Wednesday, January 31, 2007

squaaab ....

Yesterday as we were having a drink at Zeep, some thin girl shouted to some guy with quite some passion: So what if I am a lesbian?
There was a uniform turning of heads, jaws dropping. Talk of catapulting out of the closet!

The Usual Suspects
Jungle Fever
Benicio Del Toro is in the first and last. Excellent actor.

She is nicknamed Cute2 (or squaaaaab...lately) and she is crazy. Showed up at my favorite haunt (twice) and pulled a scene. So we are not talking, or rather I am not talking. She calls yesterday and starts crying over the phone. Yet she is not my girlfriend and has never been.
She is a seer, in case I forgot to mention. In our earlier discussions, before anything could take shape, she started mumbling something about me and her twenty years down the line. I firmly commanded the guard to stand down. No fcukgin combat this season. Resources would be better utilized in an immediate and speedy getaway. It is mighty exhausting to be relentlessly pursued by a chic.

Er wait...she has just sent an SMS. Please check your email. Hold on...going to read..

Ok that cannot be posted here. Moving on ...
Err what the f*k? It is Wednesday. I am in high spirits. Pewa e-mail


sometimes you make me sound lyke an unlearned chap!!!!!!!!! which i feel not fit for a lady lyke me. i have my own pride bt wen it comes to you its like the pride is fichwad kidogo, am always maself thats why wen u tell me i ringa i just wonder coz there r those idiots i ringa to with a good rsn.

nywayz #name deleted#, me too i have time to sort out my issues, am not ready to rush into things. Am growing old day by day so i have a lot to do. dont think that am idle pls. i have to get myself a good job en a better life with no regrets. i have to be financially stable by my own, en all av got to be focused. u might think am a hustler bt ur damn wrong. Wen i tell u abt being together doesnt mean we b fuking, being behind each others back all the time or concentrating on useless love issues which cannot benefit in life. its all abt being close friends.

sometimes i feel irritated when i go out en guys are flocking all over me with their nonsensical issues, i usualy put them off coz am principled, i dont go out smiling with every tom, dick and harry. Only to know there's smone who can help me out of this #net proxy will not allow# en he's not thea for me( i think thats wy am ever threatened by chicks for no good rsns) i wish we could be goung out en haveing fun together with no tight strings attached this could at least help me get out of this #again#.

so u have ur own issues, i have mine ten times yours which am not sure of so am just trying my best.

the last thing coz i can write a booklet on this, is that av been hurt by guys so am not ready to try another man. i better be myself for once with good friends only. am already relaxed so dont worry. wen i invited you for coffee i didnt mean to question you on anything, just wanted to have a life chat with you. nyways am waiting for your offer coz u refused mine.
i greatly blame myself for all this, i wish days could go back en come that time ................

//End of mail.

To answer the lingering question: No, not done it with her. Too scary.

4:27 PM.

I have hit that developer spell where productivity is zero and the only remedy is a black out caused by drink followed by a long convalescence period or a paid holiday with a trip to the coast.

NSFW. Again

I don't know if I'm the only one who gets rather wary and apprehensive about opening emails [forwards. They're always forwards] from certain people.

It's lunch hour and I decide to check my mail. I know I have none [but perhaps some about viagra, enlarging some thing or other, or a hot piece of stock] but check anyway. I see her name in the inbox and immediately start looking around me. Instinctively. Odds are that forwards is Not Safe For Work. I have had to delete quite a number of emails [are forwards emails?] without even opening them, for lack of an opportune time to make an attempt at opening them.

Back in the day when we were in campus and had just discovered the joys of the Internet [and porn], this wouldn't be too bad. I'm reminded of a guy who even sent a certain image to the printer. Legendary stuff. Now, this is just a source of a lot of squirming, repositioning of monitors, incredibly fast clicking and scrolling. Who knew reading emails can be so tiring.


Women in skirts are hot. Older women in skirts are like super hot. [I think I need help]

I'm not one of those guys who go on about how disastrous it is that Kenyan [Nairobian?] women prefer to wear [tight] jeans. Apparently as opposed to their Ugandan counterparts. What hypocrisy. I do like [I was going to use the word enjoy but that would make me sound like a pervert] seeing chics in those tight things they wear. I've heard the term hipster being used but I've never been sure what exactly that refers to. I figure it's some sort of generic term for 'tight-fitting trouser'. And I have no clue how they get into those jeans. Or how come their legs don't go numb for lack of blood flowing to them. Add to that those tops purchased from baby-clothes shops, and you have a pretty striking outfit.

There was this one chic in campus. She used to wear skirts all the time. All the times I saw her at least. aJamaa may remember her. She was a medic. I could mention more stuff here to jog your memory but I'll save the R rated stuff for a tete-a-tete. Anyway. There was something rather attractive about her is all I'm saying.

Women look attractive in most anything they wear. But. Man. Damn. This is too much.

Monday, January 29, 2007


This might as well be my favorite subject, I have done 10+ posts on it (or something similar).

Last December, there was a roaring debate in the press about lack of suitable husbands. Women took the well known position about being assertive, responsibility, careers, higher expectations and equal chances. Today on radio, some presenter asked why young men are going for older women.

The answer is simple. In the early years, for men, the motivation to marry was fueled by the desire to get laid. Nowadays, women are dropping pants at very little encouragement.
You can get it. Too fckuing easily!!! Without having to marry anybody.
You don't need to maintain a tight relationship either. All you need is a number. Call for drinks, and she is happy to screw you and probably some other guys too. Who cares if she is screw**g some other guy?
Is this a great country or what? I love this liberation/independence shi*!

There are no immoral people. Just free people.

The detestable age of 30 is nigh and people start feeling they need some purpose in their life. Mothers are constantly nagging: When am I getting my grandson? Another profile is needed and a person who looks like s/he has some substance is now sought. You know, someone who does not seem like he is sticking his golf stick in any agreeable hole; or someone who has not hosted so much traffic she could as well be Waiyaki way.

Loneliness starts creeping in. The elixir of youth starts to slip away and use of dangerous chemicals increases tremendously in an attempt to arrest said decline. Upper echelon managers (about to retire) with a rolling gait and a seemingly retarded manner are the only ones hitting on you because you look like a mature, albeit younger version of their wife.

Men are lucky in two respects.
i) They are logical (not necessarily wise). A guy knows this: Accumulate enough millions and you can have anyone. Well, almost.
ii) Most women, including some of the most educated ones, still think they need a husband to validate their lives.

All this chest-thumping and shouting on top of roofs about not needing the other sex dies when someone goes home in the evening; opens the door to an empty living room; a cold bed; you cannot f**k or kiss your career. Here me are some designs for client that I did not finish....oooh designs ...babe. #@#@#@##$!!!
If you can get laid, well and good. What if you can't?

