes trying to figure out a reasonable reply. 'I am lying on the bed alone and would not mind some company' is more or less what I sent back to her. She came over a few minutes later we sat on the hotel bed, talked, she told me she thought she was high, decided to do the natural thing and make a pass her which she again very politely rejected. I accustomed myself to the fact that I would not be getting any, we spoke some more, she received a text and promptly declared she had to meet someone. It occured to me that I was just baby sitting her for someone else but I was fine with it. If she hadn't come over I would have either done some work, read a book or watched football, none of which are worth blogging about. I walked her into town, she dismissed at some point with a hug.

This here is my version of the story, I wonder what version she will tell my cousin (if any) and if my cousin will start seeing me as a dirty old man.

Bliss

Pure bliss is getting to the stage at 7am and not finding a jam already on the road. Getting space in a mat within a few mins. A quick ride into town.

A case for driving slowly

It was last Friday night as we were heading home. Had just left the pub and were walking down the street. There are so many people up and about in Nairobi these days. There's a certain din that characterises the night.

So I heard the screeching of brakes somewhere behind me. I turned instinctively just in time to see a ka-van hitting something. Someone. It still had considerable speed and the individual was flung like the proverbial dolly. Unreal. There was a chic standing by the curb who started started screaming. She was with the chic who'd just been hit. Guys started to gather at the scene. Kamikaze rushed in there, insisting on the injured person being taken to hospital. I'm rather faint hearted and kept my distance. Eventually the van, with the chic who'd been hit, sped off toward what I assume was a hospital.

I didn't see the whole incident transpiring but I thought that if the vehicle wasn't moving as fast as it was, the outcome would have been different. Better different. The fewer cars on the road at night lulls us pedestrians into some false sense of security and laxity as far as walking the streets is concerned. Looking to blame isn't very productive but there is a case for driving slow[er].

Walking Neurons, Odds and Ends and being broke

Hey waiter, bring me a smirnoff black ice. Whats with the rain? Now where could that Josh be?
Lets ring Josh.
Kriiiiiiiiiiing. Kriiiiiing.......a tinny voice on the other end.
"You have reached the phone of Josh, leave your name and I shall get back to you, ...to you...to you..."
[Aside] You see, Josh is a tall, handsome man. Dark. Young too. Oh shit! He also happens to have loads of money. And a nice car.

Lets say a Subaru imprezza.

Where the hell could Josh be? He is not answering his phone! Such a bloody disappointment. Men can be such bastards!
[Another Aside] We have a slight problem. Josh was not aware that he was to meet anyone at this particular pub. But he is supposed to turn up when he is summoned. Ahhhhhhhhhh....probably the guy is getting laid somewhere.

Click click. Lets scroll down the phone book. Adam is a great chap too. His Mitsubishi is not exactly brand new but what the heck it beats those intolerable mathrees .......

This unpredictable October rain seems to bring bad luck.

These people with cars seem tempestous, unpredictable, unstable and moody. Ahhh what the heck! Lets scroll to the idiot section.
It helps to be fully acquainted with the full spectrum of men. The idiot will pull through. They always do. I can mould and twirl them on my fingers like they are a piece of bread.
Krrrrrrrr. Krrrrrr.

The phone is ringing in 0.5's bedroom. It is 3am on Saturday morning and it is pouring outside like it will never rain again this century. Exactly two rings and the obnoxious caller disconnects. An unknown number. Just great. I toss the phone far into my clothes closet and turn back to my beauty sleep.
Ring ring again. What the heck, I take the phone and call back. Must have been one of those numbers that get retired every once in a while.
Hi how are you? A very spirited girl on the other end.
Where are you? I reply that I was asleep. I try to place the voice amidst the loud background music and the pounding rain. No luck.
What happened to you? You used to be a party person! Imagine I am at Hunters, sitting at the table where we met?!! Come buy a pint!

Now I remember who she was. The last time we talked was around May. 6 months down the line she calls at a time when the only discernible life is that of owls and thieves and talks to me as if she had only gone to the washrooms to freshen up and is now happily back at the table.

Click. Phone off. Even idiots wizen up.

