Monday, July 30, 2007


My boss took one [long] look at me on Thursday and before I knew it, I was filling in a leave form. The only leave I've taken this year were days carried over from last year. The like 2 months I've been on training don't count as leave, thankfully. So I'm getting some R&R before the consultants come back in a couple of weeks for the implementation phase of some project. One can never be too sure what will happen after that. The experiences of some past projects haven't been very pleasant. There was a real danger that the year may come to an end with me not having taken the mandatory time off [my boss gets appraised on such mundane matters].

Musing loud

This is an old story. Makes me laugh everytime I think about. Whatever this guy was smoking, if it is fed into an aeroplane, that plane can reach the planet Saturn. That guy must have been very high on some very nasty s***.

Still on the Clintons ...
I like Bill Clinton. For no apparent except that I can damn well choose who to like and who not to like. I also like his wife Hilary Clinton. Nice, affable folk. I also think (with absolutely no evidence or statistics to back up me up) that Hilary Clinton will become the president. So Bill will troop back to Washington, as First Husband to Mrs President. I can see it now,...some pompous master of ceremonies ....with us is Her Excellency Mrs President, accompanied by the First Husband Mr President, and two time First Daughter ....

I get saddened every time I see a person who is my age, or older, enthusiastically singing along to crack,..sorry crunk. My younger brother who is 22 surely can't have more style than you? That kid has no screws in his head but he does not listen to crunk. When I see these dudes, I see guys who were weaned on Musaimo, danced Musaimo to their mid-twenties then had an epiphany, a thunder-bolt strike kind of revelation; CRUNK! Cr*p.

I had a ride in Metro Shuttle today. It was very nice. We should have more of these buses and perhaps the proliferation of cars would reduce. Sure, guys will always buy cars for prestige or things like that but better service delivery would lead to eased congestion. Hoping to catch that bus again tomorrow.

I am tired of the putrid garbage that is coming out of morning radio shows. This is not entertainment, its assault. The stuff you hear! Frank Njenga, the shrink, might be run out of business! I think Capital should be commended for not turning the morning show into a freak therapy session.

Bahhh! I have run out of venom.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

A 1000 words .....

Look at Page 8 of Lifestyle, Sunday Nation, 22 July. I would think that if your brand of journalism is mostly drivel, diss and football gossip you would desist from publishing your image? Same reason bloggers should not meet. When you read someone's writing you tend to form a mental picture of them. That gets shattered (99% of the time) when you see them.

But that's just me.

Friday, July 20, 2007

How many microns

I thought the guy was joking on Sunday when he asked for a box to carry some stuff in. Insisted. Something about not wanting to get arrested because of carrying stuff in a paper bag.

As the week has progressed and I've heard/read a number of stories, including donkeys wearing nappies [is that a prank though], I've come to appreciate that fundi's seriousness. It's towns gone mad. Now I'm afraid of walking about in Nairobi. During the day that is. [I've always been afraid of walking about at night] I could get arrested for just about anything. Who knows what offences these guys have in their by-laws. Seriously. Who knows. And I thought it was a good thing if people smoke in the open air.

So is possession of a paper bag an offence, or is it the act of carrying stuff in it. Does it apply only in the CBD or can some guy grab me in the esto as I'm carrying the milk and bread home [humour me].

I'm comforted in the thought that all this, like most things in this country, will be soon forgotten. I hope so anyway.

Macho hayana pazia

A jamaa will often find his eyes sneeking a glance at parts of a womans anatomy and if the woman makes a move to conceal that part a jamaa is left wondering if she noticed his eyes looking and rationally moved or it was just reflect action like the way we turn round when we here something behind us. But as a jamaa wonders all this he cant help but feel embarassed if the looking happened in an inappropriate place or the looked at was even more inapropriate.

Earlier this week I stopped at one of my managers desks, she is at least five years older than me. She was sitted I was standing, cleavage was visible and I did not notice that I was looking until she pulled her coat over it. I am still wondering if the pulling of the coat was caused by my looking or it was part of the sitting up to listen to my nonesense process. I also wonder if she remembers or even cares about any of this, considering that this kind of thing must have started happening when she was around 12.

