Behold…where tit fixations come from.

I am a classic procrastinator.

I wake up in the morning with a solid plan for the day. I make lists. I note it down in my battered organizer. And then by midday I’m curled up somewhere with yogurt and my excuses keeping me company.

The above is my half-ass apology to all the friends I have forgotten to get in touch with, all the texts that have gone un-replied, and all the brilliant blog posts that have remained in my mind because I was too lazy busy to get to it.

OK..moving right along. I was at Java one afternoon this week, because i had a serious milkshake-and-cake craving and also because afternoons at Capital Center are perfect for people watching…you get to see all the lucky women who don’t have to work because they have some rich old politician financing their lifestyles. Okay, ignore that last sentence. That was my bitter hormones talking. So I’m sitting there, in between moaning out loud from the pleasure of a chocolate fudge cake melting in my mouth, and doing the classic Kenyan “I’m looking around without really staring” move, when this lady walks in with her two kids. One looks around nine, the other looks around four or five years old..and they’re both in school uniform. She looks like those kids have worn her OUT. She orders a salad, and ice-cream for her kids. I was impressed by the older boy, who sits down, takes out a story book, and vanishes behind it. Good lad that one.

Now the younger boy! Wow. Walking ad for birth control. Out of desperation, the mother does the last thing i expected. She grabs him, hoists him onto her lap, whips out a tit, and starts to breastfeed him. A child…in school uniform…all up on the nyonyo.

If he’s old enough to ask for it, he’s too old to have it.

 

That is all.

UPDATE: someone just told me that it’s perfectly okay to breastfeed your child until the age of seven. SEVEN.

Whatchutalkingabout, Willis

 

 

Blogging scares men off, apparently.

So a few weeks ago, a girl that i really like gave this guy my number, and i guess told him that i was all kinds of awesome, the bees knees….such things. He called, we arranged to meet the next day for lunch, and i was then left to ponder deep, life-changing matters like what to do with my hair and what to wear. Which took a few hours, because,  have you seen my hair??? No? Vulture’s nest, anyone?

Anywho, the next day, i turned up for my blind date looking moderately human, and my jaw literally hits the flowa..because this man was FINE. Like, are-you-sure-youre-my-date-cos-how-are-you-still-single-looking-like-that kind of fine. I was actually thrown off my game for a bit because i have neeeever known what to say when I’m confronted with a truly good-looking man..let’s face it, if you know me, you know that i can’t multitask. Like in this case, i can’t talk and ovulate at the same time. Back to the date. So i was tongue-tied for a few minutes,  but i quickly got my mojo back, and we both proceeded to talk non-stop for hours. I remember him having this really hearty laugh…he’d throw his head back and just laugh from his belly…which i found very attractive. As if being a gorgeous hunk of man meat wasn’t enough. Sigh.

Anyway, i happened to mention to him that i blog on occasion, he asked for the address and i wrote it down for him on a serviette. So he drops me home, tells me how much fun he had and how we have to do it again. Next day, he hollas, says the address i wrote down for my blog doesn’t exist or something, and I’m there grinning like a moron because he kept the serviette (which is sooo romantic comedy, i know). So i text him the address,  and that’s the last i heard from him. I’m not even kidding.  Like he vanished into thin air. So i can only assume that he was struck dumb by the horrors he found on this blog. Ahahahaha.

Seriously tho…does this blog actively run men off??

Fractures, Firsts, and other stories ..

Ok…I’m the poster child for ADHD. That’s my excuse for my prolonged absence. You see, one of my greatest flaws is that i get bored easily, and lose interest in something that previously was the center of my being. Bummer, really. Remember in the movie Finding Nemo…the goldfish Dory..who found Nemo..but then forgot? That’s me. I even kind of look like her.

So…in the period since i dropped off the face of the earth, a few things have happened.  First, lots of people have apparently been lurking around this here blog, and have been sending me messages about how it’s unseemly for a woman to broadcast her desperation for a husband over the internet.