Friday. Everyone is broke and the beer supply is perilously thin. A haunted look creeps up peoples faces with the realization that the curtain will close on this fun night at the ridiculously early hour of 9 pm.
A girl suddenly comes hurtling down, and screaming, from dark reaches of the rest of the crowded pub. She grabs Kamikaze and almost squeezes all the air out of him in one great and desirable hug. Such passion. I grin in amusement as Kamikaze tries to remember who she is, without much success. But you can't blame him. She looked like something from an egyptology picture book. Lips black, she seemed to have taken liberal sips of used car oil; what was left of the black paint was plastered on her eyelids and other parts of her face.

Anyway, she sat on Kamikaze. She had great legs I tell you. And a nice body too. That everyone had a drink and she did not was very clear. The night was going to close even earlier for Kamikaze.

Kamikaze's hands seemed to be pulling out a great weight from his shirt pocket .......what surprisingly turned out to be money for the girl's drink came out. Still, the man's hands seemed to have greatly reduced in length and reaching the waiter's outstretched hands was a monumental feat! Nothing beats being a broke gentleman.

Then one Mr Sam walks in. There was no mincing words. Mr Sam you are buying drinks here! We can be unashamedly honest.
Blur.

Broke. Waiting for Friday.
PS Kamikaze: 11.

Weekend in Champala

Friday
Friday started off rather slow, no one in the office invited me for a drink or offered to do anything with me on the weekend. I do not blame them though, I appreciate the fact that they also have lives to leave and they should not ammend their plans just because I happen to be around and far from home. So I sent out few texts to some people I know have partied in Kampala and they suggest a few places I can go to.

After having dinner at hotel staying at, which I did after spending 45 minutes or so in the gym (if I can gather enough will power this may be my new hobby) I step out to a pub called Rock garden. Picture F2 with all the prostitutes but without a cover charge and you will have an image of the crowd at Rock garden. The bar/club is part of the Speke hotel and so pynts are rather pricey (USH 3,000 or KES 120), they have a raised and roofed dance floor that is 20 meters outside the bar. There is very little seating space in the bar so most people sit out in the garden which is not very well lit an d a guy can only imagine the kind of fun and games go on in the corners and under the trees.

After a pynt and getting a feel of the local women I jump into a cab and head off to Angenour. I always feel apprehensive taking a cab in an unfamilia r place, I cant help but wonder if the guy is overcharging me, going to pull a gun and peleka me to some dark alley e.t.c I get to Angenour and stand on a queue to the entrance there are like five guys infront of me and they all pay for the ground floor club (USH 3000) I decide to follow suite knowing I can always upgrade my ticket. The club is kind off dark and not really full. At the entrance to the pub is one of those huge metal detectors that a guy walks through, this acts as a reminder of the fact that there are many legal and illegal guns in this country and while a bouncer in Kenya is worried of a guy trying to sneak in a Safari cane into a club, bouncers here are worried about guns finding their way in. For some reason I always forget that while a pub kicks any time from around 6 pm, a guy has to wait until midnight or so before a clubs starts happening. They are playing hip-hop and lots of East African music and the crowd is very young. The only issue I had with the place was they served me beer in a plastic cup/glass (is a plastic glass not a contradiction of terms?) and since it was not one of those disposable ones and so one could see and feel fat around its rim.

After like 2 pynts I decide to check out the upper floor, I walk out to the entrance and get an incremental ticket. The club on the first floor is wonderful the lighting is good, it has a wall to wall carpet with the name of the pub printed all over it. The music system is also really good and the crowd is older. The gals are well dressed, quite a number are in nice short cocktails dresses and those high heel shoes that look like they were made to be won once, hair that looks freshly done and make in just the right places. This time round my beer is served in a glass. And as far as I can tell there are more women than there are men in the club.

While seated on a stool at the counter bobbing my head to the music I notice some two girls seated at a table next to me. The cuter of the two is light and is wearing some red pants which remind of a guy who used to wear red leather pants when I was in high school the other is dark and is wearing so much lip gloss that under the club lights she looks like she asking to be kissed. At some point I walk up to them and start up a conversation (a jamaa can do anything after a few pynts). The darker one is more outgoing and so i find myself talking to her more, she is also wearing this small low cut top without a bra and since I could not take my eyes of her (them) it was easier to speak to her. We have a few drinks but things take a turn for the worse when the chik bila bra asks me to buy her food and I politely decline. At some point they stand up and walk away and all I can think is 'good riddance' .

A little later I walk out of the pub, and notice a BMW Z5 in the parking (the kind in James Bond had in Golden Eye) Enyewe this Kampala guys now how to have fun. I walk to a cab and huggle with the cab driver in the rain coz he wants to charge me USH 2000 more than the cab that brought me over (now that I think about it does not make sense to have gotten rained on coz of KSH 80).

