Jadekitten

Auf wiedersehen

2009-12-09T04:25:00.000-08:00

I'm sure in some sphere of the universe it's REALLY bad manners to leave one's blog in as much neglect as I have. Grins. Doesn't mean I haven't been feeling a tweak of guilt 'cos, you know, closure and things. And also, perfectionist. Because I believe in doing things, only, perfectly. And that closing means nice wrapping, a red and green ribbon and pretty sprigs. Forgive me, I started Xmas shopping early!

I think this post was meant to start with.....this blog has seen me through ups and downs, pulled me through thins and thicks, and I want to appreciate everyone who shared this journey with me.....and etc. Ha! I'm actually surprised that there are people who came to visit any more considering how sporadic I am. Also because i.am.
not.very.good.at.commenting.on.yours.blogs. Heaven knows I tried. I mean, yes, there are those blogs I visit say, once a month. Like my precious hubzy's :). It's just that in between work (corner office, check!), churning out columns regularly (well, once a week) for a national newspaper, school (oh, school never ends), my new found love for 'projects'(i kid you not, I have a sewing machine in my house) making time for the man OF my life, and you know, generally LIFE happening, there's hardly time to sneak in much else.

So I guess I am bowing out gracefully. Smiles. I have so much to thank blogland for; it's within these 4 'walls' that I met the most amazing man in the whole wide world, who later became my husband. I have made some pretty amazing friends, and met some pretty interesting people. I have REALLY grown, I have made changes in my life and formed meaningful relationships, but I don't think the blog has grown with me; it doesn't really reflect who or what I am :)

A friend turned mentor (do we go the Tyra way and say frientor? lol) mentioned that it's time I re-analysed all aspects of my public image. I had deluded myself all it was going to take was me taking off my nose ring (sucked)....but apparently to be at the place I am professionally a couple years early asks a lot more of me. OK. Bring it on!

It's been pretty fab. For some reason, it never really caught 100% cos er...I just can never seem to write, blatantly, to put my ish out there as openly as I thought I would when I started off. So, adios (no really, maybe for the 1.5 people who might pass by cos hehe...sporadic breeds sporadic!)

PEACE!

....NINE MONTHS LATER!

2008-07-18T05:29:00.000-07:00

*Giggles*

I know. Because who, normal person comes back after 9 months with nary a knock? Or. Or an apology? Wait. You were hoping for an apology? (I is normal? Tihiii)

*More giggles*

A lot can happen in 9 months. Even if remembering said password to log into my blog is not among the top 2 :) Children can be concieved and born. He he. 9 months is a long time. Urgh, no, I didn't go and start 'world domination' and keep it a secret from y'all. No, really. I wouldn't do that. (Right!) No new babies. Yet. New house though. New abso-effing-lutely amazing new house.

Well, I did go and let myself free-fall. In love. With the yummiest, kindest, awesome-est human being on the world wide world. It's ok...I'll wait while you go throw up..hehe. Done? And said human did ask me to, uh, make him pancakes for breakfast for the rest of his life. Come on, I did say 9 months was a long time. I said. Yes. Conditionally. On never asking why I need yet another pair of shoes. Or why every other conversation about 'our' credit card will start with 'Awww....but they were the most AMAZING pair'. And so it was done, hehe. What? Details? All hazy, we were both too excited to remember much, but there was Italian food. And a fireplace. And tears. And well, a red diamond. Yup. He has perfect taste, he does.

I forgot what else I was going to say. Tihiii....Got all warm and fuzzy :) But someone asked me, amidst the whirlwind that is planning a wedding. And well, being the control freak that I am and refusing to have a 'committee', which I really think is a reason for people to brand you 'bridezilla' when you refuse to appease them all :). No, really, I have much love for everyone who has wholeheartedly offered me their time and er..hehe...other things. *Wink*. Tangent! So, she asked me if I'm oh-so-excited about the wedding. Hmmm....I had to think about it, SHOCK! No, not yet with the sympathetic 'cold-feet' forwards yet. I'm excited about my, what did you expect, shoes! (He he...they almost cost more than the dress) Italian Gold and Italian designer. And I'm excited about a couple other aspects; my dress, and being with the people I adore most, and seeing him as I walk down the aisle, and hearing him say 'I do'.

But what I'm excited about more? The after-the-wedding-hullabaloo. Get out of the gutter you, not exactly THAT. Well, prolly also but not only :D
But. The waking up next to him. Every single morning.
Making him pancakes with syrup and strawberries.
Waking up to find him smiling at me even in my sleep.
The ease with which he kisses my forehead.
The way he gets me without my having to say a word.
Making him endure shopping for shoes with me. Even when it's over the 'net.
The humour, and intelligence, and laughs and 'world domination' And everything in between.
I could fill a book. Effortlessly. But you get my gist. I'm more excited about being married to him than the wedding day. Every day after. The wedding, well, that's just the wedding. And yes, pick your jaw from the floor, I'm undoubtedly the only woman who hasn't dreamt of a big ostentatious thingy with horse drawn carriages. In fact, the fewer the people the better. Now, wish me luck. I need to pull off an 80-strong guest list.

...If everything happens that can't be done....

2007-10-09T04:57:00.000-07:00

Smiles.

And more smiles.

And still more smiles.

Yup, I’m dishing them out…bila shame. To all and sundry. In the office, in the elevator, on the street, in class. Lakini in the elevator I’ve kinda chilled. Is it the new fad to hit on chics in lifts these days? Ama it’s the new kind of speed dating? Say –your-piece-and-see-if-you-can-get-her-to-tell-you-where-she-works/give you her number/say yes to coffee-before-she-gets-to-her-floor day? So, no, no more being friendly to strangers asking me what time it is in the lift. I digress. Which leads me to another digression. Someone borrowed my copy of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina and didn’t return it. Why, oh why do people borrow books and not return them? Borrow my clothes, my movies, music, anything…and keep it. Lakini my books, please DON’T touch. Urghhh. So now that’s me going off on tangents like Levin. LOL.

I AM smiling. Despite the fact that I’ve been so snowed under for the last 2 months or so. School (at this rate I’m becoming a career student!), Rotary (why oh why do I keep enlisting in these things. Someone please hit me over the head if I enroll myself in one more!), Investment clubs (I’m a msapere so maybe that explains this one!), chamas (yes, my girls will kill me but I’m withdrawing from ALL of them), my writing (this one is my dream come true, so, no, I’m counting my blessings here!)…and last but definitely not least, my job. Which is getting more and more challenging. Which is why I’m wondering where amidst all this I get the energy and time for a social and ….tihii…love life (Lawd, did I just say that? Love life? It sounds so...so…adult..hehe) No, I’m not complaining, but in the middle of running around like a headless chicken, he told me something’s gotta give. And yes, I agree.

But before the ‘something’ gives, I’ll smile a bit more. Heck, why not. You make me happy. Scratch that. You make me deliriously, insanely ecstatic. When you’re not driving me up the wall just because you can. More smiles. When I say something that only me, miss wisea$$ can say and you give me that look. The one that really really smart people give you when they know you’re oh-so-bluffing. When after that self satisfied smirk I wear when I’ve 10-nil’ed you you look for a reason to say ‘village maiden’ and you know for sure I’m gonna kill you. When you sing along to the whole of Craig’s Fill me in. When you say that white carnations make you think of me. When I think I have you all figured out then you throw me for another loop. When you’re just you. Awesome. Sensitive. Intuitive. Intelligent. Warm. Perceptive. Decent. You. Just you.

Are you smiling yet? I know I am.

(so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now
now I am you and you are me
(and books are shutter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we
we're everything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything
greater
than books might mean)
we're everyanything more than we believe
(with a spin leap alive
we are alive)
we're wonderful one times one
e.e.cummings, if everything happens that can't be done.

Alicia Keys Lyrics

They have a virus. It's called irresponsibility. And it's contagious.

2007-08-28T05:42:00.000-07:00

This is a rant. An extreme rant. Proceed at your own peril.

Aaaaaand, I wasn’t going to do this post, but I heard yet another sob story yester evening that sent me hurtling over the edge. Disclaimer: I’m sorry if at the end of reading this anyone is offended, but cannot keep this inside no more :-(

This is for all Doofuses (M 2000 something) that are giving their counterparts a bad name. Nay, that’s too nice. It’s for all y’all who are a sorry ass excuse for having the honor being a living breathing specimen. And this you are if:

When your girlfriend who you have been seeing and sleeping with for 1,2,3,4,5 etc years gets pregnant and all you can say is either:
- I’m confused.
- How could you let this happen.
- Jipange (enyewe that one Gish mami was original).
- And the worst. YOU TAKE CARE OF IT!

How???

Someone, please someone explain to me how the man you love, and declares to love you can transform from the caring soul they were into a useless nini like this. By the way, I’m not talking about a CFA or FWB or FB. This is a solid (or so you thought) relationship where a lot more had been exchanged than just ‘benefits’. And where the L word was uttered, and not only in the ‘throes of passion’.

Where do you get off thinking you have the luxury of being confused? Eh? Tell me. The mami, God Bless her soul who has decided to do the honorable thing IS WITH CHILD. She cannot wish or will this child away. SHE does not have the luxury of being confused. No, I’m not saying marry her. BUT. The least you can do is go away and be confused VERY far from her. Then come back and tell her I have decided X. Y or Z. And whatever it is you have decided, stick to it. If you decide you want out, kwenda na uende kabisa. Na usirudi. Out ní nja. If you decide you will support the child, you best not dare turn up 2 months later when you’re meant to be making a downpayment for hosi and say ‘I have been thinking and I have decided you’re on your own. I asked you to flush and you decided to keep IT’ Kwanza now it has become an IT. And this you came to after you talked to your drunken friends in the bar, ati they advised you. MATHOGOS!