Give me a minute as i guffaw. Cachinnate even.

I should probably point out that at least 90% of the stuff i write here is completely tongue-in-cheek. Once in a while, my angst will take over and I’ll write a sad, emo piece, complete with violins. When i do that, you’ll know. Otherwise,  don’t take me too seriously! I sure as hell don’t!

Another major step that i took was down the path of celibacy. Yaani, i do not have sex. I’ve been talking about this for a while,  but I’ve now mad it official. So the first question is…till when, Ciru? And much as I’d love to day till marriage, I’ll have to be a little more realistic and say…till i meet the guy that’s worth my (secondary) cherry. And the fact that i just broke my ankle should make it easier for me to keep my chastity belt on…at least for the next six weeks anyways.

Yes. I broke my leg…and it was the most stupid thing!! It had just rained, and i have no idea why i felt the need to run, but before i knew it, i was flying through the air, shrieking like a banshee. So now I’m hauling my fat ass around on crutches. Fun.

Out from my cave..

Ok…following various threats on Facebook….i return to this here thingie.

You people are DISTURBED. *bows head in prayer*

So at the moment I’m a full time student, which means that I’m currently poorer than i used to be, which in turn means that I’m a regular user of public transportation. No shiny pink vitz for me, thanks very much.

I generally don’t mind javving…seriously i don’t.  The walking is good exercise, and there are some interesting characters that i wouldn’t see otherwise from the confines of a private vehicle. I like people-watching, you see. And Kenyans…wow…as a population we really are a few cards short of a deck. The sh*t I’ve seen? DSM IV!!!

But seriously though, there are times when stuff goes down that makes me want to kick a puppy and strangle a kitten. (More DSM IV right there.)
1. The edge-hog: this is the profoundly annoying person who insists on sitting in the aisle seat, and makes you almost copulate with his/her thigh as you climb over him/her to get to the window seat. Ati “Nashuka hapo mbele..” and he ends up taking the jav all the way to the end. At the driver’s house. Pu.

2. The shoulder-ass sandwich: when you’re lucky enough to escape the edge-hog and get yourself an aisle seat near the front , you become a DNA collection petri dish for every one who makes their way to and from the back of the jav. Now there is a split second when as they pass by, your shoulder is wedged firmly between their ass cheeks. Yaay. Intimacy.

3. Chemical Ali(son): This is the Kenyan who literally brings tears to your eyes with the heady aroma of their two day old sweat. And as Murphy would have it, this person ALWAYS feels the need to rest their elbow on the seat in front, placing you squarely in the line of..er..fire. Yum.

4. Hello-is-it-me-you’re-looking-for: Every reasonably attractive Kenyan girl has experienced this…the guy who sits next to you, stares unblinkingly at you for about 5 minutes (thereby probably drying out his cornea), then proceeds to chatter non-stop about your charms and how hot you are and how he’s looking for a wife. He is, without fail, grotesque, and also, without fail, gets off a stop after you. So there’s no escape. Jesus take the wheel.

5. The Plague: this is the person who sits next to you and proceed to emit fluids from every orifice in his head. He blows his nose then spreads out his hankie like a billboard, treating you to the appetizing contents of his sinuses, he makes lovely bubbling sounds with the phlegm in his throat..and you stagger out of the mat just in time to avoid losing your lunch.

Ok…i need a car. This is depressing.

Sorry…we’re fresh out of sympathy

I am an insomniac.

The kind that prowls the house at 3 in the am and scares the crap out of my poor mother.

So last night, in between doing my best Night Prowler impression, i decided to get on Facebook, chokora the heck out of people’s walls and hopefully bore myself to sleep.

Now i have ALOT of Facebook friends. I personally know maybe a third of them. Don’t look at me with your judging eyes…I’m a philanthropist. I accept all friends requests. (Except if you have a name like Candyland McSexy iceCream TupacBitch Wanjiku. That’s where i draw the line.)