Saturday
I meet up with my cousin who goes to High school out here. She is the closest thing I have to a younger sister since I do not have any of my own and so I try to sort her out when I can. She is with one of her friends a Tanzanian who is kind of cute has a sweet little ass and looking at her cleavage (which I found myself doing a lot) must be wearing a wonder bra. They are leaving school this coming Wednesday and want to do some shopping I decide to tug a long to get a better feel of Kampala and help them carry their luggage.

We turn into a street and are met by a group of guys running out and in the distance can see a an anti-riot truck with a water gun at the end of the street. The two girls convince me not to turn back coz this is quite common in Kampala and any we are nearly at the shop we need to get to. As we walk to the shop they had in mind I find myself sneezing and my eyes getting watery, clearly there is tear gas in the area. When we leave the shop things have gotten worse there are more people running from the direction of the cop car and the tear gas has gotten stronger, I am surprised that the shops are not yet closed. We get out of the area and sit out the commotion at a restaurant. Later I was informed that the fracas was caused by police disrupting a rally organised by Besigye. Enyewe Kenya has come far its just the other day we had such issues. At least know its only hawkers who through stones.

Later in the afternoon when things have calmed down the girls finish their shopping, we have a late lunch and they head back to school. Talking to my cousin reinforces my conviction never to take my kids to boarding school. Apparently half their school mates are alway high on weed or cheap alcohol and go out to pubs like every Sato. Of course they tell me about all the things that other people do. I tell them that I would be going to Munyonyo (a resort on the shores of Lake Victoria) on Sunday and my cousin indicates she has to study for exams she is doing on Monday. The Tanzanian says she will be in town anyway and so can join me. I can hear alarm bells going off but I am not bright enough to do anything about it.

That evening I went to Club Silk. It is a nice place but Angenour is better.

There's hope [for a guy]

I had an interesting last Friday night. Actually, the introverts I was with have a lot more to blog about [I hadn't heard the word oloibon since primary school] but nobody has come forth yet. Checked in to the pub at around 10. I figured I'd just do one quick round then head for home. At around 11 pm, I realised that may not be happening so I settled in a bit. It was a bit tricky to do seeing as I had a huge umbrella with me. [Am I the only guy who carries around a huge umbrella]

Anyhow, the music was alright. Apparently they play old skool on Fridays. At some point one of the chics at the adjacent table motioned for me to get up and dance. [Kamikaze had made acquaintances before my arrival] I made a few motions in my seat and figured that was that. A little later, as she was dancing herself, she came up to my seat [which was a step away, nothing too dramatic] and actually asked me to stand up and "give us a show". Her words. Now saying "No" to a woman is not a very easy thing so I found myself casting away my jacket and umbrella and joining her in the 30cm space between our seats. I got a number for the first time in a long time.

The moral of the story [and it's perhaps a bit shorter and less dramatic than I anticipated because of some drama at jobo]. In spite of perceived inadequacies and whatnot, there's hope.

Apply, OK

Some people insist on clicking on the Apply button first then the OK button where both exist on the same dialog box. I'm not sure if this is borne out of fear, lack of knowledge or as a reflex. My understanding is that the Apply button is used for, well, applying changes made immediately, while leaving the dialog box open to allow one to make additional changes. If no such changes are to be made, clicking OK to accept the changes and close the window will suffice. Using both is like clicking on a save button twice. One can never be too sure. All this assumes of course that the application follows the principle of least surprise.

It makes me think of when we [people] do things because that's what other people do [rather than out of a personal rationalisation of the same]. Monkey see, monkey do. [and I'm not using the phrase in a derogatory manner so perhaps it's also like safety in numbers]

I remember one lecture in campus when I decided that the lecturer was saying a lot of crap and stopped writing the notes he was dictating. It think it was Operating Systems III. The guy talked about semaphores the whole semester. Anyway. I had some history with him but on this particular day I couldn't take it anymore. At some point, I stopped writing and opened up a book I had on the subject matter. We were a small class and he noticed [or was just looking out for me]. I figured I wasn't bothering anyone, wasn't sleeping and was reading a recommended text. He on the other hand was spoiling for a fight. He interupted the lecture and advised me that if he wasn't the author of the book, I should close it. I looked at him in disbelief. He quickly added that I had 2 minutes to do so. I don't particularly like ultimatums, so I remained as I was. I was going to use up all the 2 mins. So we sat. The rest of the class looking on. After some silence and staring back and forth, I closed the book. He proceeded with the lecture but I still didn't write. The guy was simply telling lies and I refused to write them down in the name of notes. Not that I was feeling a bright student but this is the same guy who told us to take down some c++ code he wrote on the board for a computer graphics class. The only problem with the c++ code was that it was Java. Later, when he was told his code couldn't compile in the c++ compiler, he suggested that we reinstall the compiler, or include stdio.h. What a waste.