@ Crossroads. Age on one hand and desire for a calm and settled life on the other. The handsomes and the beautifuls have passed you by as they made their choices. Where is Richard? Does not look too bad now does he? His fridge was always fully stocked. He had even bought flood insurance for his house! The free spending, lucky-go-free guy opens dusty notebooks in attempt to retrieve numbers belonging to girlfriends of a painful past (for them, not him). The beautiful girl he was seeing whom he wanted to marry, simply thought he was just a good f**k. A rich man with a fleet of limousines and bungalows needed a trophy wife to match his image and proposed. She did not even blink.

One Kamikaze will not need the cloning biology professor. I am kinda of disappointed. I wanted to see what gymnastics the man would have pulled.

cost of cowardice

Guys are getting mad. They should avoid soaps.
There's this guy George. He's preparing for to propose-venue: at the chics pal. he buys most expensive wines and beers, he's funding the party -actually more than i make in a month and a half gross in over-sugared cakes and ice cream from the Caribbean. Perfect evening party. We should come along with friends. One guy arrives in a convoy of blokes waiting for the beers to start popping. The house is deeply congested. How will this man say what he wants? Where will he kneel?
I am told he'd bought a ring from Japan and is hiding it. The cost- i shall avoid in this forum. he's supposed to surprise this unsuspecting chic-the would be wife.
I am scared!, he tells the host. The host tries to instill confidence to this confused.She (the host) calls for a minute silence 4 George to say something-break the news to the party and awe the chic. He freaks out, thanks everyone 4 attending and says nothing more. Since i had the hint from the host, am waiting for the guy to kneel in a worship like style and pour out his folly. Since he'd spent so much, even if it sucks- just say it!
This guy has butterflies in the stomach. He says nothing. "Ng'ombe!" am thinking. Ok, let's make things clear- I personally do not believe in this whole confusion called "will you ***** me? But there gets a time in the life of a male when he decides he's spent too much. Call it off or cross off.
I need to arrange another dinner may be invite only 10 visitor and say my magic. Now where does he need to import the glasses. It's cheaper doing the thing in Grand Regency.
Cowardice is too costly.

RV fever: why kip won't stop taking his meat

I am not taking meat this month. But not my friend kip. This guys has funny reasoning.
He asks me, if you were to get HIV, would you rather get it through blood transfusion or through having sex?
Similarly, it's more acceptable to have rift valley fever from meat than to get bitten by a mosqo. A case of Damned of you do, damned if you don't, damned all round.

Riddle me this

Is what Jim Carrey playing the Riddler in the Batman Forevers inspires me to ask.

Riddle me this,

What song will a DJ play before or after 'What u know about that?'

Well if u are in Tropez, Veranda or Tamasha the answer is, 'They see me rollin'

Predictability is a generally a good thing, when I go to an ATM I expect the machine to behave in a predictable manner, when I am on the road I expect other road users to act consistently e.g. stop when the lights turn red.

However, on a Sato or Friday night when I am having a pynt and checkin the yunguns (how did I get myself into this sorry state where all I can do is watch?) walk past I do not want a predictable DJ.

But that is just me.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

How many fingers am I holding up?


5.50pm. I bound out of the office. Nuts!! Crazy traffic jam. 0.5 is well on his way there. This is odd. I'm usually there before him, but hey, its all good. Can't hold thirst against a guy can you? One of the resident doctors is like on his 3rd pint or something. Calling every ten minutes. Slowly but resolutely I wend my way tropezwards.

I check in. Its always great to be here. I get 0.5 and Doc in spirited discussions. I can't talk now. Get me some of that Pure Gold - very cold. That just makes me want to go back right now.

Anyways, I had tried to set up a date with Ms. Hooters. Once again, she is not very good at communicating. Remember 20yr old? Anyone? Yes, well, we have had this thing for a while. The thing is where I ignore her, she
doesn't like being ignored, she tells me about it, then we pull a one month stint, I ignore her again get the picture. So this week she has been on about us resolving certain issues. The said issues are for another
post. So being the nice guy that I am, I agree to let her meddle in my Friday drink up with the boys by showing up. So there I am hoping Hooters calls. Hoping 20yr old doesn't show up. On the other hand I am not feeling Hooters at the moment. Just cause I'm sprung doesn't mean she can't let me
know if we are still on or not. On that note I figured, ah well, 20yr old might as well show up.

20yr old shows up. Intros are made and we try not to ignore her. Ah, here comes Mr. S. Hey Sam, this is 20yr old. Hey 20yr old, heard alot about you. Herculean efforts are made to tone down our conversations. Ok, we try and stop the Doc from saying things he should only say to us, wait no, he should never say to anyone. Anyways, we get lucky some times, others we are too late and he says something that makes me want to drag him to his car, throw him in, put the car in gear and watch him crash into Nation Centre.
Whaddayanow. aJamaa checks in. More intros. This isn't so bad. I could live with this.

20yr old says she is in no rush to go home. I'm liking the idea. My phone rings. Hey! Its Hooters flashing me. I show 0.5 the missed call, all smiles. See that! Yeah dude! I just got flashed by Hooters! I forget 20yr old is right next to me, studying me like first year in campus. I
almost knock people over running out to call the airtimeless lady (at times I think they really can't be bothered to use their airtime on some of us, but what can you do eh?). Hey you! Whassup? Where are you? Tropez is the
reply. You? On my way to Tropez. Good good. But. But what, I say? My boyfriend is there. I know that, is my reply. So she says if she comes over to Tropez we can't hang out. I'm like, thats ok, just come through, so's I can see you. Then she tries to pimp me out to her cousins (remember them?). Her idea, I think, is that since she will be with her boyfriend, her cousins can mooch alcohol off of us. I explain that I am actually with someone myself, so not today (was that where it all went wrong?). I try and set up
another date, but she isn't very enthusiastic. She says SHE will call
me, to let me know. Like that will happen (crossing my fingers). So I go back in, and whisper the events so far to 0.5.

20yr old asks for my phone. Alarm bells should have sounded in my head. But in my inebriated state all I heard was a muffled clang. So I pull out my phone and hurriedly delete my inbox and outbox. She says she wants to sms her buddy to
come over. I say the more the merrier. (Pause...Freeze this frame - Kamikaze handing his phone to someone who has severally asked , this week alone, who the other woman is.
He has only deleted the inbox and outbox. There are 3 other traps just waiting to snag him, but is he thinking of that? No. He is thinking of Hooters. Unfreeze). She takes the phone and acts like she is smsing. I don't notice, busy vibing with the boys. I get my phone back. I check outbox,
nothing. Ah well, she must have deleted whatever it was she sent to her buddy. Ten minutes later she says she wants to go home. I am confused. I thought you were ok, not in a rush to go home, and by the way, your buddy is coming right? No she isn't. I didn't sms her. Then it hits me. I am
scrambling now. Check draft messages - Yes, there it is. Snug as a bug. A message meant for Hooters. Which I didn't send because 0.5 convinced me to just call her. Missed calls - Hooters. Dialled Numbers - Hooters. I stay calm and look nonplussed. Needless to say, things just go south from here on. She adamantly wants to go home. I concede defeat and escort her towards her mat. Words are exchanged. That's that then I guess. Been nice knowing you.