Later in the week I was sitted next to one of my colleagues. Although her skirt was not short she has the kind of body that makes her taller than I am only when sitted and so in the process of sitting it got pulled up a bit exposing a bit of leg. I did not notice I was looking until she pulled the skirt to her knees. Again I wondered if it was my eyes that made her move or it was just something she does every time she sits. But considering I felt guilty I must have had a guilty look that could have made her now something was a miss. I also wonder if she still remembers or even cares about what happened during those few seconds.

I derive great pleasure from looking at women, but I strive to do it discreetly so as not to make the object of my appreciation uncomfortable but macho hayana pazia.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

What would you do?

If a woman refused to leave you alone? I have tried everything!

Sunday, July 15, 2007


Know what that means? I will tell you. It is the place where it is only you and the computer. Some movies have painted a picture of a dinghy room with no lighting, quiet humming of machines, general disorder and wild-eyed fellas with unkempt hair, terrible clothes and bad shoes. It fits. Where general operating conditions do not permit dinghy rooms, it means a secluded corner, a guy with headphones listening to music, generally not talking to anyone.

There is no glamor to the work. Quite the opposite actually. People (other than you) collect feathers on their caps because you busted your balls over some awfully difficult routine. You get to celebrate by getting plastered; arriving late the next day and not having to give a s**t about it. If your superiors know what you are about, they look the other way. Its a nice system.
"Techies are all weird .." they all say. It passes into legend. Ati questions and follow up? You have two approaches you can use. "I am looking at it" and then sullen up and continue reading Wikipedia. The person can choose to stand at your desk as you finish some 5,000 word article on the Mayan culture (inspired by Apocalypto of course) but you are done talking. If you like the person you spin a long tale. "Guess what, I just discovered your requirements can't work now because the current patch level is 56 when it should be at 68. I have been talking to sysadmins .......". He/She will go "Huh?", discover you are wasting time and leave you to your devices. Thats the plus. People just leave you to do what you do. Minimum meetings, no email wars, no trying to outdo each other and all this other drudgery guys indulge.

Not that guys don't work. I work. Hard. Just don't work in a uniform even and calculated, fashion like most people, for instance like having to hand in 5 reports daily, doing orders and such. I can go into mental paralysis and do zero work for days; Then one day I will snap out of it and knock off project after project in three weeks; after which my mind switches off again for weeks. Ah well. Everyone has their system.

Try that mentality on this new planning and architecting stuff I am now doing. You get caught in the headlights like a dazed and drunk deer. There is nowhere to run. You have to call people to meetings, or get called to meetings. Tolerate hours of people in love with the sound of their own voices droning on and on. You read email word by word, take note and commit them to your dazed memory else someone will blindside you in a meeting and then you will look like a complete idiot. No playing with deadlines. Money is involved in the decisions and choices you make. EMail wars. Phew. Reading documents not only in your field of expertise but others. Then having to square it out with guys who have the pleasure of sticking only to the stuff they know. I have to check my calendar at the end of the day. What meeting is there tomorrow? I once did the Wednesday festival and I had a meeting at 8:00 AM on Thursday where I was fielding questions. Got plastered till like 3, switched my phone off, and checked in the next day at 11:00 AM. I was rebuked in a tone devoid of any emotion (even anger). Thats when I knew I was in very deep and dark waters.

I am being dragged out to the light, kicking and screaming. Its scary. Whatever. Got to make the best of it.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

What irony ....

I am reading business proposals ......(pathetic,..yeah I know). Can people design documents or what? They would be an ultimate sh*g if they were sha*gable. They are all nicely formatted, nice fonts, cool colors, even cooler diagrams. Aii! Unfortunately, I am flying through them like a person who has an acute case of diarrhoea.
An evil but necessary skill. A rating matrix is needed out of hundreds of pages of junk.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

I hate bargaining

And I don't often use the word hate.

Where now?

I think I need to start taking [more] supplements or herbs or something. And I need to google the symptoms of early onset Alzheimer's. So I meet this chic. Well, 'meet' is a bit misleading. I walk into a lift. It was actually about to shut its doors so I actually jumped in. Squeeze into that space left. So many people crammed into a small space tends to produce a fascinating atmosphere. Everyone standing there trying to look at anything other than the other guys in there, and in my case, trying not to breathe.

