Saturday, March 29, 2008

Coding Horror

It's one of the few blogs that I check out more than a couple of times a week. Not sure how I came across it. Didn't stumble upon it or anything. That was in 2005 or something. Anyway. I liked the name. Very close to home. The guy also had pretty interesting posts. And they're like very regular. Makes me wonder, that kind of thing, when a guy gets time to work. Blogging can take up a significant amount of time.

So he quit a couple of weeks ago [I've been wanting to do this post for a couple of weeks]. Surprised me a bit, but gave me some comfort. I'm not the only one to have quit their dream job. The difference probably is that he's doing it based on a high while I left mine in the midst of a depressed state of mind. And ended up in management [still not sure why they haven't fired me yet, seeing as I abdicate all supervisory tasks], in an industry I'd sworn when I left campus I'd never work for.

What does one do when they quit their dream job. What does that mean. For me, it's been a struggle with accepting the apparent implication. That it's downhill from there. I used to walk with a bounce in my step. Skip along to work. Literally. Now I murmur all sorts of absurdities when I get up in the morning. And there have been two occasions recently when I almost didn't make it out of bed. It's a scary thing when you get up and think to yourself "I'm not going to work today", and go back to sleep.

I'll be interested to see what happens with Jeff, and how the coding horror changes, if at all.


I used a credit card today. For the first time [hence the post title]. I'm one of those paranoid guys about non-cash. Cash gives me a certain peace of mind, as opposed to a cheque for example. Or that direct debit business. Sure, it's more convenient and stuff, but for a guy in the technology industry [wait. Don't think I'm in that one anymore], I'm pretty resistant to change. Some change anyway.

Like most firsts, I was filled with apprehension. I got the card like 5 months ago [mostly because it's hard to say NO to a woman. I hope she hit her target]. I knew then that I'd probably never use it, perhaps unless I needed to get admitted to hospital as an emergency or something. Probably never use it. So I got the card and promptly stashed it into my wallet. It'd never seen the light of day. Not sure what made me change my mind today about unleashing it. Oh yeah. I've been wanting to test it, so that if and when I do need to use it to get admitted, I don't discover then that it doesn't work.

So as I gave the cashier the card, all manner of things were going through my mind. Do these things get flagged as 'dormant' or something. Will it be authorised [I've heard stories]. Will he think I'm a criminal from the way I'm behaving, dry mouth, avoiding eye contact, trembling hands. To my surprise, the thing worked. He gave me a receipt to sign anyway and I did walk away with some stuff so I guess it worked. I'll check the DB on Monday to see what went on there. Paranoia on drugs.

I got a strange urge after that episode to step into the shop next door and buy some hush puppies. Either a new-thing high a credit card high. Didn't go through with that. Although I may still get a pair at some point. Did some more shopping, just to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke. Bought all sorts of things "for the house". I think they'll get put to some use. I hope.

Later as I was heading down some street, I saw a sign. Salon and executive barber. I've never known what that executive meant [in addition to expensive of course], but I'm not thinking straight right now. So I walk in. I feel a bit odd an out of place but resist the urge to run out. I was struck by the sheer number of towels these guys must go through. Goodness! My turn comes and I get my hair cut. Nothing new there. Then I'm told to go over there, where there's a seat under a basin. They could obviously tell I'm not used to this kind of thing. I would have been happy at that point to go pay and walk out. But No. I have to get my head washed. And shampooed [I think. They washed it twice]. Then, go on over there. What now. Aha. Massage. Sure. I knew that. All along I'm resisting the urge to burst out laughing. In the end, I've been there for just about an hour total. That doesn't make sense, to have a hair cut for one hour. But I guess I'm looking hot or something. Not sure how to else to justify this kind of thing. I should probably call someone [female] up. Cost me 250. That's almost 4 times what my regular barber charges. Anything for a new experience.

Oh yeah. Thought of another one. Got an sms from 0.5 the other day at about midnight. He was at the office. Couldn't help but burst out laughing that time. It was like he knew I was also seated at my desk. How did he know. Left the office at about 2:30am. Not a first that, but it's been a while.