I got a bit emotional there. Anyhow. I probably need to figure out more stuff for myself and not simply do as they say [do]. Take ownership as aJamaa would say. [and he was accusing me of wrongly attributing stuff to him]

Mirror Mirror

Its quarter to 3.00pm. I still have about 2 and a half more hours to go
before I can check out of the office.
I am tired. Have been moving so fast throughout the whole day, I don't have any more energy. I wonder how I can appear to be working while not working.
Tips are most welcome. And, we don't have Internet, plus my PC is so visible to everyone so I can't play the FIFA I installed.

Anyways. I was just in the gents. That's where I take my cigarette breaks. There are mirrors in there. As you would expect. A cigarette smoked leisurely will take me about 4 minutes or so. Enough time to look in the mirror. The eternal question. Who is this guy Kamikaze? I usually get this way when I'm broke senseless. To avoid such mind numbing questions, I numb my mind with a little imbibing (I just love that word, makes me want to imbibe). Seeing that I haven't numbed my mind in a while, such thoughts creep up on me, rising to the surface of my clouded brain, making me ask myself very silly questions.

Who Am I? Where Am I going? What is it with this life? What's it all for in the end? Why do I smoke so much? Why do I always think of drinking? Why can't I stay home more? Why do I still have a crap job? How can I change it? Can I just quit? No!! What would I do then? Why don't I exercise more? Why can't I get a fly girlfriend? And do I want one? Is it just an excuse that fly women only bring problems and its best to avoid them? Do I even know what I am
doing in the office? Will guys around wake up and realise that I have been scamming them off a salary all this while? On the same note, why don't they realise how invaluable I am and just triple my Salo?

Okay, not all of these questions went through my mind today. But 4 minutes alone in the gents (funny how no one walks in when you are having such thoughts, they'd save you a whole lot of misery) is a long time.

Sitting at my comp now I can think of many more unnerving questions. Like - why does my boss/in-charge have to talk to me? Can't he sense that I don't like him? Why can't I just win all ongoing competitions - that Omo Rav-4 (is that still on?), that Benz from Tusker (I don't drink Tusker so I don't know how that would happen), a Safaricom Pick-up with the 50K to a charity of my choice (myself, very charitable cause), I'd pick up the phone and call some
Radio Station and win 100K or something (such weird sums). I think I already have a budget as to how I'd use the funds. Okay, not a budget, general idea.
Sell the cars, buy a house, forget about mortgaging, buy a 300K car, buy shares and double, triple, quadruple, quintuple, sextuple, septuple, octuple, nanotuple (somebody stop me!!!) the money.

Hey aJamaa!!! Is it true the women over in Kampara do crazy things like kneel when they serve you, and carry orders (food and drinks) on their backsides too (cause they is sooo biggg!!)? Guys here (at the office) were thinking of going to Uganda for our next team building ( a good year away from now). I am thinking there is just forests to be seen? Let me know.

I really have to stop writing now.

Doing an active thing

In my next life I want to be a carpenter, a mason, a weaver or a sculptor basically an active job where at the end of the day a jamaa can have something to show for his labour. My current job is composed mainly of two activities. Talking to people and typing. I talk to people who tell me many good stories and then sit and type those stories for someone else to read. I am sure the person who is supposed to read them doesn't really do it coz they would have died of boredom by now.

Unlike a mason who can pass outside a building he helped put up and feel some level of satisfaction from seeing the fruits of his labour, I never have anything to show at the end of a long day of talking and typing. Sure I have churned out a few documents, sent a few e-mails and spoken to a few people in the course of the day. But none of the stuff I do really matters, if it did it would be tangible or create something new.

New clothes for the emperor

On a couple of recent occassions out on the town, I looked around and realized that I'd forgotten how to approach women, or chat them up even. Not that I was ever profilic in this regard. I was indeed a member of the breezers club [I think floating was the vocabulary used where I came from], and even then would be literally lost for words in the company of attractive women.