I turn to re-position myself in this space I've just taken up, to be met by the smiling face of a lovely lass. [Lasses are always lovely] I smile back. It's the least a guy can do. But then she asks me how I've been. I go into crisis mode. The search application is loaded. Nothing. I need to change the algorithm or something. Something. "I'm good. Been good. You?". There's a slight panic in my voice. And my eyes. I think she sees it. We start going on about what each one is up to, as I constantly glance at the floor indicator looking out for 'GF'. I get a tad uneasy when a whole bunch of guys are listening in on a conversation [and I'm sure they are]. That shyness I keep telling people about. Why do they never believe me. They should meet me in a lift they should.

After a torturous 4 floors we disembark and continue to chat. I've all but given up on making a positive identification. I haven't met a chic on nights out and about since just about the beginning of the year. Can't be campus. Although she's in IT. [she doesn't code] College? That's the most likely bet. High school? I knew like 2 chics in high school, so that's unlikely.

Anyhow. She doesn't crucify me for having no clue what her name is. [I think that's because she didn't know that I didn't know exactly who she was, let alone knowing her name] This can't be a good thing.

Friday, July 06, 2007

Happy hour

Its 4.00 pm (story told in retro - its actually 5.56 now.). Lady J who used to work with us and migrated to greener pastures shows up at the office. Claims she has a few frothy ones at the back of her pickup. I'm just happy to see her. The assertion that she actually does is even more welcome. She hands over the keys as she goes about saying hi to the other guys. Like a bat outta hell I make tracks towards the car. Good thing the back of the track is covered (is there a word for the cabin at the back. Wait. Cabin?). I fumble with the lock. Is anyone watching? C'mon you doggone lock. Free! I peer in. Is this just some trick to find out what a slut for alcohol I am? Well, if so Lady J, you were right! Wait. What do I see. I heft myself into the cabin. Its dark. The windowless kind. There, at the far corner. A crate? Yes a crate! Full? Aaaah. The crazy broad has drank most of them anc can't remember. I count 8. 8 tuskers. Not bad I say. Pop! With my teeth. Never learn. Cracked one last week or something cause of the same thing. Use the other side of my jaw.

Where to sit? Who cares?! Pull a ka paper lying around. Set my a$$ on the bump above the tyre and get to it. Door is slightly ajar. No one can really see inside so I'm good. Then I think to myself, why do I really care if I'm seen? I'm a grown a$$ man dog! I can pull my nuts out right now and flash someone with them! Ok, wait. Thats the alcohol talking. Suddenly a shadow is cast upon the door to the cabin. I'm about to yell "who darkens my door!!". Oh. Its Mr. M. A fellow drunk. Must have smelt it while in the office. But news of alcohol always spreads fast. Welcome Mr. M! Have a seat. There you go. One for you. He informs me Lady J. says she is leaving very soon. What?! What about all this alcohol? Shucks. Quick. Must think. No way she is leaving with this treasure trove. Meanwhile Lady J. is spreading the news of a crate of alcohol in the office when they were actually 8, now 6, left.

I pull out my phone. Who cares that I'm on my last 100 bob of airtime. There's greater things at stake. You are thinking it would be easier to go into the office and talk to her but, I don't think so. I was trying my hand at that multitasking thing women have down.
I: Lady J?
She: Yes Kamikaze?
I: You are not leaving with this alcohol (very matter of factly)
She: But I can't leave the bottles.
I: Screw the bottles. You are not leaving with them. Come back for the bottles tomorrow. They'll be here. (Sensing that this discussion is not headed anywhere, she acquiesces).
She: Ok.
I: Good girl.
Click phone off. With the look of a man who just saved the world from definite doom, a thing I always do, I inform Mr. M. that its all good. She'll come for the bottles tomorrow. You finish that one up and lets figure how to conceal them and get them back to the office. He looks at me in a reverent way and nods his head. I gulp my last sip down and inform him that I'm going to track down some paper bags for the excursion back to the office. Again the nod.