And mami/s, I have mad love for you, you know that. BUT. If you have to stop that man mid-action and ask him what is going to happen in case you get pregnant, do it (hell, CD’s burst. Did you ever read in bio that there is no one method of birth control that’s 100% safe?). And if he loses it (literally or figuratively) then maybe that’s even a better thing. Best contraceptive that!

Exhale, JK, exhale. You know, I needed to do that. I think I’ve been giving too many undeserving men the ‘YOU MEN!’ speech. Now, back to other non-earth shattering and inconsequential matters.

The sun is gracing us with its presence, once again. Bliss. Pure bliss. And the following things, I am bound to do, not necessarily in said order.
I shall wear short skirts.
I shall roll car window down.
I’m driving, said item of clothing shall likely hike :-)
I shall listen to fabulous music and I shall be engrossed.
And then I shall look up and find you (you who are going in opposite direction in a big fat/phat car that’s huko high up) ogling and/or leering down at said sight of flesh. Because this is prolly the most entertainment you shall get in a while I shall just wish traffic would hurry and speed off. And I shall roll up me window. BUT. If you get busted by your wife, I have no wish to be knifed, maimed or otherwise so tafadhali, can you try not to stare????? Be warned. Or if there are suddenly peeps on your lane hooting cos you nudged your friend and are both now staring so hard that you forgot you were meant to drive. Y’all, I will collect your plates and circulate. How would you like that? Is a li’l discretion too much to ask? And you wonder why chics tint their car windows *smh*

If you of the male species are feeling outraged, cos I lashed out at y’all indiscriminately, read the disclaimer :-) You know I got nothing but love for y’all.

Ps: Friends are like wildflowers. They are often found in the most unlikely places :-)

P.S.S. Tihiii. Who ARE these people?

RANDOM NOTHINGNESS

2007-07-23T04:52:00.000-07:00

The Rules are:-
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

I know I usually don't, but I will try to follow the rules this time :-)

RANDOM NOTHINGS….BEEN TAGGED

1. I’m abso-friggin-lutely scared of being pregnant. Not even giving birth, which I hear is excruciatingly painful (or maybe those are just the voices telling me) but being. The fact that I’ll have something growing inside of me. I keep having these images, like in Invasion where the ‘things’ inside those preggers girls were glowing luminous orange and squirming. Auwiii… My skin is crawling already. Nuff sed.

2. There’s a game I play…in traffic, in hospital when I’m waiting to see a doctor, generally in places where you could be bored to death if you don’t have a good book. About people, especially couples, young ones. I make up soaps that would put La-sijui- the-poor-man’s-daughter-or-was-it-gardener to shame. Nice juicy ones. The next time you’re with me in jam and this sullen looking couple look like they want to kill each other, just ask me…hehe…. Sometimes I get so engrossed the peeps behind me think I fell asleep and have to hoot when traffic resumes crawling along…

3. Shoes. I have an obsession for shoes. And not just any shoes. If they don’t have a 3+ inch heel they ain’t doing it for me. I have shoes that I’ve never worn, and shoes that I’ve worn once. Some twice. Shoes that I shall look at in display windows until the day I will gather enough courage to walk in and buy. Yaani if I weren’t cost conscious (my career has taught me to do cost-benefit analysis each time I make a purchase) I would have Manolo’s in my closet. Yes, at $500 each. Currently, my spare bedroom is for my shoes. If I were to build my house, I would have a walk in closet for my shoes. With stairs. Bliss.

4. When people (the very few who have dared) ask me about my dad, I just give them a blank look. I have no idea what it’s meant to feel to have a male parent. My mum has been both my parents for ever. My dad, well, lets just say I don’t feel anything towards; no anger, or bitterness, only a ‘just leave me alone, why now do you want to be a part of my life now?’ feeling. Vile kwanza I don’t even know what role a father is meant to play in one’s life, so even if I let him back in, what would I do with him?????

Gosh, haki 8 randoms ni mob…..

5. When I meet someone, male or female, I give them a nil ‘trust’ score. It’s up to them to build or to remain at nil. That way, I rarely get disappointed, only pleasantly surprised.

6. I don’t make too much of an effort to be liked by people. I’m not one of those sugary sweet, nice tu-girls(hehe I can be when I want to be lakini, ah, no). But I’m steadfast, unfailingly loyal, true, decent and I’m working on the integrity bit. I prefer people to like, or not like me for who I am with the minimum amount of pretence on my or their part.

7. I’m not sure if I will get married. Among others but topping the list is the mortifying fear that I will/could be cheated on. I’ve never been cheated on, at least not that I know of. I cannot imagine what I would do if I pledged my life AND my faithfulness to someone and they stabbed me in the back. I might prolly kill them. I swurr. (Maybe it’s an ego thing??!!??)

8. I tend to get things to go my way. Some people call me spoilt, maybe I am, maybe not. But some people (and some of them bloggers) say that I’m a ‘my-way-or-no-way’ kind of person….

Now, who to tag, scratch, scratch, who to tag.... Ok, my taggees (LOL) are......
Methu
V
HnH
Shiru
Young-'ness'
Quint

....till the cops come knocking....

2007-07-04T08:26:00.000-07:00

.....There's a time I felt I was blessed to be loved by you

But those blessings turn to regret from all the things you put me through

I remember at night you used to hold me till the sun rose the next day

Now you sleep and just turn away while my heart is on display

And I say...

Why should I cry one more night?

Why should I smile when it hurts inside?

Why does my heart say, get up and walk away

Why do I stay?
Why, why, why

There's a reason why I cry every day

There's a reason why things don't go your way

There's a reason why I kneel down in pray

There's a reason why I'm still around today

Can't you see that I'm hurtin' eternally?

I need affection and good Lord therapy

I need you know as an urgent deliveryTO GET RID OF THE PAIN INSIDE OF ME

I’m not crying. I’m not hurting :-)

I just totally dig that song, the whole album actually. If anything, in the last couple of months I’ve been more at peace than I’ve been in a very long time. AND. And most importantly, I’m happy. Happy to embark on my journey, the journey of self discovery. Cliché as that sounds, it’s never been as true as it has been the last year or so. I was talking to a friend, and I said, almost without thinking ‘I think I’ve grown up more in the last 2 years than I have in all those other years of me life’. And I realized that it was true. Now, who will toast to that with me?

The grown up me who doesn’t have to keep trying so hard to be perfect. If I were any more perfect, I’d be an automaton. Ok, I lie. I think I’m far far from the product my Maker intended me to be. But for now…for now I will rest here, on my laurels until I start feeling restless, then I will resume the rat race (or whatever journey shall suit me).

The grown up in me who doesn’t get quite so upset any more, whp just doesn’t sweat the little things (unless of course you’re an idiota and do something shtoopid on the road, I will hoot at you till kingdom come. I swurr), the one who instead of getting irritated by those li’l things takes a step back and goes skipping happily in a different direction. The one who can turn and walk away without a backward glance.

The grown up in me who understands that sometimes to keep it together you’ve just got to leave it alone. That really, if it ain’t broke, don’t go poking holes in it only cuz you want summ’n to fix. The one who, now, instead of belaboring a point, sighs, murmurs a silent f*** you and goes happily on her way. Ok, I didn’t mean that, but it DOES happen especially when peeps are being pricks, hehe… The one that, evidently, now needs to wash her mouth out.

The grown up in me who has made conscious decisions to be the person she wants to be. Without pretence. Without embellishment. Without holding back. Without fickleness. Instead with integrity, and love, and compassion, and hugs. Many hugs.

And now, it’s 5.30 and catch me dead working my butt off like I’ve been doing the last two days. Oh, that’s the grown up who knows how to read a clock. LOL. 5.30 means home time. The bells, can you hear them? 5.30 doesn’t mean time to give JK work because you think (a) – she’s bila life or (b) – she’ll be only too happy to do it, si u know she’s an obliging one or (c) – you’re just not thinking. To corrupt what HnH said, it’s just you and your LAPtop tonight. LOL.

Oh, and before I forget, Happy Happy Birthday to one amazing someone. Unajijua. Sema M.O.B. LOL. Oh, and you noticed that title was oh so misleading...hehe...

For this post, blame Heather Headley (In my mind), Koffee Brown (Mars and Venus), Maxwell (Urban Hang Suite) and Mary J. Blige (Breakthrough). I think I’ve been listening to too much Neo Soul. Fabulousness. I can hardly wait for tomorrow.

Neo Soul Thursday, anyone?

The Miseducation of JK

2007-06-19T23:18:00.000-07:00

Someone, a moderately influential someone in my life called me naïve a few days ago. Snort! Me? Naïve? How?
This is the thing, I believe there is such a thing as emotional cheating. Evidently, I’m one of the very few people who think that. That if I’m seeing someone and we’ve made a commitment to each other….HE is the person I should be talking to about the things closer to my heart, no? But that’s just me. Another thing, I still believe that extra-marital sex is wrong. When I went for my catechism classes, we took an in-depth look at Catholic rites et al. We had a catechist who took no time to expounding on the virtues of celibacy and chastity. This was many many years ago. And even then, I believed sex was wrong and something to be ashamed of…I took it for granted that once I got married, the guilt would fall away…The jury is still out on that. Thing is, I used to wonder, still do, what’s going to happen to all everyone (the 99.99% of the population) who have sex before they’re married? Are ‘we’ all going to go to hell? Or purgatory? I’m trying hard not to lose the innocence I had, I still want to believe in the things I believed in. Is that me being naïve?
No, I think it’s my miseducation.

When is the last time you sat an exam that made you rethink everything about your career, heck, your life. I did. Two weeks ago. Talk about a humbling experience…I’m still wondering how I landed in my career (default or design?), my supposed ‘brightness’ (I am disillusioned. I think our education system is flawed. Apparently the fact that you scored in the top 10% in your academic papers doesn’t mean you’ll ace your professional ones??? LOL). A radical career change is what I need.
My miseducation.