So at this point Project Hooters isn't looking so good. 20yr old is off the screen. Sam help me count man. Ah yes, Sam's friend who became my friend isn't feeling me that much now. It has something to do with a message meant
for Hooters that ended up in her inbox. Yes, Hooters again. Aaarrghhh!!! Why did I even look at her? All for nothing. She has cost me two ladies. What am I left with? Nothing!!! That's how many fingers I am holding up.

That's how Friday ended. Me slinking away, left 0.5 cuddling some woman, Mr. S wearing out his dancing shoes, the Doc gone home, aJamaa too. All alone. I
am all alone. Now I am holding one finger up, to Hooters!

Thursday, January 25, 2007

All In The Figures

This post is simply to make clear to Sam previously foggy issues. Mr. S is
not able to count, on the other hand, not many people can count.

Last Wednesday (not yesterday)....Tropez.

The usual. Drinking. We spot some 16 year old (I'm sure she'd say she is in
campus - don't know if 0.5 asked) dancing close by. Pretty girl by the way.
It was already the bewitching hour so I might be off insisting she was
pretty. Anyways, the same dude from before - the one who was talking to
hooters in a previous post, is throwing come-hither eyes at 16yr old. 16yr
old has a buddy. Not quite as pretty but female anyway. Lets call this one
ShortHair. ShortHair is having none of the come-hither behaviour, so she is
running interference. I think I'll just call the guy ComeHither. ComeHither
calls me over and explains his dilemma. ShortHair won't give the guy any
room to make moves on 16yr old. I assure him I will do my best. ShortHair
makes for the washroom, I stop her for the briefest moment. Women will say
anything when they are pressed so she agrees to pass by our table when she
comes back.

Meanwhile, right behind our table, there are two women. One tall lady with
dreadlocks. I am tempted to say Big woman. Lets call this one BigDread. I
had not noticed BigDread, she was directly behind me, but next to her, more
in my line of vision - I had to turn round to see them - is her sister
(that's what they said). So, I'm feeling lucky at the moment and try to get
a number. Just before I hand SisterDread - who doesn't have dreads and looks
much better than BigDread - my phone, my hand was actually stretched out,
BigDread declares that she knows me and just to prove her point she mentions
names of relatives. Mojo out the window. Phone tucked back into my pocket.
We get to talking.

ShortHair comes back. She sits down. Wants liquor. Alcohol is ordered.
ComeHither doesn't do a thing about 16yr old so she comes over with
ShortHair. Now I am trying to talk to 2 women at the same time. 0.5 is busy
with 16yr old. BigDread is going on and on like I am a long lost friend.
ShortHair just wants to drink and dance. At some point I forget ShortHair.
0.5 told me he and 16yr old were not getting along. Something about her
attitude. One thing led to another, ShortHair and 16yr old left in a huff. I
think BigDread was pleased.

At the same time Hooters was around. I had already gotten her number, so
every time she passed our table we would share a smile, as she headed back
to her boyfriend. You remember Hooters don't you? Flat belly and...Hooters!

So Mr. S. Are we okay now? 3 women.

Is it something I said?

This is the first Thursday in forever that I have gotten to work on time. In
a long while. There is something about the traffic jams on Thursday
mornings. Its much the same way that there are no traffic jams on Friday
morning. At least where I come from. You just glide to the office. Getting
late to the office on Thursday may also have something to do with Wednesday
night at Tropez. Something about an audience makes me freak out on details.
Quite soon someone will go like "Dude! That was you?!" Shove it.

Anyways, Wednesday night at Tropez is Karaoke night. Ages ago I used to do
my bit and impress the ladies with my smooth baritone, belting out timeless
classics. Nowadays, I just stick to what I know best. Guzzle liquor.

So, Wednesday night, as usual, I check into Tropez. 0.5 is on his way, still
trying to sneak out of the office. Its 6.30 and I'm raring to go. I order my
liquor and get to the task at hand. At the back of my mind is the fact that
I am actually supposed to be on a date by 7. Okay, any time from 7. Women
just simply cannot be on time, it is fashionable I am told. I have many
other words for it. The reason I am not settled is because the lady hasn't
actually confirmed the date. Mr. S calls me cynical but I figure that the
only reason a lady doesn't confirm the date until the last minute is because
she is hoping something better comes up. Or waiting for confirmation from
something better. Lets take a step back.

Previous Wednesday. 0.5 and I, already seeing things. You know the way
people look much better 7 drinks later. No no no. This one was real - I
think. At least the hooters were real. There she stood infront of us. She
was talking to some guy I know. Flat belly (do you have any Idea how hard it
is to see a flat belly nowadays?). Straight back. She was in a skirt that
day. I never forget a woman in a skirt. I think it was something plaid.
Whatever it was, we were happy folks right there 0.5 and I. A lady in a
skirt. Nice legs. Flat belly, straight back, and very nice behind. But the
hooters. Thats what caught my eye first (don't know what other dudes think,
but I'd rather she has great hooters than a rear). This one had it all. So
you understand why I was frantically gesturing at my buddy for an intro. He
wasn't really enthusiastic, and who can blame the guy? Anyways, something
happened (don't know what really - I think my mind was on something(s?)
else) and she was standing at our table. 0.5 did his voodoo talk and she sat
down. Nice. Nice. So far so good. We pooled resources and got her firmly
rooted to our table. A drink was ordered. After it arrived she mentioned she
was here with her boyfriend. What? Where is he? Right there she points. Ah
well. Its all good. If he is ok, so are we lady. Numbers were requested and
received. At some point her buddy - not the boyfriend - shows up and drags
her back to their table. Understandable. We went home happy.

Friday night. Such a vision. She was there again. This time she didn't sit
at our table, she still had the aforementioned boyfriend and they had not
broken up by the time we were leaving - I asked her if they had, every time
she passed our table. Broken up? No. And now? No. Now? Not yet. You'll let
me know won't you? You'll be the first to know. Awesome!

Saturday. I see the buddy. The one who dragged her back to the jamaa. I ask
where the object of my desire was and she replies that she is on her way.
The club gets brighter. Is she coming alone? Affirmative. No boyfriend? Not
today was the reply. I am told I have an evil laughter. I tried it out. Was
almost convinced myself. I try to calm down and wait for the lady to show
up, which she does. I mean, just seating next to her is enough for me. So we
talked, had a few drinks and set a date for Wednesday - yesterday.