I nimbly jump out of the cabin. Lo! There's two guys making tracks for the pickup. Good thing Mr. M. is in there to keep the loot safe. Its Mrs. M (no relation) and young man S. I pass them quickly. You know what a tusker gulped in less than 5 minutes does to you? Messes your vision and thinking. Focus man! I get back to the office and set about interrogating anywhich person I come across. Look them in the eye and demand to know the whereabouts of a paper bag. I know the damn things have been banned, but you have one. Give it up! First victim denies any knowledge. Can't waste time bringing out the interrogation equipment. Time is of the essence. March to the next one. This one knows what the paper bag is for and is stalling. News spreads fast/ mis-information spreads fast and she wants a piece of the action. You got what I want or not? I do. Hand it over lady. Gently. She produces a small thing that can't hold the six bottles left. I take it and move on. Hey, Old Lady J, you got what I want? The nice old lady smiles and asks what it's for. I reply its for "stuff". She smiles again and produces something worth smiling about. For me. I grab it and dash out.

Head back to the cabin. Mr. M. has been sweet talked by Mrs. M. (again no relation, but I'm thinking Mr. M. wants to have relations. Get it? Thats a terrible line, forgive me.). Mr. M agrees to give her 2 items from the package. It was three each. Now 2 for everyone. Ah well. All good.

We load the loot onto our new bags and head back. Close the cabin door, almost smack a kiss on it and get to moving. Walk in and most guys seem to be staring. Get them to my desk and stash the loot. Back to work. An endless hour and a half or so. Then work was done.

Mr. M. came and sat down at the table next to me. Bottles were popped open and the drinking started. The drinking is not yet over cause I was writing this post. Mr. M. is done with his two. So is Mrs. M. A few more gulps and I'll be done and in need of more of the good stuff.


State and Time.

I started writing this post during a meeting.

That is my leg and to the right, is Anya, my beloved computer. Of course the rest of the participants had not arrived by the time I was doing all this stuff.

To things:
Come to think of it, it is not too early to take a mortgage. I last saw the inside of a class in 2003. That is a long ways ago. If I had the sense to go into one then I could be third-way paid by now. But hey! wait. You can't do that. A guy needs to pass all those rituals of life. Drinking. Brokeness. Chasing women. Not worrying. Those were beautiful days. 5 years can pass speedily without your knowing what happened.

I have not done a single productive thing today. MM condition (mind meltdown) in full swing.

My lesbian friend J, now that she has made it known to me of her orientation, has taken it upon herself to evaluate women on my behalf.
"That chic is cute isn't she? She has a nice ...." and I get a boring lecture on her anatomy, peppered with a few catty remarks. All mean of course. Hold on a moment! We could be marking the same woman.
It gets annoying after a while, and never one to throw away a good opportunity for amusement, I get her annoyed by commenting:
"I think she has better bo*bs than yours. Kinda rounder".
She gets thoroughly pissed and decides to shut up.
Oh Kamikaze, want to know the verdict on Wednesday?

A woman knocked my door last night at 2:00AM. You might be wondering what I was doing up at that time. I was watching The Dresden Files (Love that show). She was HOT!
Hi, can I borrow your phone, I want to call my sis, she is dead asleep and can't hear me knocking. Mine is out of charge.
I speedily fetched the phone.
She makes the call, returns the phone and zaps out of earshot before I can mouth the 'H' in 'Hi'. Thanks so much, I am so sorry to have bothered you at this time.
Just so happens that there are very cute women in the building I live in and the one next. Where have I been?

So Henry is gone. Fine! Get out of my face! We were all sad, drunk a couple of beers in sad bewilderment and forgot about it. There was Vieira before him. And Bergkamp. Unless you chain a guy to the goalposts, he will go if he wants to. How Arsenal is going to fare next season remains to be seen, unless of course you are a prophet! Some people just don't get it. Its a sport, engrossing and entertaining yes, but enthusiasm should be checked. It should not rain on my parade, or on Thursday morning when I am usually my most murderous self.

45 minutes.

How the other half lives

I visited one of my former workmates jana. He is different from me and the rest of us because he got married last year and got a baby boy early this year. He interests me because he is the only guy I know well who is married and has a kid. So like I said I went to his house jana and like most of the other guys I visit he has a home. He has carvings, family pictures, wall hangings, an aquarium etc and everything is in rightful place and kind of blends naturally with the next thing.The house even smells nice. All this make his house a home. His wife offers me tea or uji. There is a nice flask on the coffee table, some nice cups and tea spoons everything is set just right. If this is what the guy comes home to everyday he has it made. His wife is really nice, easy on the eye and easy to talk to. He also has a mboch. Yaani he not only has dependants but an employee.