Stuff, unfortunately, ain’t always black and white. There’s a whole lot of greys and other shades in between. Just because you care about someone enough to treat them in a certain way doesn’t mean they’ll always turn out as you expect them to. Just because you like someone doesn’t mean they’ll always be decent human beings. I still want to believe that people are inherently good, with some bad in them, and not the other way round.
My naiveté? Or my miseducation?

And on a lighter note.

Nothing beats freedom. Is that an inane statement? There’s nothing that feels as fabulous as being able to sleep in on a Saturday morning without the drat-I-have-a-class-at-8.00 guilt gnawing at me. Or dancing myself silly on Friday AND Saturday night with my totally FABulous girls and laughing ourselves out of the club at 5.30am with zilch guilt (V, Can you say MOB baby. Triple LOL). Or…reading my book in peace…or going to the video library and stocking up knowing I WILL watch all the movies. Damn! It sure feels good to be away from school, even if it’s only for one month.

Randomness depths...

.....It takes more strength to be weak than to be strong.....

.....The FABulously incredible girls in my life...the ones who can let me be weak without judging, or let me fight that weakness even when they can see I'm fronting, the ones with whom I have amazingly intimate conversations, the ones who have my back, the ones who are brave and full of life, the ones who die when we have the car-carrot cake conversation, the ones who know what I mean even when I don't say it. Those ones. They are the safe shelters, the human angels, the gold dusting.....the ones that humble me....

TOLD YA!

The above pictures will disintegrate in.....3 days....just to prove that yes, I can put pics of real (LOL) people on my page. Now, pay up, pay up. In cash, preferably $$$$.

Clothes on the floor....

2007-05-14T04:44:00.000-07:00

Methu, Quint, halfnhalf and anywhere else my name has popped up where I haven't been yet, I thought all my clothes were on the floor last year...hehe...Oh well, here goes....

Einz - I can NOT stand littering. I carry garbage around in my hands looking for a bin. In fact I get positively agitated if I don’t see a bin (picture, in a moment of forgetfulness accidentally dropping my load, and running after pieces of paper and tissue till I ‘catch’ them).

Zwei - I’m SO scared of being perceived of progressing at work for sleeping with my boss that I keep a HUGE distance, despite the fact that he’s the nicest, most decent person ever.

Drei - There’s a stupid part of my life that I would really like to erase. Completely. Like in ‘Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’….. Yeah, I watched it.

Vier - I find it hard to tell vulgar jokes, I cringe when I read them, or when people tell them.

Fúnf - I had a very very sweet tooth. Then I developed a condition that made me get rid of it. It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. (If I were a smoker, I think I'd make short thrift of quitting). Now, I only very occassionally indulge. My living room is FULL of turkish sweets, chocolate etc that I've been given as gifts. House call, anyone? :-)

Zechs - I have ‘EXCESS’ internal dialogue. I am reading-between-the-lines-I-know-you-sed-this-but-you-musta-meant-the-other personified. I have also failed miserably at letting go of things. Especially things said.

Zieben - I can fall in love (in lust, whatever) with a man just because of the way he handles and drives his car.

Ok, I know I kinda cheated in this post...hehe...BUT...any/everyone who hasn't been tagged, here's tagging ya! :-)

The good, the bad...and the ugly...

2007-05-10T01:38:00.000-07:00

I’m superstitious, so I’ll start with the ugly.

Wait, there’s no ugly, it was just for the title...hehe….

The bad is…the watchies keep folding my side mirrors at night, especially the left one. Now, everyone who knows me knows I squeeze every li’l minute of sleep out of my morning..so by the time I’m driving off in the morning, there’s only time to check that my good brothers have not substituted stones for my tires…tihiii… So, Uhuru highway, ati I’m going to overtake, checking my side left mirror…nothing. Urghhhh!!! Those watchies!

The bad….eh…blank :-)

The good is….I love love love my new house, that’s why, Miss HR, I’ve been coming in 30 mins late every day, tis oh so hard to tear myself away.. :-)

The good is….getting my first cheque for something I truly have a passion for.

The good is….signing my first contract for a dream that has finally come to life.

The puzzling….what in heck’s name is going on on Magadi Road? From the Bomas turn off; craters the size of your car, supposed expansion of the road but from the looks of it it’s just getting narrow, and what’s the deal with the many many stones on the road side? And why doesn’t anyone know what firm is handling this? I need to talk to SOMEONE! Can you spell n.i.g.h.t.m.a.r.e.?

The quirky…. “I came expecting fries and a burger and got sushi and teriyaki” ala pick up line…

The downright rude, or maybe this should take the slot ‘ugly, very ugly’…. “You know you want it…”….ala pick up line from hell, you and your ilk should be burnt at the stake!

The horrific…I’m on post no. 26!!!! G.O.L.L.Y

The curious… am I the only person who hasn’t been bit by the WP bug?

The inevitable…..I want a raise. I am going to ask for a raise. I WILL get a raise. I am looking for strategy. Ideas, anyone? Foolproof ideas?

AOB:

May God R.I.P the 115 on the KQ507 flight, may He give their families and friends strength and faith to go through this trying time.

May God R.I.P Mansukh, our dear fellow Rotarian who was shot in cold blood, may He give Usha and the family strength to go on….and to continue believing….

Tell me why....

2007-04-23T05:31:00.000-07:00

Why?

Why is there always such calm before the storm? Why does everything that was so perfect fall heart-gut-wrenchingly apart with such alacrity?

Why?

Why are people fickle?

Why are they not happy when things go well for you?

Why do they constantly say one thing and mean another?

Why?

Why is love hard, and complicated, and unpredictable, and painful?

Why is it so hard to trust unequivocally?

Why is it so hard to just let go?

Why?

Why will I not let myself not be strong, even if it kills me?

Why do I have to be on my knees for you to know something is wrong?

Why?

BUSTation!!!!

2007-02-09T04:03:00.000-08:00

BUSTation (I’m not sure why the first part is in caps, it just felt right J)

BUSTation (v) Meaning : the act of getting BUSTed. The li’l (v) thingie means, verb (Remember the way teachers used to tell us ‘a verb is a doing word’ Ati? How now can a verb be a doing word? Those teachers should be shot. Ok, I’m being very unconstructive there. End of digression). BUSTation refers to when mo, sorry, er, person X who was formerly seriously and resolutely undercover is EXPOSED (:-)). When this said mo, sorry, er, person X, has been looking over his shoulder, using branches to erase his footprints (thanks to watching too much of discovery channel), ducking into alleys just to see if he has a shadow….you get my drift. THEN. One fine afternoon, in a lethargic state he slips up and identifies himself by his real name. Auwiii…. And the harm has been done.

Which brings me to our 2nd new term. Hilarized. THAT is exactly what I felt when I busted X. When a situation is so darn funny, so absolutely hilarious that you just have to create a new word for it? I was absolutely hilarized. That sounds very apt.

Ok, if you’re still reading, I’m sure you’re kinda wondering….WTF????. Yeah, I think I’m bordering on….dementia…..or summ’n like that. You see, THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED. Haki. With their inane demands, absurd requests. Kwanza jus let me be allowed to hate. Jana afternoon, armed with an armload of reports and mini-management files, I saunter into the ka-airless windowless room (the more uncomfortable they are, the better, then they can leave sooner rather’n later), looking mighty pleased with myself. Si I have everything you asked for. So now you can leave me alone. Lay them out, carefully, all over the table and proceed back to my office. That will keep you busy for another 2 hours, sindio. Aiiii. They had other ideas. 5 minutes later, I’m replying emails (official), ‘phone. Receptionist. The aliens want to see you. Sigh. I acquiesced, si lemme kiss a$$ a li’l. More idiotic questions. Back to my office. 15 mins, another call. The aliens, AGAIN. URGHHHH…….. This time I made them wait, after 20 mins I walked in (briskly, looking as harried as I could). Miss thing wants me to sit with her and explain some concepts. Wuuuuiiiiii…..You were not content with sending me a new team, you had to make them idiots too. OK. I resign myself. So I sit. NOOOOO…. I know you’re kidding me. Haki that is not the smell of Suzanna Pomade assaulting my nose. So, not wanting to tackle this new thought, I move away kidogo. Miss thing musta thought, I dunno what she thought, so she moved her seat and re-established the distance we had between us before. By the time I staggered out of that ka-room, I was blue (for real) in the face thanks to holding my breath for close to 10 mins. Blacking out kinda felt more welcome than having to inhale that smell. AI.

That was jana. Today, I have a new ALIEN. She has a thing on her head that’s doing ‘to the left, to the left’ even when she tries turning right, making her look like she’s on some serious potion (potion??? LOL, more like brew). Me, I don’t know why women put those things on their heads. Catch me dead. And you know which ones I’m talking about, the bad-a$$ ones that make you look like you have layers of bush in dire need of pruning.

Again, it’s still me. The ALIENS are here, and because of them I’m having a very unconstructive day. AND they will take the flak for my unpredictable, capricious behavior until the day they go back to their li’l planet huko where their ilk resides.

Disclaimer : Mr. Bossman, if you ever come across this post, and you think you know who this is, I promise you, you don’t, and it’s not who you think it is…. Tihiiii…..

Oh, HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you miss thing who turned sijui 24, haki woii..and ati you're feeling OLD? Sasa wengine tutasema? Wishing you, all the things that people dream for when they turn...24!!!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, YOU SAY....

2007-01-30T05:48:00.000-08:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

It’s good to get that out of the way. That’s been my universal greeting, and it will be until, eh, March (when certain happenstances ensure that it will no longer be new, like me turning a year older (not wiser, though, at the rate things are going. Sad)).

I mean, in my infinite recently acquired wisdom (nyef nyef) I prayed for peace of mind, contentment, happiness, a spirit of gratitude as opposed to previously when I would have been hankering after that promo (with all it’s trimmings), a hefty raise....you get my drift. And now….now all I’m experiencing; disenchantment, discontentment, dissatisfaction, disillusion….I just get this feeling 2007 is out to get me. Anyone else wit me?