So as i was up to my elbows in my nocturnal Facebook ransackings, i saw that one of my unknown friends had put up a note.

I opened it.

It went something like ‘fat women  object to being made fun of, but can call thinner chics skinny bitches. We have feelings too!’

Boo-freakin-hoo.

Poor skinny girls. It must be so hard, fighting off the male attention.

And having no trouble finding jeans that fit your snake-like hips must really suck. Poor things.

How about not having to unbutton your pants every time you have a hearty meal?  Ain’t that a bitch?

Not getting made fun of..being called a whale/hippo/buffalo/woolly mammoth, that blows, doesn’t it?

Sorry…no sympathy here. Try me next week, when I’m not feeling like a bloated woolly mammoth.

Hell on earth..

I thought that i had seen it all. After all, i spent two years up to my elbows dissecting dead bodies. I have seen people die horribly right before my eyes. But nothing…nothing could have prepared me for the horror of yesterday’s fire disaster in Sinai slum.

Seeing the bodies of people who lived, laughed, cried  and loved mere hours before reduced to charred, blackened spots on the ground. Scenes of grim desolation.

Death is a part of life, they say. But the utter destruction of over one hundred people is a tragic waste.

But the real tragedy here becomes apparent when you stop and think about how these people – and so many others live. Try and imagine eking out a miserable existence, living from day to day, your life a constant struggle to stave off hunger and to keep a ramshackle roof over your head. Of course you cannot fathom it. This is why i just shake my head when i hear the middle class pontificating about greed and ignorance, saying, with condescension…Kenyans will never learn.

But how can they? When your life is a constant struggle to keep the wolves from your door on less than a dollar a day, when money literally flows past your doorstep, will you turn down the opportunity to make a few coins, and have your first decent meal in weeks??

The people who died yesterday were willing to wade into raw sewage to scoop up that which led to their deaths. In my view, that is not greed, or ignorance. That is desperation.

And that is the real tragedy.

Of humps…and lost mojo.

I have had a strange week.

The kind that makes you question quite a few things about the fundamental you. But because I’m not one of those people who are big jobo excessive self-disclosure, i think I’ll peel off those layers one at a time for you…over a few decades.

Yesterday i had a bit of writer’s block, which generally happens when i feel all this pressure to churn out comedic masterpieces even when i really don’t feel like it. Then i remembered….my life is like a tragic comedy anyway! Plenty of inspiration there!

Last post, i mentioned that I’d had an encounter with a guy who had a hump…and i thought I’d write about it. Then, because I’m not a completely evil hag, i baulked at the thought of laughing at something someone was born with and has no control over. See, i believe in karma. And if i made this guy the butt of my cyber-wit, something crazy would happen to me.  Like a piano dropping on me as i walk down Moi Avenue.

So.. sorry folks. No nasty freak show humour a someone’s expense today. Let me find my mojo the right way.

Meanwhile, si you guys were supposed to be finding me a man??  Slackers!  Don’t make me go start praying for a hosband at Nyayo Stadium ooo! 

Afrosinema continues shortly…

He’s baaaaack, ladies!

Who, you ask?

Well a while ago, a pastor from the land of Chineke took Kenya by storm, when he came here, promising all lonely women who had given up hope of being married, that if they attended his seminar, (and bought his book) that they would find their soulmate and be married to him in less than six months.

Mayhem ensued.

I still remember watching those poor women on the news, stampeding like migrating wildebeest, pulling out synthetic weaves and gold-plated earrings in their haste to get into KICC, and some breaking down in utter despair when they were told that the venue was too full for them to enter.

Well, a full venue shall be the least of your worries, ladies! An entire stadium has been booked for this divine event!  Come and get your miracle!

(Glow-reh!)