So there I am, waiting for the fine lady, trying to stay calm because I am
not yet high. Every other time I have met her, my senses were numb, no
inhibitions. So I was abit nervous. Time goes by. 0.5 checks in. I'm still
trying to stay calm. She is late. Ok, she hasn't even confirmed. More
drinks. Sms comes in. She is on her way, at which point I figure someone
else stood her up (the boyfriend? - come to think of it, on Saturday she was
saying something about how the jamaa doesn't treat her right. And I remember
being impressed by how well I hid the glee from my voice - once again - An
ode to Black Ice: man's best friend - she just felt the need to share that
information with me. Very sly lady. So I start getting sweaty but she takes
her time making it there. By the time she arrives I am set. Well on my way
towards cloud ninety nine. There wasn't much that went on actually. Just
that 0.5, some other dude we were with and myself were surrounded by about 4
fine ladies. She came with her buddy, and was later joined by her cousins
(could it have been a setup to relieve me of my hard earned cash in the form
of liquor buying? - Maybe, but girls just want to have fun don't they?).
There we were gawking at a Black Ice laced lady with an awesome body
gyrating to grinding music. That there was the reason I got up in the
morning. An even more beautiful sight was all four of them in some sort of
freaky foursome dance. I love this game.

Then...something was said or done, or not said or not done. Confusing? It
was. Don't know if it was a ploy to leave the club, but suddenly she was up
and leaving, joined hastily by her buddy and cousins. I rush out trying to
figure out what happened. She says something about me not trusting her. I
can't really tell what we had been talking about but I can bet nothing about
trust came up. Ok. I have no clue what happened. So I pulled out my ace
card. I begged. She left anyway. Then I smsed and called and nagged like a
girl. She said she had forgiven me. I was tremendously relieved although I
think she just wanted to go back to sleep, not that I knew what I was being
forgiven for. And that was my date. I am hoping for seconds. Beat me up some
more Ms. Hooters.

Man In Black

The guy who decided that guys have to wear a coat and tie, to go to work or for them to be taken seriously or whatever... Ok. I'm not a violent person but that guy messed up.

I've never been big on impressions but the real world has it's own realities. Never mind the fact that guys have their coats hanging off some sort of furniture most of the time they're actually working. Only to put them on when they have to go for a meeting or something. And it's not like they're very colourful. I always get amused when I see world leaders gathered for a photo session at some event or other. It's like they agree before hand who will wear which colour tie. So that they can be differentiated in the grey mass that they form. Unless you're James Brown, or a P.I.M.P, there are some things you can't get away with.

Women on the other hand have much more room to manoeuvre. A lot more to work with. And aren't they wonderful. It's amazing how an outfit can put a smile on a guy's face. Just like that. And make it stay on there all day.

Shopping for a suit is weird. You have to go to certain places. The kind of places which never seem to have any customers, and which I used to pass by like the Passover was nigh [and they didn't have blood on their doorpost]. Like the guys in there were lepers, not to be approached, at any costs.

Now a guy has to visit these colonies and talk to those guys who look at you strange. I have to learn new sizes and measurements. And only plain, black, would do. No stripes, or brown, or whatever. Ati for variety. No. I can see a situation where I wouldn't be able to differentiate between one outfit and the next. Perhaps except for those strange Italians' names [I'm assuming they are Italian], or similarly weird coat linings. Which wouldn't be such a bad thing seeing as you can get away with putting on the same clad all week without anyone making a mention or note of it.

There's a chic who was telling me she'd give anything to see me in a suit. Apprently it's a turn-on of some sort. Or is like money. Makes you look that much more appealing.

I've been postponing and procrastinating about adding to my wardrobe [and I last did not too long ago] but I'll have to just close my eyes, bite my lip, and get on with it.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

wordless world-quote

In Life*, there are many hundreds of common experiences, feelings, situations and even objects which we all know and recognize, but for which no words exist.
On the other hand, the world is littererd with thousands of spare words which spend their time doing nothing but loafing about on signposts pointing at places.
Our job, as wee see it, is to get these words dow off the signposts and into the mouths of babes and sucklings and so on, where they can start earning their keep in everyday conversation and make a more positive contribution to society.

Douglas Adams
John Lloyd

Baby boomers?

It's mid January. By 6.30pm, finding seats in a pub is tricky. This is when it pays to know the bouncers, and waiters.

1am and there are still loads of people up and about. How. This is meant to be the tightest month as far as finances are concerned. But nooo. People must drink.

Apparently they don't have textbooks to buy and school fees to pay. Yet. They're keeping the economy moving though, so it's all good. [I think I'm talking about babies too much. I'll stop]

Fear of the Gift season

I met a genetically modified chic a few months ago. Classy i should say. Lately I had began to get worried. She’d mentioned some expensive gifts she saw in town deep into our free time. Why dioes this subject have to come up? Am getting into trouble I thought- since I didn’t know where that came from. Now that Vals is near, and my entertainment budget is getting constrained I had to figure out a way of temporarily parting ways till after that gift season. I generally consider valentine as expensive as wedding ceremony except for the absence page boys and parents.

Then the perfect opportunity at a date. Some other chic calls, she starts toying around with words. I try to ignore but shes not getting off, am trying not to burn bridges. I actually move out to pick to continue. Coming back, Am in trouble. Who was that? “Another funny couso of mine, we were talking home issues. Don’t tell me you are feeling threatened”. Relaaax. Slowly gathering courage. I can see the deliberate sadness settle on her face, my consolation not taken, actually it heightened the suspiscion . Totally uneasy, she asks for more coffee. We talk for some 5 minutes. Am I fat? She asks. Am Quick to reply: compared to what? Fumes, tantrums and I have to go. Some bitter sms. Heheheee, Am a genius, am telling myself. I get a chance to get home and wow.

The next day I get an sms “I have forgiven you, si we meet?”. 4 days and I haven’t replied the message. Am not talking. Till after vals. I’ll accept the aplology. Date 15th Feb.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Ten years of itchy feet

The end of 2006 marked my ten year anniversary of pynting, pubbing and clubbing. Although the intensity of my drinking has decreased in the last 2 years, the frequency has remained at around once a week. This trend troubles me especially since I do not derive as much pleasure as I used to. And the price I have to pay for a late Sato night is getting higher and higher. It started off with a wasted Sunday morning, extended to the whole of Sunday and may soon get to Monday.

The thought of fretting about the fact that I have been pynting for 20 years 10 years down the road does not sit well with me. But I dont see myself stopping in the near future mainly because I cant find something else to do with my Saturday evenings. Now that I am back at school my Friday evenings are sorted. When I try to stay at home on Sato's with a good movie, book and even a drink I end up suffering a serious bout of itchy feet by 7 pm and have to take them out for a walk.

aJamaa ameoa?

Things must be getting really thick.

At some point on sato, I was talking with my mum. The conversation got to how we were all getting old. I have a sis who turned almost-40 on Friday. Enyewe when you start reminiscing with your folks, making references to "these days" [as opposed to those ones], things are thick.