Here comes that time of the year when I start spewing the cuss words I’ve been hoarding all year long. Actually, it started this morning when I went for my planning meeting and the mofo’s proceeded to admit to varying levels of incompetence by 1: admitting that they were not in a position to avail resources to start our annual audit as previously agreed; necessitating our postponement of the exercise by almost 2 weeks. 2: cutting back on the fieldwork time by proposing certain measures that we obviously know won’t work; it’s just a way of them trying to save face and buy time. I DON’T GET IT!!!! I really don’t. I literally busted my ass this month, working late nights, working weekends (read : absolutely no life) to make sure our draft accounts were out, so everything could proceed according to plan and then you tell me, because of your ineptitude and lack of proper planning, I get to waste another 2 mf*ing weeks? And now, instead of taking my break end Feb/start March, I’ll end up pro’lly working through March? URGHHH. No wonder this time instead of the stuffy airless room they used last year, I vouched to get them a more airy one, with floor to ceiling windows; that will make it much easier to push them off the 20th floor; risk of fatalities guaranteed.

Another thing. I’m extremely disappointed in the way I’ve been handling my finances lately. Not festive season. That I came back to earth with a thud and made peace with. It’s jus that this year, every time I go to the bank I seem to have less money than I thought I had. I don’t get it. I have no idea where the leaks are, so I can’t even venture to plug them. Reminds me of what my mum used t say when we were young…something about the cobbler’s wife walking barefoot or something like that. I, of all people, should have like the best money management skills. After all, I AM in Finance. But with the thought of debt scaring me into the high heavens, I HAVE got to get my act together….G'luck to me….

On another, totally unrelated note. Last week, or thereabouts, Asunta, the 41 year old woman who’s been HIV+ (going on 20 years now) had a baby. Project Joshua. Now, journalism (or reporting) in this country (at times) tends to be a bit sensationalist prompting some people (no names) to declare that her ‘Project Joshua’ could have been for publicity. I’ve had the opportunity to interact with Asunta more than once and I really have to applaud her courage. She has defied stigma to become a beacon for HIV+ women, and I would suppose everyone who is HIV+. Maybe it is because in my opinion she epitomizes strength and bravery that I’m inclined in her direction. Then again, I wonder about all the people pointing fingers at her and claiming that she took a risk; albeit a calculated one…. Does any woman not take a risk when she gets pregnant? What assurances do we have that a child will not have a congenital defect, or will not die before their first birthday? How many children have died of choking (I know of two), how many children died at or before childbirth due to complications, how many die when their mothers develop complications (2 girls very close to me had still-borns due to almost fatal cases of liver failure). Is a child’s safe birth and wellness not a gift from God? And is that not all you can do? Pray? And count on God to do the rest? In this day and age; of medical miracles, of Nevirapene (sp), of medical breakthroughs, does not every woman, HIV- or + deserve a child, if she wants to have one and has taken all necessary precautions? What do you think?

....Happy Holidays....

2006-12-22T04:53:00.000-08:00

Friday, 22nd 3.13PM.

Now, leave alone a ‘kawa’ Friday when being in the office after 3PM is REALLY pushing it, this is my last working day this year, my holiday officially begins this afternoon (though it technically begun at 1.00, I had a LOT of Saké with my lunch, courtesy of my ex who decided a deserved a treat for being a NICE girl this year…ati nice girl, who am I kidding…LOL). I was saying, LET THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN.

**1 hour later**

This post was going somewhere, I know it was. Probably somewhere very important and earth shattering. Lakini it’s just started raining cats and dogs, Safaricom has died and there’s a big-a$$ bottle of Bailey’s waiting for me at a certain Christmas dinner so, as we wasaperes say, ‘out ní nja’….

All y’all, have a SUPER-FABulous Xmas, DON’T drink and drive (take a cab, I beseech you), be safe (y’all know what I mean now, if you have to, use protection), spread a lot of love to family, friends (everyone really) spare a thought and a dime for the less privileged, go and sing carols (or for those who believe, go to church)…….in short, BE HAPPY.

OF CONSTANTS, AND OTHERS...

2006-11-17T03:27:00.000-08:00

I must have written my weekly post 10 times. In my head. Putting it on paper, however has been another story altogether. But first, I need to rant. And cuss. To everyone in HR, may y’all die and rot in hell. For trying to make my life hell. Kudos to me for resisting every miserable trick you got up your sleeve.

Moving on. I had a FABulous weekend, discovered the heavenliest tuna sandwiches on EARTH. Kid you not. And got to hang out with D and his cousins. Great bunch of guys. Who took me for a bash where I met half of Nairobi. Where I discovered ‘faking it till you make it’ is actually taken VERY seriously by the Nairobi yuppie. Where we saw clande-related drama unfolding before our very eyes. Warning: It’s a very small world. Tread carefully, you never know when your worms will come crawling out of the woodwork to torture you.

Oh. And girls, this hung-over-an-attached-man business is starting to get old. You knew what you were doing when you got yourself into it. Becoming miss-stalker at the bash where he and his wife are, sms’ing him every 5 minutes, adopting a teary-eyed, hurt-puppy look when everyone else is having a blast just doesn’t cut it. Where’s your pride woman? Go home, and sulk in the privacy of your room. Sheesh!

Moving on. Again. This week, I made some great headway in Rotary. It’s interesting how when I joined a couple of months ago (less than 6) I used to feel, uh, a bit intimidated. When you hang around Nairobi’s movers and shakers, forget that it’s only 2 hours a week, it’s kinda hard to feel important. I know there’s a misconception about Rotary being an ‘elitist’ club and all, and that is a perception we’re trying really hard to remedy. But the bottom line is the extraordinary difference the club has made in people's lives; The Jaipur Foot project, the Sanitary Towels Project, the Desai Memorial, school bursaries and so many others. And I must have done something right because I was nominated for Club Secretary since the present one is relocating to Italy with her husband. I was pretty excited about my first board meeting earlier this week, and I learnt loads, project-related or otherwise. Thank you, N, for convincing me, cajolling, almost blackmailing me to join Rotary.

Ps: Shiroh, I sent you an email, and we have some bursary opportunities, your kids at St. Francis could benefit from that. And for anyone else who might have had the opportunity to interact with really bright kids from disadvantaged families who’re unable to continue with their education for finance-related reasons, let me know.

This past week, someone called me their ‘Constant’. Apparently, for the last almost 10 years, I’ve been there for him through it all: bad relationships, failed marriages (2), nervous breakdown, stress-induced paralysis….. When he’s done a disappearing act for 2 years, and called on me when things went downhill, I’ve been there, never questioning, always understanding. Interesting, I’ve never looked at it like that. Now that I think about it though, I’m like that for a lot of my friends. The one who can more oft than not be counted on, the one who actually disses her man for her girls, the one who cancels her other plans for her girls when they call. BUT. A while ago, I kind of retracted a bit. Now, it makes me wonder if I was not the only one making an effort; those relationships are tending to flounder.

I have a question. Is it wrong to expect that sometimes the other person take responsibility for the success of the relationship? Think the guy/girl who hooks up with a girl/guy and suddenly becomes unavailable. Then after that is over, comes back into your life and you accept them back like nothing ever happened. Until their next, um, liaison, for lack of a better word. Or the friend (same or opposite sex) to who you’re a ‘constant’ to. Do you have the right to question, or to one day just refuse to be there?

This weekend finds my pals and I deep in the heart of Maasai land, for N's mum's memorial service and after that some 200km from Nairobi for some recharging, midnight bonfires and lots of meat eating for the rest of the weekend.

Have a FAB one, y'all.

Back And Forth.....

2006-11-10T04:26:00.000-08:00

For all y’all who been wondering what to get me for Christmas (and, even if you weren’t, now you don’t have a choice do you? *Evil guffaw*). As I was saying, wonder no more. I shall be putting up a list of the gifts I want, nay, expect to receive, complete with (hopefully) points of purchase. Now, while the rest of you blessed sods were reflecting on this year, and coming up with ‘thankfullnesses’ and ‘gratitudes’, I was counting my :

Heartbreaks and disappointments : Up to and including you, you, and you I met *in the club, at dinner, at the book fair, the motorshow, the exhibition halls, heck, even the shopping mall* insert as appropriate, who had such promise, and turned out to be yet another shallow posturing person (read: ok, maybe you didn’t call me back as you’d promised to, but I’m not gonna admit that, am I?), and this is not only dudes…yup, even you dudettes…

Scathed knees: This one is literal. The scars, one from my appendisectomy, and thanks to Dr. Shah who didn’t think he should’ve done anything other’n cut bang right across my bikini line (note to self: next time, Plastic Surg, NOT GP, pref : Macnamara LOL). What? You didn’t think my need to be seen half naked should have been a consideration? Well, news flash : Coast is coming up. I had saved my 2-piece for show. Now, *sob* the girl in the luminous flowery costume with an even flowerier skirt, you’ll know who that is.

The other scar. The one on my back. Paying tribute to the fact that I WAS in fact a tomboy. The jagged thingy that has refused ((even with years, and (even) clinical trials of aloe vera, bio-oil, palmers (with skin fade), jojoba)) to fade. So, the nice pretty bare back tops were relegated to the back of the closet. Option 2 was to wear the skimpy black number, attract a lot of attention, hence feeling like the moth (or was it caterpillar) that had grown into a beautiful, graceful butterfly…..until I realized that the attention was actually from people trying to figure WTF???? The cruelty of these earthlings, these.

And finally, yes, the scathed, bruised, torn knees that remind me, constantly, of my tom-boy days. Yeah, I was a tomboy. I cleaned up. But. Darn. Those scars, still there to remind me. Mummy dearest, you didn’t think I’d need t wear short skirts at some point hence the slap-on bandages that quack put on my knees every time I fell (at least once a week) would not suffice? I love you to bits still, Ma, you know that. Now, about that plastic surgery for my knees……..