For too long, you have been alone, spending two hours every Sunday evening watching all the wedding shows on telly. You have planned your wedding down to the last detail. You know your theme colour, who will be in your lineup and what precise shade of vermilion they will wear. You have, prayed, fasted and offered holocaust so that the man of your dreams may drop into your lap like a glorious windfall. You have been on countless first dates with tall men, short men, fat men, men with humps (this actually happened to me..lol. story for another post)…and none of them ever called back.

Well my sister oh, receive your ‘hosband’…..for a fee.

And entertain the rest of us while we watch you on the news stampeding like migrating wildebeest, pulling out synthetic weaves and gold-plated earrings.

Glow-reh!

Phobia…

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

(2 Tim . 1 :7 )

I was thinking about this today…yes children, I’m not a heathen…after i had a weird nightmare involving magic mushrooms and snakes with legs, and i awoke covered in sweat. *shivers*.

Now, I’m a girl that has weird fears. When i was younger, i had this recurring nightmare about being trapped in a room without windows or a door, just covered with white tiles from top to bottom. Then, after i watched the movie It, i can never look at a clown without feeling a level of nervousness. And anyway..clowns are creepy, with their painted faces and giant shoes.

But my greatest fear? Snakes. I remember going to watch the movie Anaconda with this guy that i really liked…and spent the entire movie screaming into his armpit. I never got another date. :-/

Why am i on fears today? I realized that a lot of people are held back by irrational fears. You will not approach someone you’re interested in because you’re afraid they’ll roll about on the floor laughing at you and pointing. You’re afraid of going on that job interview because you think you’ll be seized by a bout of projectile vomiting when you’re asked about your weaknesses. (Although that would be an effective answer. “I vomit under pressure.”) You’re afraid of taking a great new job in another country because you’re terrified of nazi racists/ rabid monkeys/ Ebola.

But don’t you see?  All that stuff is highly unlikely to happen.

Except the rabid monkeys. Those are real.

With men like these…..

This weekend, i had lunch with my girl, and she told me a story that was in equal parts hilarious, maddening….and despair inducing.

So this guy calls her and says,

“It’s been a while, si we do breakfast at Java Yaya?”

So my pal goes like…ok, cool, but she suggests they meet at the Java near Nairobi Hospital, as it’s more convenient for her, but he insists that they meet at Yaya. I should mention at this juncture that he was driving and she wasn’t.

So she turns up at Yaya, and finds that she’s the first one there. She finds a table, sits, and waits. After she’s been waiting a few minutes, he calls her and tells her that he’ll be there soon, and that she should go ahead and order.

Now, seeing as she knows she’s going to have a large lunch later – and because she’s one of those infuriating girls that watch their weight – she orders a fruit salad and a herbal tea.

So finally, the guy shows up, and proceeds to order the full giant breakfast…eggs, bacon, toast, juice, coffee…and they talk as they eat. First, this guy probably fell in the shower, sustained a concussion, and came to thinking he’s an American rapper…because a guy’s speech is peppered with cussing, calling women bitches..eish. Deal-breaker number one.

Finally, they’re done eating, and he signals for the bill. It’s brought over, he opens it, looks at it, closes it….and slides it over to my girl, crosses his legs, and looks off into the distance.

I shit you not.

So for a few moments, she thinks…ha ha ha…he’s kidding. But a guy continues gazing round at other diners, and it slowly dawns on her…he’s dead serious! She pays the bill…and as she’s about to leave, he says,
“We should do a movie, i’ll call you.”
Balls of steel, that one.
Cast iron testicles.

Here is a guy…invites a girl to breakfast, insists on the location, eats food that’s the equivalent weight of several small children…as she’s there eating a grape…..and then makes her pay the whole bill???  Without even offering to go Dutch?? What deep dark jungle species is this?  

And here i am, looking for a husband.

I’m screwed.

PS..my pal would now like to be taken out by a real man…to get that sour taste out of her mouth.