Then, out of the blue, she asks. "aJamaa ameoa?". For some reason, I didn't laugh at this query, and another mention of marriage. Probably because aJamaa is the most eligible bachelor I know. This is worrying stuff though.

First, hints were made about getting kids. Then, more recently, I was being told how I should bring someone home. And I didn't burst out laughing that time either. It's not even funny anymore.

You know, 0.5, perhaps it is breakfast time.

Second chances

So I saw black-top at some point on sato evening. Truth be told, I was hoping I'd run into her at some point in the night. She came in alone, and headed off to somer corner. [I wasn't standing at the entrance, looking out for her] I was standing near the entrance, looking around. Watching the goings on with amusement and bemusement.

At some point aJamaa expressed some concern for me, suggesting I should use the line "Hi. I'm Sam" to get me some action. I don't think I've used that one in person, but it was better than anything I could come up with. I've forgotten how to vibe women for sure, and I stopped taking mind altering substances that would otherwise have given me more lines than I would know what to do with.

All the while I fought the urge to search out the one person who I wouldn't need a line for. At some point our eyes met, or rather she noticed me looking at her, and she came over to where I was. A good sign if there ever was one. I wasn't sure this is the outcome I wanted though. I either had to ask for her number. Again. Or endure the agony of wanting to talk to her later and not being able to. She gave me her number. Again. After I held her still [she literally bolted when I told her the fate her number had suffered previously. I'm a poor liar] and begged like a baby. Another encouraging sign.

Later in the night, as I was talking to another friend [female], black-top, in a red top, walked by. She was with white-top, in a black top. [If you think this is confusing, you should hear Kamikaze's tale involving what he claims were 3 women. They were like 5] Darting a chic and her friend can be frustrating. Why are they always together. It just hit me that some chic probably asks the same thing about the Introverts. So I join them but red-top [I either have to find a proper name for her, or not mention her here again] again wants to bolt, seeing as I was talking to another chic. I plead my innocence once more [read beg]. We dance in silence. It's not the last encouraging sign of the night...

Friday, January 19, 2007

Friday. IT IS FRIDAY!!!!!!

She SMSd. Can I see you today?

With this one I can afford to be honest. No.

After a week of close to 90 hours (counting last sato and sunday) I want to
1: Drink a lot of alcohol.
2. Bob my head to loud old school rap
3. Not have to explain why I have become so lost, or won't return flashes
4. Not have to tax my head thinking lines to tell her.
5. Buy a packet of cigarettes and leave the pub without that packet.
6. Admire all those beautiful and lovely ladies.
6. Reach out and tell one such lady: Hi Beautiful, have a seat.
7. Smile my usual smile if she doesn't
8. Smile my usual smile if she does.

Another day lady, if you are reading. Not today.

Now, to all those lucky bast8ds who are seeing more than one woman, I know a biology professor who can produce a breathing copy of you for the impending doom that is February 14. Some people are already wearing long faces, scheming and contemplating.
Lose a phone and migrate temporarily to Sudan, develop chronic diarrhoea! Put talcum powder in your eyes and proclaim you contracted alhzeimer's from a wheezing old man in the bus ....he he I am enjoying this.

of power, religion and hidden parts

Sato night I couldn’t find sleep deep into the night. As I scroll through the radio frequencies, there’s this vernacular station. A story in the offing. Some extrac from the OB (Occurrence book) at kamukunji police station.

Some street preacher gets 4 barren women to pray for and takes them to his office. One by one they queue. One woman narrates.

He started by applying oil over the breasts, to bless where the kid would suck once begotten. Then he has to apply, by means easily descibed as a massage, over the belly- Apparently to bless the womb.

Eventually he has to bless the where the baby would come through. The woman strips in faith (you of little faith!), and the would be healer applies oil over the passage doors in a caring way, wow!. Then the killer-the idea was to bless the passage, we need to push this annoiting. The only available method is his d**k. He enjoys the ride and NEXT! he calls .

May be Ndeya got miracle babies in similar ways- no wonder some have not found their parents upto date.

In the light of such events, I don’t know the power of frustration, naivety and creativity from unsuspecting quarters.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

A shrink or a chic

Which one do I need.

I have mentioned before how I often purge my phonebook, for no other reason than protecting me from myself. I have manic-depressive tendencies and sometimes get overwhelmed by rather strong urges. Now when this happens, I invariably turn to my phone, in an attempt to quell the demons.

I have a number of categories of chics in my phonebook. Family and relatives [cousins aren't classified here]. Well, these aren't relevant for this discussion. Those who I can flirt with and those who I can't. That's all. Most of the times I delete numbers, it's to protect those in the second category from me. And as a consequence protect myself as well.

Case in point. There's this lady I got to know some time back. [she actually got a baby boy this past Sunday] One Friday evening as I was making my way home, I got hit by a bout of mania. I was going to give her a call when I realized I didn't have her number. I remember laughing to [at] myself because whatever it was I was going to tell her would probably not have been an appropriate thing to tell a married woman.

Then there are these moments when I just crave talking to someone. These moments always seem to come on those cold nights. Late nights. I always put a disclaimer a la "I hope this doesn't wake you ..." but his kind of thing isn't fair if the other party is a non-galfriend or, well, just a friend.

Perhaps what I need is to be talking to a shrink during these difficult times. Just to have a chat and whatnot. Besides. He said I could call him anytime.

Being stood up [circa 2006]

Part I: Strangers in the night

It was some time during the christmas/end year holidays. That period is a bit hazy for me seeing as I was working almost literally day and night.

On one of the said nights, I must have left the office and headed off to meet Kamikaze. Tired like a dog [0.5 knows what I'm talking about] but still determined to see what the rest of the world was up to. Went to the club at some point. Too tired to dance so I sat and contemplated. I have to be back in the office kesho 6am. It's now 3am. I'm feeling terrible. I stagger towards the entrance to leave. There's 2 chics in my way. I stop and attempt to circumvent the pair. Apparently I wasn't fast enough because one of the chics [white top] starts to dance with me. I am really tired and we're on the way. She senses my lack of enthusiasm and backs off. Just then the DJ puts on a song I like and I jump onto the floor. One song. As I'm doing my thing, singing and dancing my sorrows away, I'm joined by white-top's friend. Black-top. [I really need to expand my vocabulary, or pay more attention to things other than the top a chic is wearing] This feels more right so we get into it. A couple of songs go by then she's tagged away by white-top. Ati they go home. We shrug her off but it hits me that I may collapse right there. I apologise for having to leave and this time I make it outside.

As I'm haggling with the cab driver [I'm a terrible haggler], the 2 chics appear next to me. I'm ready to get into the cab when white-top asks if they can hitch a ride with me, to Tropez. I'm reluctant and look to the cab driver. All he wants is some additional cash. White-top is already in the back. Black-top has met some guy, or some guy has met her. She's giving him her email address but he's either high or slow cause she keeps repeating it. At some point it stopped being funny and I turned to express the frustration the rest of us in the cab were feeling.