At some point the wife walks into the living room with a little boy and stretches him out to me saying, 'Meet Uncle'. I do not want to take him, actually I do want to hold him but I am scared. I have not held a baby for years. Actually the last time I held a baby was like four years ago. I had arrived late for mass and so had to stand outside when some lady who was standing next to me asks me to hold a baby she had so that she could go fetch her mother who was standing outside some other door. After a minute or so the kid started wailing and when the mother came to rescue the kid I am sure she gave me an accusing look. Back to present day. I took the youngman in my arms and was surprised that he was much heavier than he looked. The wife then headed for the kitchen and my buddy though seated next to me was only interested in watching telly. I sat there holding the kid awkwardly in my arms wondering what to do with him. I cannot make those baby sounds most people do and was too scared to stand up with him. Finally after 2-3 minutes the dad noticed that I was about to start crying and so took the little boy away from. And the lesson for today, is that I am nowhere near ready to have kids.

We had dinner at some point in the evening. And not that quickly rastled up beef stew and ugali. It was a real meal prepared with tender luv and care. Enyewe this guy has it made. Later in the evening the guys mum checked in and immediately ran for her grandson. It was wonderful watching them together. At some point the kid started sucking two of his fingers and she reminded her son that she used to do that. It was really emotional watching her holding her grandson as she teased her son. We are all doing our mothers a great injustice by not giving them grandkids to play with.


Hey Introverts!

I have yanked the adsense tags from the template. I don't know how they got there but the ads were an eyesore (for me at least). Hope no one misses it.

I am numb all over. I love this weather!

Thursday, July 05, 2007

street talk

Word-smiths are at it again.
A pal of mine has been deprived. By his chic. .
He's now given the chic a seximatum (derived from ultimatum)

Too much talk

Wednesday. That silly accent of hers. Wednesday is a person. Freaking annoying. I've just got to the office. 9.30. She didn't put out when we got home. I begged and pleaded. Nothing. Kept saying silly sh1t like she doesn't sleep around. Tried very hard not to laugh out loud at that one. Partly because it was 3 am or something; would wake the neighbours. Also because I was still trying to get some. Then she says something like she would like a committment. Again the immense effort not to laugh. She wants me to change. Wants to help me change. Apparently I have an attitude problem. Too cavalier about stuff. She didn't say cavalier. She foraged around for a word and came up with careless. So I gave up at some point. Exhaustion. Every time. She does the same thing. Makes me go round and round in freaking circles, jumping hoops (she has nice hoops by the way).

Anyways. In the morning I tried again and it worked. Problem is, she started screaming. Ok. I really hate it when women fake moaning and sh1t. Perhaps they were taught somewhere that the moaning makes a guy feel better (for lack of a more euphemistic word for enormous). I don't mind the occasional moan. I prefer a whimper here and there. Its all great, and keeping with the theme of the moment. But this one. This one took it to a whole new level. Too freaking loud for a guy to focus on his work. This had never happened before. I need my wits about me for an early morning thing. I'm already late for work and that screaming is not helping move things along faster. So I turned the radio way up. Apparently that didn't help. I received a complaint before I left the house. Someone thought someone was being killed. Was a very weird conversation to have. But that was after the event and I really wasn't listening.

But next time I am thinking of bringing someone home, I'll ask them if they shout/scream/moan/whimper during sex. She can only pick one.

And then the endless talking afterwards. Natter natter natter...

Wednesday, July 04, 2007


I have a dilemma on my hands.
Tis' Wednesday today, happy day.
To drink or not to drink?
I seem to have forgotten something,....
Something I had told myself last week.
Darn! What was it?
Back to my dilemma. I will consult my friend, the good old coin.
Did you study probability? 5 strikes. Not one.
Heads says liquid gold, a$$es and a feast for the eyes.
Tails says Wednesday news bulletin and mexican soaps (not that i watch)
4 strikes against 1 for heads.
4! Thats an overwhelming statement.
Who am I to argue?

Tusker here I come.