Monday, March 17, 2008

How I Spent My Weekend

Essay time - wait, in Primo were they essays? Compositions. Saturday night (or early sunday morning) I passed outside my former primary school - drinking Johnnie Walker is bad for your brain - you stop reasoning - just passed outside to see it at night, no reason whatsoever, none at all.

Anyways, I had a nice weekend. Friday evening I met with Salt and Pepper. Went home with one of them. Saturday I played hide and seek with her, met Masseuse during the day, then met Bananas in the evening. She left around the afternoon of Sunday so by the time Girl Next Door checked in I was done for. I couldn't even get my head around the topic of getting any. I kept dozing off every 30 minutes. Slept all afternoon. Ate some food Bananas made. Shagging must really sap the energy out of someone. Don't think I can pull an all-nighter. Jeez. I was exhausted. Next time I'm looking at pu**y is wednesday. Too bad for girl next door cause I'm off the stuff for a while.

And that's how I spent my weekend.
The End.

Trapped In The Bedroom

I didn't really know what title to give this post. I am a man in conflict. Not exactly conflict. I'm fu**ed. A movie line come's to mind. Can't quite remember who said, but I'm seeing some Mafia movie in my head..."...when you think you're fu**ing them, they're fu**ing you!"

About one month ago - forgive me if I don't quite know when, things moved very fast for me - I met the Girl Next Office. It was about the time 0.5 was indisposed. Or just before. Anyways, we met on a Thursday, she came over digs that same day (we weren't alone), nothing happened, we met again the next day and she slept over. Then she slept over again the next night, and pretty soon she was over almost everyday.

Now, pardon a punk like me to think that I laid my game down flat, cause that's what I thought. There I was thinking, I tricked, showed some bread, was amazing company and the lady had no choice.

I've come to see things differently. Ladies her age - she's over 25 - are slicker than my regular 20 yr olds. Oh she's smooth. When I thought I was fu** know the rest. As we speak she has a pair of shoes in my house, obviously there is a toothbrush. But wait for'll love this one...she has an extra set of my keys. Pretty smoothly done. All she had to do was throw me some tail. Regular basis isn't even close. It was like an avalanche of tail. Before I catch my breath she'd be back in my house looking all innocent and willing.

I've been had. I'm not saying that it isn't any good. I'm just saying it's not worth her having my keys and already acting like we're married. What movie was that I saw where some guy was told to be wary of women with 'crazy eyes'. How I Met Your Mother? I think. I get the feeling I've been looking at crazy eyes. A couple of weeks back (once again, I'm not sure about the time), she started asking me who it was everytime I got a message or someone called. She killed my game (although I made up for it somewhat this weekend). My fruits couldn't get through. I mean this lady was always on the scene with her friend (don't ask, I just don't know how that happened - (Mr. Sam called them Salt and Pepper - I can't place them with the other fruits cause this group is in its own class - Salt and Pepper works for me. Though I can't quite tell which one to call the key-holder).

I don't know what to do. How do I get my keys back? How do we go back to not knowing each other? She says she'd understand if things didn't work out then she says she can't bear to not be without...I can't finish that sentence, it's so stupid! She wants to take things slowly but I can't go a day without getting about 5 useless messages.

Now I'm trapped. She's too close to the office to ignore. She has my keys and I still want to shag. Plus we're supposed to take a trip (don't ask!). We'll see, after the trip. After the trip, after the trip, after the...

Friday, March 14, 2008


'Its 3am at the white house, an sms comes'
sms is her way of sneaking in suggestions. sms embellished by phrases like 'i miss u blah u...blah... I will be dropping by your place on sato'.

click! Wrong pick Matejivu! Ignore, i tell myself, may be she was drunk. very sharp at this lady. stale face to face conversation, but sends tantalizing smses as a catalyst.

She calls in a day later, 'to 'check out how am doing and if am available over the weekend '(read wicked).You know where this is going. She wants me to get to the bottom of the matter. Literary.No effort on my part. i am going too slow but her hormones are pace setting.

ei! Anything that becomes available at no effort is less attractive.
She is making it common which makes me loathe it.
Ok. this chic is attractive. but the wit factor is waning. Fast.
Save this for another day nice lady. and please don't read this post.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Long service awards

I was talking to one mkebe the other day [the other day being a period in the past which I can remember, and email qualifying as talking], and he happened to mention that he's still at the same place he was at all those years ago. I was surprised somewhat. He must be the owner of that place by now, I thought. Or something.