We finally get to their destination and they're dropping off. I'm not sure what happened but I must have asked for her email address. Probably a joke, or something to do with the slow guy. She offers her number instead. I wasn't expecting that.

Part II: So many tears

Over the coming days, we talk. She's off work till some time in Jan. I'm working through the holidays. On the last sato of the year, I go off to tao to catch the latest Bond movie before it disappears from the cinemas, never to be seen again. What happened to "Fifth great week". A friend, who's now Kamikaze's friend, asks if I'd like company. Why not. I don't really enjoy the movie. Perhaps it's that Daniel Craig guy. I just don't like the guy.

We chuck from the movie to be greeted by rain. I try to persuade her to wait out the rain somewhere. Nothing doing. She produces an umbrella. Images of Inspector Gadget come to mind. I have no idea where that came from. So she heads home and I check into the nearest pub. I sip my fanta as I watch the rain. This is depressing stuff. I look to my phone for solace and call up black-top. [For the record, I actually remember her name, unlike the case with certain forks and a certain "wednesday"]

As a matter of fact she's coming into town on her way to some other place so I should wait for her. I do. One hour. And a half. I consoled myself that it was raining and I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. Everyone has a breaking point though and I got to mine two hours down the road. Sent her a text. "I'm leaving in 5 mins ... perhaps another time". 5 mins later, no response. I delete her number and walk into the rain.

Didn't think I'd hear from her again let alone bump into her two weeks later.

Number Two

There is a Nelly song (Nelly? That dude with an elastoplast on his face,
somewhere under an eye I think), that goes like " one, two is
not a winner and three nobody remembers". That song has basically nothing to
do with this post. I am still not fully awake so, I'm just going with the

Number 2.

Two year olds.
You want to murder the kids, but they are just so cute. And they act cute.
They go into places you tell them severally not to. But do they listen? No!
They are only two years old, so they are not listening. I mean, these little
devils can already walk. So you had better be keeping an eye on them
constantly, or use the ping method. Call out their name every 5 minutes so
that you can tell where they are. Once it goes silent, you know there is
some sh1t going down. You find them in a hurry. Something about two year
olds. I think once they get to 3 years, they figure they've messed with your
mind enough to last them another six years or so, when they get to standard

Standard Twos.
You are not a standard one any more. You rule the damn school. You really
don't give a hoot what the teacher is saying. In standard one you were some
whimpering tot, scared of anyone who is not your mom or dad. By standard
two, you have gotten used to it all. Formed everlasting bonds with three
other of satan's spawn. You never walk, you run. You are a WRC car, with the
sound bites to go with it. You define tantrum to a T. You treat women (okay
teeny weenie girls) like they are supposed to be treated - punch and box
them, trip them up and stuff. You do everything. Climb trees, swim in mud,
check into the house after dark like your old man. Get spanked silly and
just do it again the next day. Soccer is already your life. You play any
chance you get. Standard two is one great ride. A turning point in your
life. You are master of the universe! Okay, a small universe. Until you get

Form Two!
After a year of being harassed, fetching darkness in a bucket and storing it
for morning, swimming on grass (front crawl and backstroke). Living the
definition of boot camp - you hear anything like get down and give me ten,
in a heartbeat, you snap off ten push ups, so quick the dude has to ask for
more, and more, and more...You couldn't wait to run home every chance you
got. But that was last year. Not in form two. Once again you are master of
the universe. A much larger universe. This is when everything falls into
place. You start drinking and smoking. You lose your virginity. You become a
master of disguise - the best place to hide is out in the open. If you are
going to sneak out of school, you don't need clothes from home. Your school
stuff will do. If you guys wear blue shirts on weekdays, white on Sunday,
then wear a white shirt on Saturday and simply walk out of the school. Okay,
not that simply, you need to know where and when. Subterfuge. An art you
learn in form two. How to lie to your parents for more pocket money. Which
pubs to go to, where you will not be busted by your games master (who will
run your ass down and catch you if he spots you). The art of seduction -
albeit a still on the rough side, but you get so many chances to refine it
during any and all school functions. You don't get harassed no more, you
have grown a set of balls, and anyone thinking they can just mess with you
is going to have bad things done to him. Anything goes, from outright
ambushes in the cover of darkness and kicking a guys ass, to pouring buckets
of water on a guys bed, hiding his mattress, dirtying his bed sheets (again,
anything goes on this one - you know, mud...whatever). You can look older
people in the eye and dare them to do something. Dammit! You's a grown man
now. Form two. You are coming into your own. You are taller, bigger,
tougher. Life is good. But no better than...

Second Year!
At this point, sh1t really hits the fan. Forget master of the universe. The
universe revolves around you. You don't stay with your folks (until the
weekend when you go and beg for money). You drink willy nilly. Screw
likewise. Don't give a damn about reading (some of us I think). Only read
just before CATs and exams. You don't have to go to class (I think this is
only for public universities). You can wake up, just so that you go back to
sleep again. Now its not about getting laid, its about how many times, and
with how many women. You can show up to class in your underwear for all you
care. If you want to show up. You are surprised you've made it through the
first year of campus, thats until you realise its all a farce. Freefall.
Things change. You really don't give a crap, and you mean it this time. You
make a point of letting your lecturers know by not showing up for any

I don't know about the second year at work. Never been anywhere that long.
Why? See above.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


When I met her I was so high I could smell the clouds. I am at my very best when I am high,
when I string random words together in way of talking.
I pulled the patented Kamikaze move. Retrieve phone. Hand it to her.
"Are you giving me your phone?"
No, put your phone number in.

A few nasty ladies put fake numbers. This was one was as real as the air I was breathing therefore she put in some digits and told me that I could go ahead and test. Right on!

A few movie dates and drink ups and my hands were beginning to travel to hitherto unknown and unmapped places. On one sober date she uttered the words:
Don't torture yourself, it will be a very long while before you get any.
Why? I asked in a half-joking, half-serious tone. Actually I was dead serious. So then I get this lecture about how guys hit it and run..
"But you are not like that, are you?"
"Me? No no no..."

Here I was stuck with a girl who ascribed to girls-only-boarding school standard seven ethos: If its a boy he is satan. Don't give him anything, don't look at him, don't smile and if he has been run over by a car and he is still alive and kicking spit at him. But I am more civilized than most
people have been led to believe. So I stayed, still went on dates.

She was fun but the dates lacked color and my usual gutter humor took leave. I was broadcasting on all protocols and listening on all ports. About 20 days later sh88 hit the f8g fan! She just stood from behind the table and said:
Lets go home.

Whoa! Long time huh?