Apart from providing the courage to approach someone, alcohol also generally provides one with lots of stuff to say. Killing 2 tricky birds with one stone. And I did experiment a little before realizing that some things aren't for everyone. I remember once in campus after a couple of drinks [pushkins] we headed off to box, and a number of chics' rooms. One in particular asked me sometime afterwards if I remembered what I'd been telling her that night. All I remember is that I was happy and she was laughing. Yes. In that order. I wish I could remember what I went on about. Probably the kind of stuff I could never come up with while sober. It's amazing what can happen when one is without inhibition. So, now that I'm sober and have been out of the game for quite a while, the only thing I can come up with is "can I buy you a drink?" And even in the scenarios where this is appropriate or gets a positive response, that's it. I'm done.

There's hope though. It's like riding a bike. The more you practise, the better you get. Well, I guess in that sense it's like a lot of other things. What a guy needs is to get back into the thick of things. Get Kamikaze to provide a few lines. Start on a clean slate. Not exactly sure where to start. Was it aJamaa who mentioned that in SA guys approach women even in supermarkets. It was probably someone else. Anyway, where there's a will, there's a number

Back to work

It's been more than a month since I was officially at work. I had that 'back to school' feeling yesterday evening. I'd never taken leave of more than 5 consecutive days. Kumbe maternity leave isn't that long. At some point the thought crossed my mind that I would come back to work and find that I'd been fired. [I'm paranoid like that] If you can do without a guy for a month plus, you probably don't need him. So far, I still have a job.

The break was good. Sketching was as much fun as it used to be. I would use the word doodling here but became wary when I tried to type that word in an sms and the first thing the dictionary [T9?] brought up caught me rather by surprise. Sure, fondling is probably a more common word than doodling [or is that only the case on my phone], but still. I'm still feeling a bit fatigued but at least this one is of a different kind. The kind you get from lazing around the whole day. There was a time when I could do nothing for months on end but I don't think I can do that anymore. As much as I sometimes complain about work, and mostly it's about the waking up before first light, it's actually good for me.

Eyes Wide Shut

I can't seem to keep my eyes open.
I woke up well rested, or so I thought. I am trying to stay awake by posting
something. Anything. Been a while too since I last posted, after a temporary
outburst from my previous silence.

Haven't heard from 0.5 either in a while, or am I not getting these posts in
my email? Which reminds me, someone must have used some pretty strong words
in a previous comment. Our mail marshal simply refused to let the message
get to my inbox. Tone it down or at least euphemise.

Anyways, I was reminded yesterday by Samborera, sorry, they call you Sam
nowadays, Mr. S. Oh I think they like you. As I was saying, I was reminded
that the blog has been in existence for over a year, almost getting to one
and a half years. I shall hasten to say that it is because of all your
efforts that this blog is still up and running, it would have died ages ago.
This goes more especially (not that everyone else didn't do anything) to the
effervescent Mr. S and one mercurial 0.5 (sorry guys, I don't know where
those words came from, they were just lying somewhere in my head -
effervescent? mercurial? Jeez.)

I must say, this is the longest anything I know has been going on. Most
things anyway. I've never held a job for more than a year, never had a
relationship (if I can call them that) for anything close to that. Okay,
there was one right after secondary school. I thought we had something, for
close to one year, only to find out that I was never THE guy, I was a side
dish. In my juvenile mind frame at that time, I up and ran, hurt, wounded
pride, vowing to never look at a woman/girl ever again. Such trying times
the teen years are. I have come to realise that being a side dish isn't all
that bad, as long as you make sure you have your own main dish - to push
that correlation to its limit. (That section is directly for all the ladies
reading this - I can be your side dish anytime.).

So, apart from my very existence, and life in primary school, seco, campus,
going close to one and a half months is a big deal. I don't mean to say that
this is MY blog, because, I don't post stuff to myself eh? Just mean, this
is the longest "relationship" I have been in, one that is still kicking,
thanks to all you happy bloggers out there.

Anyways, I think that's that for now. Have to get back to work. Should I get
sleepy again (all this reminiscing gets you thinking doesn't it?), I shall
try and post something more intelligent.

Something got to give

In the past I have made half-hearted attempts at reducing my drinking, motivated by excessive expenditure on alcohol or doing and saying really embarassing stuff while under the influence (only when I was closer to twenty than thirty). However, now I have a new motivation. My body and mind just cant take the punishment that comes with drinking anymore.