I seem to have a two year threshold. Recently reached that point again. Definitely can't do that thing our folks did. Work one place for 20 years. Not sure if it's simply the boredom and apathy that sets in after getting into a routine, or the organisational stuff that creeps up and stiffles you.

So I wouldn't feature in these awards. I quit my ideal job already. Not sure what's left once you do that. Mkebe would be right up there, but there's only one winner. Still going strong virtually a full 5 years on. Good for you.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Home [almost] alone

So another member of the house left on sato. Took until yesterday to realise how empty the house feels [it's hard to notice that kind of thing when you're asleep]. When did the airport become such an unfriendly place. Muted goodbyes.

Anyway. It's just the two of us now. I've long held that living alone is a recipe for all sorts of malaise. Depression and stuff. It's why I never used to stay in my room in campus. Apart from first year when guys used to come through for tea. There was a kettle big enough to feed 10 people in one go. Then there were the pineapple eating sessions. Those were special. The only way I would have survived hanging around alone in my room was if I had some gal. Yeah.

It's not like I talk much at home. Never have. And there are times when I've gotten quite irritated by unending back and forth among the ladies in the house. It hit me once why men drink. And why they go to bars to do it. But there is a certain comfort to arriving at a house with people in it. A feeling of lack getting to an empty one. Something about being social beings and stuff that makes it feel odd. Virtually all chics I've asked though swear that they love their own company, and much prefer living in a house alone. I've never bought that. Never understood it anyway. Sure, walking around naked is loads of fun but..

So a guy can either get a roommate [housemate] or have a chic around [roommate]. Getting a playstation, pay TV or an endless supply of movies and novels just isn't the same. A while yet before such decisions need to be made.

Monday, March 03, 2008


Do men have a clock?
Sadly, Yes.

A man can get married late in life and produce kids because biology is not the same as justice and therefore there is no fairness involved. All one needs is a few shillings, what appears to be a good outlook and future in life and you are set. This happens a lot. There is a lot of stuff to be done. A guy might want to drive around town in a Subaru twin-turbo and use 30 grand in fuel per month before he decides that money might be better spent on nappies. Buy something Kamikaze calls Techniks. May be two Techniks, one for the tableroom and the other for the toilet;

Apparently, blokes who marry when they are 28 to 33 are onto something. This is the time, I am reliably told, that you have the highest chances of meeting a "Best Fit". Best Fit, is a concept born out of cold, dispassionate logic. Let no one cheat you that they marry out of mad love. Men are brilliant actors. "Best Fit" then, comprises of qualities such as fair looking, intelligent, has a career, healthy, reputable social circles, projects an ability to take care of a man and family et cetera et cetera. This is the type of woman who can accompany you to boring company luncheon, where your boss is in attendance. And other bosses,...and other important people too. She is not supposed to wolf down the food, wine and chocolates as if the country has just come out of a long starvation spell; Or you can introduce to your friends, where for instance the brilliant aJamaa is; meaning that she can handle six pronged questions, can't start and sustain intelligent conversation.

Ever wondered why sane, sober and virile men leave drop-dead gorgeous women and marry the pale sister who looks like yesterday's dinner by comparison?
Best Fit. It is a powerful concept this.

How do you arrive at a best fit then? You look at what I would like to call the "No Fits". And in this case the high end "No Fits".

The very gorgeous
Most have serious flaws if you look past the fine face, body and booty. While God has given some women everything to demonstrate how far the fineness of a species can go, many lack above-average intelligence. They get an incredible amount of attention from men and therefore you will get an attention contest on your hands. Continuing that line, they don't have a lot denied them because who are we kidding, everyone loves a beautiful person. You do not want to deeply probe the mind of someone like Naomi Campbell because you might be shocked. Vanity is also huge with gorgeous women; Fashion, looks et cetera. This might eventually interfere with your grand plan of presenting a grand-son to your Mum. Words like "baby, we need to save a little something for the future, to pay for the house" might as well have been mouthed by an ancient priest in Latin,...which is odd because of the reply "BUT I really want that HANDBAG!!Its Prada!!!". Soon comes the blackmail. The first order of battle is read (which means you don't get any)...then there is the rich man's son, or the unrepentant playboy who moves around in a BMW. He will see your prize catch as sport and as you examine charts and thousands of rows of forecasts or twisting code in the office, your wife is getting her brains fu**ed out.
No Fit.