About 1.5 months later and just about 5 runs, she says she does not want me to walk around her house in boots. The timing is always perfect so that you always feel hairs standing on end and your mouth goes dry. Scary. Scary. I uh-uh-uh absent-mindedly but I was anything but.

The way I saw it there were two options. Not options, more like eventualities, (I have pessimistic tendencies).
Her home could turn into a bakery and if you know one habitable bakery please let me know. In any case you get stuck with the bread for life...not that I don't want bread, its not breakfast time yet. Its still very dark and I love shadows....or
they put me in a box after a short while and ferry me to shags.

6th run and the proceedings had the makings of an international diplomatic row. Pills were mentioned and I asked in jest how Hedex was supposed to help. She was not in a joking mood though and almost took my head off. Conversation went like:
What's up?
Remove shoes.
Long silence____
What's up?
Remove shoes.
I got a long lecture about trust.
The planned 7th run ended in disaster. No run. Rain. Wrath.

Have since stopped broadcasting and shut down all the ports.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

An education


We're gathered round a table. Watching the football in between listening to some interesting stories. The likes of Kamikaze listening in between watching the football, seeing as Arsenal were playing.

In the course of an hour or so, I heard some real profound stuff. The kind of mind-blowing stuff that eye openers are made of. Why aren't we told this stuff earlier. It's infinitely more useful than some stuff they tried to teach us in school.

Sex is for women.

What is law?

A man was jailed for fourteen years-fourteen! by a Nyahururu court for stealing a chicken and one or two plastic items (sorry can't get the reference but it happened).

Now page four of the Daily Nation; A man was jailed for eight years after he was found in possession of ...wait let me get the facts right....yes.. five anti-tank missiles and a hand grenade. Missiles. Related to Al-Qaeda.

Did I miss something?

I want to propose a new predicate:

It is higly likely that:
If A=person and A.profession=>magistrate
then (A.brain=none or A.brain.capacity=moron)

Monday, January 15, 2007

Si you have my number


One of the resident doctors hit the big 27 in the course of last week. Guys meet up. Stories are shared. A change of venue. The night goes on. Rain. Lots of rain. Some lass shaking what her mama gave her. 2am. Time to go home. In the midst of working out the logistics, tao is mentioned. Then Tropez. Something about them selling water.

Myself and the birthday boy check in first. Pass by the counter as we look around for a place to sit. I notice a chic by the counter in a black top. Looks vaguely familiar. As it is most chics look vaguely familiar to me [must be out of some subliminal desire] so I don't pay too much attention, and move on. I linger. There's no way we're going to get seats in here.

About turn. Standing next to the vaguely familiar chic is another chic, now facing me. Yes. She's vaguely familiar too. My mind starts a search. I move closer, as multiple scenes are examined and discarded for lack of that face. I smile. Say hi. She's also trying to figure out who I am. I turn to acknowledge the other member of this party. As soon as I lay my eyes on her, properly this time, search results are returned. It all comes back. She's a recent acquaintance. A brief meeting. Two ships passing each other by in the night. Literally. A hug for the new year. Another for the last. The latter at my insistence.

The birthday boy joins us. Introductions all round. Two couples are formed where one minute ago there were none. He bonds with the one as I catch up with the other. She's mad at me. I replied to her new year's text in a not-so-nice fashion. "What text?". She's not sent me a text this year. I'm absolutely certain. She gives me that look. OK. "What exactly did you say?". She's not going to make this easy. My mind has started another search. Nothing is returned for "not-so-nice sms". She throws me a straw. Part of the sms she apparently sent me. "THAT was you?", I say to myself. I must have deleted her number by then. A story for another post. The sms itself was something like "... wishing you a horny new year, licked with luv ...". I remember looking at it and going, "Ala!". My response to what I thought was some random forward [I couldn't figure out who could have actually intended that sms for me] was something in the lines of "Who knew random wishes can come true ... Here's to a less horny rest of the week, and year".

At some point the rest of the crew indicated that they were headed home. Enyewe a guy needs to head home. Or does he. He does. Does he really. It's 4am. They're probably already closing down the place. "When can I see you again?". "Si you have my number." I'm crushed.

test post


Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Failover Clustering

Gentlemen, ever heard of the lists? There are two of them and they exist, as sure as night turns to day. The A is a list of guys who a woman can f8k. The order is as beautiful as Darwin's theory of evolution, with the top guys getting the highest priority and said priority reducing as we go down. The fact that the guys on top of the A list may not in the least be interested is irrelevant.

The unfortunate B list consists of poor blokes that she will NEVER EVER f8k. NEVER EVER is subjective at the very least and transient in many cases. Completely open to different interpretation and even re-definition, as I shall prove if I get the chance.
The concept of migration does not exist where these two lists are concerned.
Needless to say that if she is hot and you are a man you want to be at any position on the A list. But not to worry, chances are you are on some woman's A list.

The lady from my previous post, open her phone and pulled the ranking officer on her B list, 'Investor' Jakob.

Jakob is a street smart fellow. Makes money in mysterious, dumbfounding ways. He could slip himself in between someone who wants to sell a lawnmower and another who wants to buy it and make a quick, handsome profit. Stable, solid guy. But whatever school he went to they did not teach him how to approach beautiful and sophisticated women. As a consolation, he comes with a big heart and a happy disposition. He was completely taken by the lady, could do anything for her but did not have enough class to be the boyfriend.

"Aki Jay I am stuck in a bad situation somewhere...."
Heart pounding, can barely hear his own voice .."Where?"
"I know I am inconveniencing___"
"No you are not inconvieniencing me, where are you? I am coming to get you."

This is the very chance he had been waiting for. The proverbial hairthin crack opening of the door. A chance to prove to her that he is much more valuable, more caring than those boneheads she likes hanging out with so much. He takes his car keys and hurtles towards Naivasha at breakneck speed.

After getting lost severally (and poor night vision), he finds her at last. She hugs him tight. Oh God! Its like holding an angel. He says a prayer to Him right there and then that if He does a miracle and he marries the chic he will never sin again. She is overwhelmed by relief that she gives him a wet, slurpy one on the lips, albeit brief. Whoa!

He drops her home. She gives him a 'here is my right shoulder' hug that lasts from now to now;... Thanks so much Jay...and practically runs to her doorstep.

Jakob drives home whistling. Tomorrow he will ask her out.
Poor, clueless bastard.


Monday, January 08, 2007

ATOMicity (or lack thereof)

Take the case of Richard. Straightforward, church going fellow. Model son, good and hardworking employee. Does not look too shoddy either.
Richard has been seeing a girl. Man its been going great. How many weeks now? Twelve! The Chinese dinners are great once a dude knows how to use those chopsticks. The cloying taste of wine needs some getting used to but hey! who cares.