Lost quick-buck-making opportunities: you know, the Nigerian broda who had asked me to deposit USD 2,000 (only) in his account and earn 10 times that in a period of less than 2 months. Damn! Too bad I didn’t have enough money (ati enough, didn’t even have a quarter of that), I’d be blogging from the Bahamas…..sigh. Instead I’m stuck here listening to DMX and trying not to figure how I’ma get home with all the rain and rain-induced traffic outside.

Then there’s that time Nakumatt was having a mega-sale and my pal T convinced me to join him as he cleaned out his account so we could buy electronics and resell for a pretty profit. Clean out my account I did lakini by the time I woke up at 7 A.M.(absurdly early for a Sunday in my standards), the queue was 2 km long. T, of course, had neglected to mention that we had to be there circa 4.30A.M. Eish, these kikuyus, these.

My post was going to end there. Unfortunately, I’m mighty superstitious and I don’t wanna be struck by lightning. So I will go where this post was really meant to go before the sky fell on my head a few days ago (remember chicken licken? :-) ).

I’m a blessed sod. I am. There. It’s out. Now, guardian angel, maybe you can stop hovering over me menacingly.

- I have a wunnerful (albeit small) family. A mother who I love to bits (who spoils me too, I know); a small (not so small any more, but, heck) sister who has taught me that every woman has immeasurable strength in her, that going through tragedy is no reason to stop believing; a son (adopted)-cum-small-brother who lights up my life with his enthusiasm for everything. Who we feel blessed to have in our lives.

- Some pretty awesome friends. Together with whom I’ve weathered storms, shared laughs and tears, kicked butt (kicked each others’ too sometimes), done some pretty unimaginable things, done some great things. (Especially my girls. A very amazing group of girls, all achievers in their own way, butt-kickers with hearts of gold).

- Wholesome experiences. I’ve experienced love in a major way this year. Learnt that sometimes giving without reservation beats receiving. That it makes all the difference in the world.

- A job I love (at least most of the time :-) ); a great boss, thanks to whom I owe the realisation that not giving up can only make you stronger, who has taught me the value of good judgement and level headedness, and who has given me opportunities to grow, both professionally and in my personal life; a pleasant and conducive working environment (read: workmates who don’t meddle in my business).

- God. For His protecting my health, my life and everything and everyone in it. For giving me the strength to carry my crosses, for always being there, even when I thought I could do it myself, especially when I was filled with doubts and forlornn-ness.

AOB

This week has not been a happy week. The death toll in Kuresoi, from the fresh spate of ethnic skirmishes hit 14. At times these numbers, when repeated often enough, cease to represent human life and become just that. Numbers. But. 14 families that had nothing to do with the instigation of these clashes. 14 families mourning their dead. 14 families fumbling in the dark, wondering what next. Are we really never going to rid our country of this ethnic surges?

The media has been full of updates on the colossal wave of violence attributed to Mungiki/Taliban. Church leaders, UN-related representatives, and the man on the street, we have all denounced this deplorable wave of violence. And yet, this is not a country where lawlessness abounds. We are a democratic (???) country that thrives on law (lessness) and (dis) order, with enforcement officers to (un) protect us.

Rewind to a while back. When this same Mungiki were hacking people to death (read : machetes and pangas), stripping and beating women up for ‘dressing inappropriately’ (whatever their definition of that may be) and waylaying inhabitants of certain neighborhoods to demand money (or part with a body part). There was genuine terror especially among women and children at that time. And not much was done to allay our fears. In time, Mungiki has become a (very well organized) force, their bloody jaunts rearing their ugly heads, and seemingly isolated cases of related violence being swept under the carpet. Now our past has come back to haunt us. They’re here for us to reckon with. I will not launch into the political discourse, I hate politics with an unimaginable zeal. The women and children. THEY are the ones who bear the brunt of these attacks. They languish at Moi Air Base, without food, sleeping out in the cold, the toddler who yestermorning had clocked 3 days without any food, the colds, the pneumonia plaguing the young ones, the helplessness of their mothers watching at their children pining away, they who have no more tears to cry.

Vagabond touched on this. I quote. “and I am learning that feuds and vendettas between Mungiki and Taliban will affect me someday….and I am learning that perhaps Kenyans need to look at what happened in Rwanda and snap out of petty tribalism”.
I feel her. I can try make sure that we get a few bags of flour, a few mattresses to the Air Base. I can promote Kenyan-ism and educate, deprecate tribalism as far as the people around me are concerned. I want to do something. But I don't know what.

Makes me wonder why I elected those gofers, those good for nothing sanctimonious driving-armored-cars-living-in-mansions-with-hefty-fuel-entertainment-and-bodyguard-allowances-off-my-taxes goons. Who can dare to say out loud that there is a lot of insecurity ESPECIALLY where they are concerned. WHAT? You who can afford state of the art security gadgets. What about me? Who slaves so you can live off 30% of my salary? And a further 16% of my dispensable income? What about me? Who can not be out alone past midnight without looking over my shoulder cos chances are I’ll get jacked. Who has to call home 5 minutes before I get there so I don’t get accosted at my gate. Who has to install 5 doors: ranging all sorts of metals, wood, alum, lead, et al cos I can’t afford sophisticated ‘burglar proofing’. Who has to walk in town with my possessions clutched tightly to my body lest I get relieved of them. What about me?

Next elections will find me in bed, with a book, preferably ‘The Enchanted Forest’. At least there I can escape from this hard cruel helplessness-inducing reality. And all y’all who go to vote, you can come by. I will have made tea, cake, biscuits and ‘mahamri’ to commend your efforts. And if this country goes once again to the dogs, I want my refreshments back!

1235 days.....

2006-11-07T02:24:00.000-08:00

Sitting here,
Wanting to feel,
Not knowing what to feel.
Disquiet, unnerving disquietude.

Recalling the last conversation
Asking if I was willing to give my all
Nodding, barely perceptibly
Hating myself for lying to you….to me….
Because I knew I had given all that I could
And I didn’t want to go down that road again.
But I couldn’t stand saying no to you
Seeing the pain in your eyes.

I’m not the person I used to be….you said,
How could I be?
Don’t you see?
I had to stop being that person,
It was the only way,
I could get through
The days
You were emotionally unavailable
The nights
You stayed out until the wee hours of the A.M.
The times
When I worried myself sick over you
Those times
When you didn’t think I should have worried
Yet I still did.

But
Because of you
I became a strong black woman
I learnt that sometimes to find a new island
I have t lose sight of the shore
That sometimes
Even the people I think mean the most to me
Will let me down
And the ones I didn’t think cared
Are the ones who come through
That I have to find my own inner strength
Because no matter what, or who
Only I
Can confront my personal ‘demons’

1235 days
Of memories
Of shared lives
Of nurtured dreams.

THE CASE FOR THE Y.U.P.P.I.E. (S) (Young Uppity Pampered Professionals In Need of an Extreme Shaking)

2006-11-03T05:40:00.000-08:00

Enter F (let’s call him MF. That was off the top of my head and not an acronym for what it might seem at first. Stay with me. )

So, enter MF. Well groomed, upwardly mobile, career savvy. B.U.P.P.I.E personified. MF and his friends, they hang out at the latest joints, drive the nicer cars (some the kind you should not park outside a rented house. I’m jus saying), have a ‘hefty’ entertainment account (watajuaje?), get an ‘Otieno’ to copy designer suits for them (Ain’t hating on Jaluo brothers, lakini, he was called Otieno, the guy who promised he could duplicate our Anne Klein suits…well, lets just say the finished product was a sight. And not a pleasant one. Ask V, she was there :-) )…..these tangents, these.

Moving on. A couple of weeks back, I was hanging out with MF. Plan for the evening: pick me from digs, dinner at his place, a drink, maybe a movie and back home. Halfway through dinner, he got an SOS; his pal, let’s call him S, wanted to borrow his car. Oh, did I mention that MF and his pals all live in the same neighborhood? In this case, S lives in the apartment below his. A few minutes later, a frantic knock. Sigh. S must really have done it this time.

The events unfolded. S had a girl over. Girl lives in Buru. He’d promised girl he’d take her home. His car had ran out of fuel, right at his gate. Conked out. I kid you not. Cab fare, dude has like 150 bob between him and payday, which is (only) 2 days away. His flat-mate’s car also has just enough fuel to last him the next morning.

S *looking and sounding frantic* : FM, can I talk to you for just a minute. I’m really sorry to interrupt like this….
FM: *curse words, looking VERY pissed* What now?
S: I need to borrow your car…….To dash to Buru…….
FM: What? Why do you want to dash to Buru…..*recognition*….Oh, that. Sorry, can’t help even if I wanted to. You know I don’t have my car either….I’m using X’s today…..
S: *wheeling and dealing*…… Please, please, I’ll even call her and ask her……
Me : *Yawning, looking bored, very bored*

I think at this point I must have had an ‘aha’ moment. A lot of things fell into place; why I could have sworn almost every other time I saw FM he had a different car, why I used t see FM’s car at the exact parking spot as the previous evening, why these guys’ fuel gauges are almost always on ‘E’ ( I honestly thought the reason they don’t fuel is to dissuade car-jackers, I have a pal who used to do that, still does.). So I did a little investigation (read: snooping) and found out a few things:

- All these guys bought their cars around the same time, and all for a hefty sum by our standards. Their cars are status symbols, not necessities like for some of us (mine was a sanity-saving measure).
- Half the month their cars are parked outside their digs or at the office parking. At which point they use their girlfriends’ (pl) cars. Reason : bila chums for fuel.
- Almost 50% (45-50) of their gross salary goes to car loan repayment.
- Some of them maintain credit cards, the cash drain effects of which we are all aware. I know someone who had accumulated such a debt on his card that his repayments for 6 months just covered the cumulative interest.