In the past two Fridays I have been out at pubs, enjoyed the company of some jamaas, drunk between 7-9 pynts (I loose count after the fourth beer) and gotten home at around 4 a.m. On 20th I attended a house party where I had a beer in my hand between 4 pm and 4 am. The aftermath of each of these drinking sprees has been horrendous. In each case I have spent the following Saturday lying on a couch trying to watch movies. All my past hangover cures have failed me - taking a cold shower, cold coke, panadols, lying really still and listening to my heart beat. The problem is aggravated by the fact that I have problems sleeping during the day. This past weekend was even worse, even after waking up at 11 am I still could not focus enough to read Supa strikas. Things were so thick that I could still feel the effects on Sunday.

It is not reasonable for me to waste a whole Sato because of spending a 5 - 8 hours at a pub on Friday night. Something has to give, and I have decided those 2 or 3 additional beers have to go. So the next time I am in a pub (pray it is not this Friday) I will make a fair attempt at taking no more than 5 beers.

A few weeks ago one of my workmates asked me a really hard question, "When is the last time you went more than a week without drinking?" After giving it a lot of thought I told him it was in March 2005. What I failed to mention was that I was at home with a broken leg at the time and the only reason I was not drinking was that I had finished my brandy the week before.

I put the same question to you, "When was the last time you went more than a week without a drink". Be honest.

Temporary Suspension of Disbelief

Just watched Hitch. Medieval ain't I? Well, I am not a movie going person. I prefer bootleg DVDs (sue me) so that I can pause...oh that was f###### hilarious...and listen again. Ladies and Gentlemen I went to the movies for the first time in my life this year. I digress.

Hitch is not exactly funny (funny means something like Analyze This), but it is not a bad movie either. The director or script writer had it canned...until Hitch started grovelling for affection from the smart ass woman. Now that just got me pissed. I can understand a guy trying very hard,..like buying flowers on a daily basis, expensive dinners. Jumping on of a moving car (and one which is being driven by a raving lunatic at that)?

That is stretching imagination too far. I am not saying that it is impossible, or it cannot happen. It can. May be has. I am sure the beautiful women can regale us with such tales; What I am trying to say is that normal, fairly decent guys don't pull such stunts. I guess it is placating to see a guy like Will Smith doing kamikaze (not the Kamikaze. Kamikaze does not err..dive on cars) dives on top of a moving car to impress a woman, regardless of whether it is a movie or not. There was a b**s**t term I read somewhere on the internet that aptly describes the phenomenon. It goes: Temporary Suspension of disbelief. That statement is probably not grammatically correct. I am not sure how temporary the suspension is.

There are so many women who conjure up images of ideal Prince Charmings based on screen personalities and the impossible things they do on said screens. Those guys are the creations of people with rich imagination, make up artists, science and psychedelic lights and psychoanalysts who try to feed us the impression of how desirable men and women should look, behave and be.

I should like to be a star someday for about a month, if such a thing was possible; and then I can be a complete brat. Girls hide unbelievable fantasies behind timid personalities and those comely eyes. Gentlemen, you will not believe it until you see it for yourself. Recently we had a function where some local celebs were performing...the guy jumps off stage right into the frenzied crowd. He works his way among the throng of people gyrating, pecking a cheek here, feeling a boob here, a fond backside rub here, a clawed butt spanking there. They curved like bows, thrust their chests forward and shrieked with glee. Another guy attempted to replicate that and almost had his eyes gouged out ala Kill Bill's Elle Driver style. The artiste reached a certain lady, who is known to be engaged and started twisting like a trapped coyote; She did not waste any time. She pounced on him like he was a fresh kill, slapping him with a full kiss: lips, tongue, all the teeth and part of her nose, raised her skirt hem and wrapped her legs around his waist. Whoa! Not even alcohol is that potent. Now if there is a time when a musician on stage should be grateful for that pre-recorded music they play (pretending they are perfoming live), this was such a time. It would have been a tad difficult to sing with a full grown woman strapped to his waist (and mouth).
All that was needed here was a lights out.

Of course there was a whole lot of blushing after the tide of emotions subsided. Poor alchohol, probably once again blamed for the ills in people's heads.

They say who is the cutest celeb guy in Nairobi? Your chic would shag him without blinking if given half a chance. Such rich blessing.