Its ahhh,...ahem,...time to ask for errr... things, if you get my drift. Good breeding has prevented Ritchie from reaching over the table and having a feel. Ahhh, but the temperatures below have been steadily rising, feels like a catalytic cracking chamber with demons adding fuel every second.
"Honey, I was thinking, with this long weekend coming, we can take off and spend some quality time at the Naivasha Fishes, Parachuting and Sky Diving camp. Its absolutely fabolous. Spa, sponge baths, herbal baths, great swimming pool, here have a look at these brochures ...."

She is thrilled! "Oh dear, I can't wait!" The Guardian of Male Mojo seems to be in a pleasant mood.

Richard, who is modest and drinks only rarely, is buying drinks by the crates. Fellas, we are gonna do it. The buddies are green with envy. The next day, he pulls out both ATM and credit card. The event of money leaving the account stings a bit,......but he sees naked images and a happy smile comes back up. The jalopy is taken to the garage and fitted with new wheels. Spanking new brake fluid. The engine is tuned. Rev 1,2. Its purring beautifully. Dash off at 120 km/h....brake suddenly. Perfect. The baby can survive the turtous journey to the Naivasha and back. Tune the speakers. 60,000 gone. Just like that. Borrow that funky neo-soul that she likes from Jonathan. All set.

Fast forward. >>

The girl at the check-in desk is smiling. She shows them two forms.
Hi guys, the pink colored form is for booking a double room, the white one is for separate, single rooms. Long experience has shown that it is indiscreet to verbally ask your guests whether they prefer singles or a double; Richard grabs the pink one and shoots a sly look at her. She smiles back. Right on! Fill it quick. The hostess hands Richard one key. A porter takes their luggage.

Fast forward. >>>>

A dinner of juicy roast and other delicacies. Some wine. A trip in the dark in an open van. O boy there is a huuuge elephant. She grabs him in fear....
Relax baby its totally harmless (yeah right)
Are sure?
Oh Yeah.
(small voice) OK.

Some slow music. Dancing up close. Richard has been practising. No stepping on her toes. The countdown is ticking. Time to move before she complains of fatigue ....Lets go finish this bottle upstairs ....They take the slightly less than quarter wine bottle and MOOF!

The kissing and cuddling is going well until she holds his shoulders and starts to push him off. It does not register. The guy tries to kiss her again and she roughly pushes him off.
What is wrong? he asks.
I don't feel like it, she replies.
Why don't you feel like it? Is it me? Did I do something wrong, have I ever done something wrong? Is it this place?

Many questions (not necessarily verbalized). Conflicting and confusing feelings. The answer is one and always the same: I don't feel like it. May be another day.
Which other day? What will have changed? Do you need starter liquid? Or should we plug your finger into the mains socket? Perhaps there will be a nuclear strike soon and I will mutate and become more physically appealing? Should I try plastic surgery, look like Denzel? I could sell my left kidney you know, to raise the cash. Perhaps I should have hired Celine Dion to sing to you as you sipped your wine? How about borrowing some of your make up? Or should I hope you shall have developed a cataract and mistakenly visualize me as irresistible?
Do you think you must have it? She asks him.
Romance is out the door and we are back to the age-old question (or more like defense or excuse).
You should not have led me on. If I had known earlier, I would have locked my d*k away in the closet and travelled lighter.Might even have saved me some fuel!

A small argument ensues. He is trying to hard to beg and not be angry from humiliation at the same time (loin-demons are awake and doing a war jig). She storms out. He thinks she won't get far at this hour of the night and especially from this place. Fellas can be hopelessly optimistic. She flips open her phone. Dials one or two numbers. She doesn't come back!

If a woman has ever pulled one like this one on you, you know exactly what I mean.

Next, in true Samborera fashion: Failover Clustering

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Power is .....

Meeting a woman
She is, say 26 or 27 years old. May be 30.
Has full use of her mental faculties or else you would be in jail or in the ground.
You feed her a lot of garbage and tall stories.
She laughs merrily, slaps your back affectionately.
Camaraderie. Funny guy. She decides she likes you.
You manage to convince/trick her to come home with you.
Or better still go to her home.
You lead her by the arm to the bedroom.
The real killer is if she leads you to the bedroom.
Buttons open, things push out for fresh air.
You hook your index fingers into the firewall.
Expand the elastic band and start pulling down.
She stretches her arms and grabs the bed headboard, edge of the desk, armrests, anything.
A sign of good faith on her part. Boy, I am not going to try and stop you.
She lifts her lower back to facilitate un-obstructed travel of the firewall down the legs.
The firewall crosses the most important milestone, her toes.
You throw it to the far wall, lest she decides you are not going to be lucky, grabs it back and pulls it on.
All systems are down. Or is it go? Be the judge.
It feels like authorized bank robbery, with guards and management cheering you on.
Then she puts her right one 4 feet from your left hip. The left leg another 4 feet from your right hip.
Welcome to my parlour, Mr President.

But I read somewhere that power corrupts. I will tell you all about that in a short while .......


Another year's upon us. It's insane how time flies these days. Had a rather hectic end to 2006. Working 15 hour days for a month and a half. Didn't know I could do such a thing. My response to any "where are you?" type calls or smss would invariably be "in the office".

So the new year came along. 5 grown men singing along to some old skool hits. aJamaa doing the mojo. Classic. Kamikaze met my friend, and I met her sister. Got home at 9am. Interesting start to the year is all I can say.

Now it's back to boiro. More of the same. I've never been one to make resolutions. Last year was one of significant turmoil and introspection for me. 2007 will be more laid back and carefree.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Nuu Shhiit

Every year, just as the new year starts, I get this line in my head, from an
Onyx song (the rappers - Freddro Star, Sticky Fingaz and I think a guy
called Begetz, not sure). Its just one line by Sticky - Well its the nuu
year! Time for some nuu shiiit! Just that. Every year, for about 5 or so
years since I heard that song.

It is a new year. With it brings promise of change. Sort of like you have
passed through some murk and have just taken the shower to last you a year.
You are clean. You can start again. You can leave anything or anyone behind
and simply put it down to resolutions. All's well. You can lay down plans
and work at them. You can mend fences with lost friends, its a new year, we
can start again. Re-evaluating yourself.

I remember when I didn't have a choice and had to go upcountry with the
folks during the holidays, that night of 31st was spent outside alone, on
some granite rock, it would be pitch black (those upcountry nights are just
scary - and the locals have adapted to the extent that they can tell who you
are when all you can hear is a voice in the darkness calling your name), so
the stars just seem to shine brighter. Guess I miss that. But a guy can
always take some time on a Nairobi night and just stand alone in the late
hours of the night, stare at the stars (unless its raining of course -
perhaps the rain would make it more poignant, except you'll start the year
sick) and just re-evaluate.

A guy doesn't have to beat himself up too much. Recognise the things you've
done, those you haven't, those you want to do and those you have to do. Also
those you don't want to do no more. What's done is done. You are here now.

Its the nuu year! Time for some nuu shiiit!