Is it just me or does this just not make sense? At least financial sense? I mean, if I’m going to take a loan of Ksh 800,000-1,000,000 (equivalent of USD 12K-14K), hadn’t it better be for an income earner? At which point do we start believing that maintaining an ‘image’ is worth yoking ourselves with debt?

An anecdote I like calling to mind, relating to the Y.(B).U.P.P.I.E

Gross salary - 70/80,000
Car loan - 30,000House rent - 20,000
Entertainment - 10,000Food, etc - 5,000
Fuel - Uh, 5,000 (or if you're already operating on -ve, jus use your nice car over the wkend and take a mat other days. LOL)
Savings - Uh, hizo ni nini?
Emergency - Hev'n forbid

AOB:

Capital Jam with Marcus and Chris. Chris unequivocally believes that everything you need to know about a woman, you can tell from her toes. EVERYTHING. LOL.

Have a FABulous weekend people.

A rant....definitely a rant.

2006-10-25T01:16:00.000-07:00

This is a rant. An extreme rant. Continue at your own peril.

Something, or someone…no, definitely something, has taken me over….

This ‘thing’ has :

- Stolen my ‘blog mojo’. How else would you explain the fact that every time I start to write a post I end up going off on a tangent (after the words of my fav character, Levin, in ‘Anna Karenina’, which I think someone musta nicked because, suddenly, I can’t find it (the book that is) Drat!)) .

- Decided that being on an emotional roller coaster is good for me. I’m currently vacillating between outrage, extreme restlessness, inexplicable irritation, major tantrums, work –fatigue….(plus I think I’m sprung. This is not funny. Not funny at all).

- Taken away my staying power. I must have started 10,000 projects this last week and not gone past half on any of them. I have become procrastinator no.1 personified.

- Made me time and again just watch my ‘phone ring and refuse to pick up calls. Especially from anyone prompting any of the above emotions. Just this morning I have done that 4, yes, 4 times.

More extreme ranting.

I hate it when people treat me like I’m 5 (don’t laugh, the 5 is for effect). No, actually, I don’t think hate is the word. Just couldn’t find anything stronger than that. It’s an affront to my intelligence. Repulsively, abhorrently affronting.

So you want to act half your age? Go ahead. Just don’t involve me in your schemes, cos you know I will definitely see right through them. And after I bust your lousy loser a$$ I’ma tell you off as much as I want to . And no, you calling my girls asking them to placate me because you claim I’m refusing t let you clean up just won’t cut it. You should know by now, this girl here doesn’t listen to anyone, not even her girls. Bite me.

Sigh. Double sigh. Now that I’ve exorcised those demons I hope I can get on with my constructive, productive blog (and work…LOL) life.

He loves me, he loves me not....

2006-10-13T00:46:00.000-07:00

Last night I was listening to Nini (Wacera) on Late Night Capital. Lately, that seems to be the only time I can stand Capital. And of course Wednesday morning when DJ Styles is doin’ his thing. Anyway, the abovementioned was talking about a predicament one of her girls is in. Which is usually the pickle women are in, eh, 80, 90% of the time (LOL). Her man. (The below excerpt, not ad verbatim seeing as I kept drifting in and out of sleep)

Her claims : - He loves her, she knows he does, even if he doesn’t say it.
- He just doesn’t know how to show it………etc etc……Musta switched off at this point…

This morning, on my way to work, I thought about the ‘predicament’, which is really not what it is but hey….let’s indulge the girl. And I recalled an e-mail that’s been doing the rounds for quite a bit now, I think I first stumbled on it 4, 5 years ago.

(In response to the question, ‘What are you looking for in a man?’ She said, "I am looking for someone who is striving for perfection mentally because I need conversation and mental stimulation. I don't need a simple-minded man. I am looking for someone who is striving for perfection spiritually because I don't need to be unequally yoked...believers mixed with unbelievers is a recipe for disaster. I need a man who is striving for perfection financially because I don't need a financial burden. I am looking for someone who is sensitive enough to understand what I go through as a woman, but strong enough to keep me grounded. I am looking for someone who I can respect. In order to be submissive, I must respect him. I cannot be submissive to a man who isn't taking care of his business. I have no problem being submissive...he just has to be worthy. God made woman to be a helpmate for man. I can't help a man if he can't help himself. "

Sounds like a lot to ask for, right? WRONG. You see, we are so accustomed to disappointment, dissatisfaction from ‘our men’ (used very loosely), that we actually expect it. That when conversing with our girls we silently and unconsciously think to ourselves ‘My man is so much better than that. At least he doesn’t……..* beat me, flirt with other women when he’s with me, ignore me in public, treat me like crap, etc etc - insert as appropriate* ……..

My personal mantra; If you don’t treat me like I deserve to be treated, out ní nja…. Then, as we say, my girls and I, ‘You’re just another clueless guy who got left by the bus, and you haven’t realized it ain’t coming back.’ I refuse to settle for less, I refuse to make you small, I refuse to accept your self – imposed ignorance, I refuse for you to act like ‘I was so drunk / hung over’ is an acceptable excuse for not keeping your word (again, tell me how drinking yourself into a stupor Friday night is something to be oh-so-proud of? Why you think it’s a badge of honor to be worn on your sleeve, posturing for all to see - and hev’n forbid - admire). Ok, I realize I just ran away with that last bit, but, you do get the drift.

So maybe this explains why summa us are still single (single in this came means not committed, read: engaged or married). Which can be a good or a bad thing, depending on how you look at it. But again, my stance: Why do I want to be unhappy with someone if I can be happy by myself?

AOB2, still related……

I have a question for the guys. I’m curious. Very curious. You know how y‘all go on and on about women tryna change you, and you just wanna be accepted for who you are? Sumthin’ funny happened a while ago. I was trying to get this ‘person’ to start reading. Not technical books, or for his next interview. Just for leisure, and not becos someone is holding a gun to your head. So I got him one of my fav books, he loved it……

Him: You really do want me to read….
Me: Yeah…. (like d-uh)
Me: It’s good for you..
Him: *Laughing*…That’s not why you want me to read….
Me: It is so….
Him: *Still laughing*…..You want me to read because that’s what you want the man you love to be……

Yes. Busted. I realized I WAS tryna change him. Is this what guys go all on and on about? So. Yes. I want you to read more. And I also want you to go for archery with me, and out of town so we can spend quiet, quality, alcohol-free time together (and not for the boys-booze-and-shag-plan), and to accompany me to plays and musicals, and to concerts, and to horseriding. And so you can realize that there’s plenty other things to do than just go sit at the bar and drink….and drink….and drink……

If a woman does this, is she trying to change you, and is that a bad thing?

Tribute to a special family.....

2006-10-11T01:36:00.000-07:00

A year ago this month, and nothing has ever been the same again. I was at my girlfriend’s place, we had a sleepover, the 3 desperate housewives (pet name depicted by an affinity to the said show, and our larger-than-life escapades, and nothing to do with desperate, or housewives). I digress.

DH1 got a phone call. At 6.30AM, wondering why anyone would be calling that early on a Sunday morning. But, you see, she has MANY siblings (read: more than 10), so this kind of thing isn’t unusual. It was her boyfriend. He asked her to wake us up, he would call back in 5 minutes. Groggy, blank, disoriented; in the way it feels in the first 5 minutes of waking up, we sat up, the 3 of us, and waited for his call. Phone rang. Twice. She picked the call. And then.

Sometimes, even though we’re only privy to one end of the conversation, and shock has rendered the recipient expressionless, you can almost tell how big an impact what is being said will have on you. The next 20 minutes went by almost in slow motion. DH1 breaking down, me holding her before she fell off the bed, my other girl redialing K, my girl’s boo to ask him what was going on. Her, looking stricken, saying the words, almost unintelligibly. ‘She’s dead. CT is dead’. And she ran off the bed, into the bathroom. In this moment, as I was holding DH1, sobs racking her body, a myriad of thoughts were running through my mind.

CT? Who is CT? Then recognition.
Then painful numbness. Wondering what happened. Wanting and not wanting to know.
Back to CT, the most beautiful soul who ever trawled this earth. How could she be dead?

Somehow, I found the phone and called K. Hearing his voice was frightening. So much pain. And anguish. He told me everything. How there had been a fire, in the wee hours of the morning. And how CT and her son both perished in it. And how her husband was in ICU with 60% burns. The rest of the morning passed by in a blur, zombies, just going through the motions. My girl’s brother drove the 3 of us to the house. Stopping on the side of the road more than twice because one of us needed some fresh air. Grappling with everything, coming back to the same place. The intense hurt and pain. Not being able to reconcile with it.

Outside the compound, people had gathered. They looked at us with pity, as if wishing they could reach out to us. I refused to catch anyone’s eye. I didn’t want to be consoled. I needed to go through this and feel the pain. Hand in hand, we approached the house with DH1. It wasn’t a house. Charred remains. Looking through the window, everything I had been feeling inside came bubbling to the surface. I broke down. Finally. The living room. Black. Everything burnt to black ash. Water on the floor; the efforts of the neighbours who tried to stem the inferno. A novel I had lent CT on the mantel. We went round to the bedroom window. I cannot begin to describe what that looked like. Charred. Scorched. The beds. The walls. Not one single item could be identified for what it had been.

The neighbors, each of them with a different story; each claiming they knew what caused the fire; not understanding we didn’t need these yarns; that the shock and the horror were too close. But a few things were lucid. There was an explosion, an inferno which did not last very long, and by the time anyone got the door open nothing much could be done. CT’s husband passed away on Wednesday the same week.

We still fight with the pain. The shock. Not knowing what happened the morning of October 2nd.

CT was different. We loved her. Everyone who met her loved her. She was pure, the purest person I ever met. She was simple, and kind, and compassionate. She lived every moment of her life. Really lived. She wanted to be married, and have a child. She did. For one year, she lived with the insurmountable happiness of someone who has got everything they ever wanted. And for 3 weeks, she held baby T in her arms and experienced real joy.