The very intelligent.
She has read Homer's Odyssey and has five degrees. She has a deep grasp of ....everything, including your expertise and regularly gives you lectures on how to do things. A casual conversation with the mates on the awful weather will devolve into ions, electrons, tectonic plate movements, global warming, chemical composition of pollutants, international law, international politics ...until people will not talk in her presence. People who fu**ed around a lot during University did not have much time to read. People who read a lot did not f*ck. You might be tempted to think these are two opposites; They are not. They are on a different plane altogether. Let me take you back to that enterprising period in our lives when we were in high school. When there was some mindless function and some gorgeous girls happened to have come, who talked to the girls? And which girls were talked to? You are right of course. The smooth guys were quick to snatch away the best looking women; And the women can also tell you that no one bothered with nerdy looking chics with scraggy hair and carried an Abbot under their arm. You see where I am going with this. Brilliant women are mostly not gorgeous. ANY man will tell you, under ordinary circumstances, deep powers of imagination, resilience, strong will and DARKNESS are required to repeatedly have sex with a physically un-exciting woman.

The very rich
They are a product of two things.
1) Intelligence
2) Family
I have already talked about intelligence so if she is rich as well you are doubly f**ked. Enough said.
If she has a rich family you get a arrogance from her kin by the bucketloads. You are the wimp who cannot afford a palatial mansion in Muthaiga and are subjecting their daughter to Prefab housing without constant heated water, pool and Jacuzzi!! You can't afford Hawaii? Where the hell on the world map is Seychelles? And even then you need a loan to cushion the Seychelles trip which occurs once a decade. Lets suppose you are an idiot and follow her to the mansion that she has either bought with her hard-earned money or- was given by her daddy as a wedding present. You will have no cojones in that house. None whatsoever. You, cannot call the mates for some friendly chat as you roast the side of an unfortunate mbuzi. And then rich girls are used to a certain lifestlye, especially the daddy-girls; Perhaps a weekly imprest of 50,000? where on God's green earth are you going to find that?

There you go then.

So how is "Best Fit" related to the 28 to 33ish age bracket? Its all about the great betrayer called time and common sense.
Slide over the 40 year old mark and life's weariness starts getting to you. Any girl with common sense and who is at her prime (23-27, you want someone properly schooled and with a job somewhere ..) will immediately realize: This guy is a bit too old for me. The age gap is too great to have much in common. It therefore follows that the girls who stick to you at this juncture either do not have much sense; have an ulterior motive (like getting your money!!); or are past their prime. You have already started losing. The solid, sensible, decent looking chic will not wait around forever. She will be taken. And she will not have you if you go too far into the pale side.

Bam! The "Best Fit" theory. I love it when bullsh*t comes together so neatly.

So what are you left with?

Luckily for men, things are not as bad as with the women and their problems with conceiving and stuff. No no no. You are stuck with a phenomenon called "Fuc*ing below the line"; And it is great. I do it all the time when I do not have time to put on a complicated show for some slick woman. There is this gorgeous chic that we have tumbled in the hay on a few occassions; She has her very own version of Miss Jackson by Outkast which goes ..
I am suddenly Jackson, ooooooooh
I am so real,
Never made the doctor doctor cry ....
And its not just songs. There are other things she does that make me squirm but,....
Its all good. I am still a young man.

I have never heard of first ladies who have done incredibly insane things like storm corporate offices and slap reporters; I am sure you have heard stories where some wife refused a dignitary a dance simply because she is not cultured enough. Can you picture what on earth Lucy and Laura Bush talked about when she visited Washington? Beats me too. But I can imagine a guy thinking " Oh dear earth please swallow me NOW!!"

Best Fit. Think about it.