We didn’t just lose CT, and T, and her husband.
We lost sanity in times of turmoil; that is what she was for us.
We lost a kind word in this at times cruel existence; she always had one for everyone.
We lost a deeper insight in times that we floundered; she was amazingly perceptive.
And we lost,
The one person who was pure love and strength, and humility personified.

May God RIP CT, T and N, 3 beautiful souls. The world became a drearier place without you.

Feeling giddy, impaired vocals, passions and of abominable writing.

2006-10-05T04:13:00.000-07:00

I’m feeling positively giddy today. Capricious even. But with the spate of events in the last two weeks, this is totally acceptable.

Enter last week. Wednesday. The sun, making a shabby, ineffectual attempt at shining. Too ineffectual to stem my now raging allergy. Apparently, I have an allergy to the cold. You don’t believe there’s such a thing as an ‘allergy to the cold’, do you? You think it’s something I made up to get out of those all-night-camping sessions at Crayfish, right? And mountain-climbing expeditions? (Ok, I’m a creature of comfort, that I don’t deny. What appeal does camping in the bush hold, anyway? Or back-to-nature, 5-days-of-nothing-but-brush-without-proper-showers-in-the-name-of-adventure???? I digress). But yeah, my allergy. Diagnosed by my GP. I even have some scribbling on a piece of paper to prove it, forget that his writing is just that, a scribble. (The said ‘scribbling’ I carry around with me 24/7. So that when I meet you-and-you who come up with those lets-do-Mt-Kenya-this-year-plans, y’all know yourselves, I can wield it, my veritable shield, that). Uh, where was I? You see, this is what happens when I go on self-induced blog hiatus (work induced actually), I turn incoherent. Bad. Appalling, actually.

Stay with me, please. I’m trying. Breathe in…out… I have meself together now, super glue and adhesive to the rescue. LOL.

My allergies. So, Wednesday morning. Sneezing and sniffling. I even went downstairs mid – morning to ‘catch’ some sun. By night time the sniffles had culminated into a fully-fledged cold; runny nose and all. So, I did what I always do when I get my once-a-year-mutha-of-colds. I drank a LOT of water and lemon, and Vita-C capsules, forget that Vita-C is meant to be a proactive measure, not a reactive one. Sigh.

Thursday. Not much better. Sneezing, sniffling, blowing my nose every 2 minutes, much to the annoyance of W, who sits nearest me. Friday. I couldn’t take it any more. I pleaded with the company driver to drop me off at the GP’s and come back to pick me. Had to bribe the bugger, eventually. The inevitable 45-minute wait to see the doc, now that I was lacking in enough foresight to book an appt. Finally, dragging my now-rheumy-eyes-over-blown-nose to the appt room.

GP: (Smile)
Me: (Wooden, stony look)
GP: So, what brings you he….
Me: (In an unbelievably whiny voice) I feel awful and I had to wait for…*pause for effect*….45 minutes. I could have died in there…..
GP: (Smiles indulgently) So sorry about that. You sound like you have a stuffy nose…
And on and on…. Turns out, I had a case of ENT and tonsillitis to boot. Sigh. How now? Anyway, I left laden with a suitcase of pills, sijui antibiotics, decongestants etc etc. All of them with the ‘No alcohol’ bit screaming out at me. My weekend had just started going t the dogs. Not that I minded, this was my weekend of house arrest, remember?

Fast forward to Friday evening. 5.30PM. Java for my religious caffeine fix with a pal. Interesting, stimulating conversation. I had coffee, then some juice, it was too hot in there. And whence my problems began. Hardly half-way through the juice, I started sounding like a broken record, my voice fading in and out of the conversation. A sure sign that the interesting evening was over. Dashed home and into bed to watch movies and drink hot water, with lemon, ginger, chamomile tea, name it. Nothing. I tried testing my voice (by talking to myself) at some point in the night. Only squeaks. Slept.

Saturday morning. I woke up to my sister asking me something or other. Nothing. You should have seen her; totally bemused. Yup. From then on, it was sign language. I sms’d most of my pals who tried t call me to let them know I couldn’t talk, and trust them to have insistently called me over and over, just to hear me croaking and rasping my way into the conversation. Much later, a mutual friend called to tell me one of my girls had been admitted to hospital with a kidney infection. Throat vs kidney infection? Kidney won 10 nil so I got my a$$ up and went to see her, picking another mutual friend on the way.

Her siblings were all at the hospital, she was much better, and suffice to say, my wheezy sounding self was the source of much (too much in my opinion, and to think I call these people my pals) laughter and hilarity. On the way back from hosi, trust me to have been derailed to the club. All vestiges of ‘voice’ , of course, now non existent. At about 11.00 PM I decided I was a joke (actually, someone I met there told me that :-)) and left. Passed by Carni to say wsup to A, resisted thoughts of staying on, then digs.

What was left of the weekend can be summed up thus : Sign language, and more sign language, with a brief break of hot chocolate at Karen Mobil with A.

Monday. It’s amazing how much I was looking forward to coming to work with impaired vocal cords, read: sympathy, anyone? Possibly work half day? The fates. Yeah. My voice was back. Raspy, (read:husky, he he), but audible all right. Just as well; I had too much work to afford myself any absenteeism.

Been working my a$$ off too hard to notice when the voice came back fully. Am purrfect now, though.

Earlier today I asked anyone who I could catch on chat about their passions. The one thing that keeps you going, that your world would be dreary and bleak without, that would deem your life ‘lacklustre’. Mine is music. And half the people I asked after too. The others…..well, I have strange friends. ‘Nuff sed.

AOB
Of writing. I’m a Rotarian. In the spirit of ‘giving’ I volunteered to mark essays for Interact Clubs at some of our high schools. Most of the essay writers are about, 17/18….When I finally got down to reading them (a month after I got the darn things :-) ) , SHOCK AND SHUDDER!!!! These kids need intervention. The good essays (20%) were really good. The bad ones!!! Hev’n forbid. The grammar; they be writing ‘pidgin’ English, just the way we be talkin’ on tha street. You get my drift.

AOOB: Or, as Marcus says, in an ubelievably unrelated story....

Lyrics. This week I’ve been listening to an assortment of music, off the net. Purely out of curiosity, (and in a blonde moment), I decided to google lyrics of certain ‘current big hits’. Haiya. I turned crimson. X-rated. I’m not singing along in public for a while. (Hint: The line I love in this song :In a relationship be faithful to a nigga so whack….Yeah, that’s one of the songs).

My playlist today reads thus :

Jesse McCartney - Right Where You Want Me
Backstreet Boys - Incomplete
Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten
Howie Day - Collide
Green Day - Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Mario Vasquez - Gallery
Ryan Cabrera - On the Way Down
Craig David - Time To Party
Chris Brown - Excuse Me Miss

This evening I want to go try out a 'Neo-soul' bar. The new concept at P&B. I hope hope hope it lives up to my expectations. Fingers crossed.

Enjoy y'all.....

FABulous weekend, marriage proposals (?), and a/an SFBAM....

2006-09-25T04:24:00.000-07:00

Monday morning. The first Monday morning I can call beautiful. Blue skies, no Monday blues, a great weekend to look back at, and being my own boss for a whole week. Yup. My boss is AWOL for a week and I can literally put my feet up and order people around. I can tell they don’t like me; already, but I’m on a roll and nut’n’s gon’ stop me. LOL.

My fabulous run of weekends is still on. I must have done something to please the gods, they been smiling on me a lot lately….he he…

Friday…..

5.30 PM: Raring to go, the usual Friday-fix-of-Java coffee…..strategizing for the rest of Friday night.
10.00PM : Another of my girls joins us, we decide t ditch one car, drive to my pal’s to park…
11.00PM: Westlands looks like a viable option and since we just wanna go for a polite drink, we figure we might as well start with Undecided. Turned out t be the worst choice ever. Between the bad service, ‘mathogos’ 2-bit wine, and totally wack music, the place was a no-no. Didn’t even finish our drinks.
11.30 or thereabouts: Looked for feed, then decided to make Rezorus our next stop. We weren’t expecting much, but after the previous unsavory experience, it really couldn’t get any worse. Enter Rezorus. Surprise surprise. FAB music thanks to MOB, FAB crowd, and not-too-bad-service. Remember, the plan was a polite drink, meaning, a max of 2 hours, and we were meant t be off. Shock!!! We left at 5.25 AM; having kicked major butt on the dance floor (even voted best couple, A and me, and by MOB themselves, but do I say), hassling the DJ’s to play my fav Craig David songs over n over again ('Time To Party' at the top of the list), hanging out with my girl (the other pulled a quick weird one on us and disappeared…aiiiii), fielding off advances from over-zealous young men who take the presence of girls on the dance floor as an invite to bump and grind against us. You don’t think if we wanted someone for that we’da brought our own dates???? Yeow!! I digress.
5.43AM: Finally in bed, set alarm for 8.30 to drag my battered body to the company Day Out.

Saturday…….

10.00 AM: Already at the office, badly needing to eat, sleep, hydrate my now-not-listening-even-to-me body. Luckily, I knew where the function was, so after picking out 2 staff members who were least likely to engage me in meaningful conversation, we set off.

Fast forward to 11.45 AM which is when time unconscious Kenyans finally got to the venue. Bonding, picking out what games we would play. Two teams. First game, soccer. That’s ok with me, I’d already picked myself out as ‘chief cheerleader’. Then. Team shortage. JK for goalkeeper. WHATTF!!!!! WHAT? Goal-what? Are you all out of your minds? Do you know how my leaden feet feel, not to mention my head, and my new lack of locomotive skills? But these people were on a roll and they weren’t stopping at nothing. I mean, what better than an opportunity to get back at me for all those times I slashed their pay for unaccounted advances, or froze their entertainment allowances...Eventually, it was less exhausting to just give in. Incidentally, I didn’t suck, not as much as I thought I would. Not at all, actually. (Note: I am THE most unsporty person you ever came across. Watching, yes. But to actually participate? I limit that to swimming. Anything with objects that come towards me at high speeds is outta the question.) Then more games. Pictionary, musical chairs, and a lot of others that have no names. We had a BLAST.

4.30 PM: Late lunch, great food, and my menu wasn’t kicked out. Music, bonding, and VERY interesting conversations; I work in a male dominated office, ratio of men: women, 6:1…..he he….So you can guess where most of the conversations headed: Sex, infidelity, the lies men tell….LOL…

8.30PM: Picture a sleepy, tired, need-to-go-home-now me. Finally extricated myself and left. On my way home, phone call….. Slight detour to Diamond plaza t say wassup to my pal, D. And there my self-inflicted troubles began. I think we must have driven to 7 different locations, and we didn’t stay at either for more than 25 mins. The rest of that evening is kinda hazy, but I know at some point I relinquished the wheel, and my last thought before I fell asleep at 3.30PM was….. I must remember to wake up and go for mass tomorrow morning….. of course, didn’t happen. I slept for uh, gulp, 13 straight hours before people (read:my family) caught up with me for errands et al.

This coming weekend; phone-off, 10 movies, and house arrest. I have decided.

I met an SFBAM. Super Fly Black A$$ Man. Hottest bod this side of the Sahara. I NEVER go ga-ga over men. I appreciate, give credit where it’s due and move on. But I was SO totally blown away by this one it’s not even funny. Yet, this is someone who I’ve known for, um, 6, 7 months. Yeah, D. THAT one. Spilt alcohol, shirtless for 5 mins, and a life-changing, eye-opening moment. Broad rugby-player shoulders, firm washboard tummy, ultra-toned arms... Damn! Hot damn!

I was proposed to. Asked for my hand in marriage. By an 11 year old, no less. I’m serious. One of my girl’s nephews. He sent me a ring, and asked me to accept it. And has been calling my pal every day to confirm. That’s the 2nd time I’ve been hit on by an 11 year old, in the last about 9 months. First there was another of my girl’s nephews. He called me a total of uh, 17 times over a weekend. Suffice to say, I was quite traumatized. My pal and her brothers thought it was the funniest thing ever. What? Funny? I was so DARN distressed ….. I mean, how do you tell an 11 year old that you cannot be anything other than a big sister? Eish….

AOB: I believe, I'm no well on my way to becoming an adult *Patting self on the back*. I handled 2 situations this weekend in an extremely mature never-been-seen-before manner. Read: No tantrums. Did I mention I'm very proud of myself? VERY.

Of divine intervention, shoes....and company thingies.....

2006-09-21T03:56:00.000-07:00

Yester-evening. Sun’s out, shining like it be trying to make amends, and I’m driving home, listening to my fav Angie Stone CD. All smiles. Even letting bad-a$$ Nairobi drivers cut in in front of me. Then. Clouds. Heavily pregnant, dark, stormy clouds. Within 2 minutes, it’s pouring like crazy, traffic has reached insurmountable proportions, and the roads are already flooded. I kid you not. 2 MINUTES.

That was one of the scariest experiences ever. And when you live on the outskirts of town, like I do, when the roads are a challenge even when it’s still light, leave alone dark and raining, you need intervention. Divine intervention. Mine came in the form of a patient, 4-wheel-drive driver. Utter gentleman, that guy. He didn’t try overtaking me even when I slowed to 1.5 km/hr, steadfastly plodding on behind me, while other drivers zoomed past me (incidentally, PSV drivers, what do you expect), gently nudged me back on to the road, flashing his lights at me when I couldn’t see a thing (The guy in front of me wasn’t much better, thanks to having more faith in his judgment, I almost landed in ditches more than once). And in those 25, 30 odd minutes, me and my masked (vehicle’d actually, since I couldn’t see his face, only an outline. But masked sounds so much more romantic, donn’it? Gentle double-sigh). Anyway, me and my masked (I insist) stranger, we bonded, in a vehicular (I Swurr it’s the hunger) way. As much as 2 people driving close to each other, nudging each other on, bound by unfamiliar territory can. (Are you thinking, like I am, that there must be something seriously wrong with me? I agree).

When I finally got home, though, I had more challenges. My parking slot had ‘disappeared’; half the things that go on in that compound I am not privy to. So there I was, feeling accomplished and all for braving that frightful drive, on relax mode. Then. Silence. What? My baby is better behaved than that. She doesn’t just conk out on me. Again, I try reversing. Nothing. Suffice to say by the time I got out and looked at the work of my hands, well….it took a couple of neighbours (male, able bodied, he he) t get me outta that trench (ours is an all-female household, couldn’t even budge the car).

Note: I NEVER refer to my car as anything other than, my car. But in the light of yesterday’s good behavior, she earns the ‘my baby’ title. At least for a few days. I think that peeps who name their cars are just weird. Which would mean 95% of the men I know, what with Rebecca, Atieno, Rayvon, and Nana being the latest addition. Ati name my car. Now how?

On a totally unrelated topic, I tried counting how many pairs of shoes I have. I gave up on trying to remember so I grouped them by location. Shoes in the house, shoes at my boo’s….that was too taxing, Start again. Shoes in the office, shoes in the car, shoes at my girl’s house, shoes at my boo’s, then shoes at MY digs. I stopped at…..uh, forty something. Then there were : shoes that I bought far back as 3 years ago which I have never worn, they jus looked too HOT to be left on the window display, shoes that I have worn only once, shoes that I wear only in the car, shoes that I unpack, look at and re-pack. Let’s just say I have a shoe thing.

This weekend, we have a company ‘Out day’. There goes the rediscovered boring-stay-home-n-watch-movies me. Drat. But I made sure I was on the organizing committee though. So I could kick out all the activities I didn’t think I’d enjoy, and make sure the menu consists my favorite meals. I mean, if I’m gonna make the sacrifice, I better enjoy it, right?

I was going to start a 101-things-about-me post. Killed that thought, at least for now. Running scared? Maybe.

So you think I'm boring, My head hurts, Miss multi personality and...3 years.

2006-09-18T03:39:00.000-07:00

Bliss. Pure bliss.

That was exactly what my last weekend was. Come to think of it, my last couple of weekends have been AWESOME. This last one, specifically, I spent doing ALL the things I haven’t done in a long time; spending an inordinate amount of time in the salon (read:6 hours of a LOT of pain and warding off the machinations of an over-zealous guy who thinks the do’s that look greatest on my head are the ones that cause me most agony), watching the last 8 episodes of prison break, plus a re-run of the whole Harry Potter series and Lord of the Rings : the complete Trilogy. At which point in this narration one of my pals implied me ‘boring’. How now? Because I decided I was tired of this town’s BORING and REPETITIVE club scene, now I’m boring? Because I’m tired of the Cocktail bar-Rezorus-Soho-Jack Swing-Psy’s-collapse-in-bed-knackered-and-wasted cycle, am boring? Well, I did Jack Swing, for all the 10 minutes it took to look for parking and drive off in a huff, so I don’t think that counts.

I like the ‘boring’ new me, though. The one that woke up this morning with a ‘great-day- today’ smile (despite my head still hurting, damn that hairdresser) on my face in place of the customary F-words reserved for early Monday morning spewing. The one that was agonized and tormented over going to Mt Kenya, and staying in town so I could attend the ‘ultimate party’ at my girl’s last weekend. The one that picked Mt Kenya and had a peaceful, splendid, fabulous weekend. And thanks F for that. Yes, I love the ‘boring’ new me. Amen t that.

A very special someone called me ‘Miss multi-personality’. I’ve suspected this for a long time. I mean, how else would I explain some recent distressing behavior ( I was going to elaborate, but, eh, I’ma come off even more weird than I already seem, and I don’t want y’all agreeing with me bout just how multi-personality’d I am. )
Incidentally,did you know that the anagram to ‘Multipersonality disorder’ is ‘Rudy, Sly, Primrose and Lottie’ ?

Moving on.....very swiftly.... :-)

What happens when you find yourself, after 3 years,
Inexplicably wanting to throw the towel in,
Afraid of starting over but still not willing to go on,
Feeling like there is nothing left to salvage,
Wondering if you’re doing the right thing,
Feeling mystified by how you feel,
A bit sad, but not bitter or angry,
Wondering if this is just the calm before the storm,
Or will there be no storm…..
And no calm ever thereafter…..

A Sister's poem, a Brother's Response.....Do you qualify??????

2006-09-12T02:24:00.000-07:00

I received this from a pal, F. Bless your heart.....

The pics have letad 'wana' and 'refused' to upload so....enjoy...

A Sister's poem.....

Do you qualify to be the man I need you to be?
Will you be able to recognize the things you
need to see? Will you be able to understand, that
I'm a good woman and in my life I need a good man?
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to fertilize my unproduced seeds?
Can you fulfill, as I can, all of our needs?
Can you put me in my place if you see I am slippin?
Can you talk to me, wholeheartedly, not
constantly trippin??
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be called all mine?
Can you leave the other women and temptations
behind? Can you come to me with your problems and
not wait until it's too late?
Can you stand up and admit if you made a mistake?
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be the honest ebony man I
would want you to be?
Would you be able to look me in my eyes and
admit your feelings to me?
Could you take me in your arms and make love to
me all night long?
Can you be sensitive and still be strong?

Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be my friend as well as my
lover? Can you put our love before any other?
Can you cherish me as if I were Diamonds &
Gold? Can you make me feel like I'm the last
woman you'll ever hold?
Do you qualify?

Do you qualify to be called a good man?
If I have doubts can you reassure me and understand?
Can your love intoxicate me as if I were High?
To be in my life, I need to know,

DO YOU QUALIFY?

The Brother's Response:

You ask, do I qualify.
Can I fulfill your needs and become the man you need me to be?
My sister, are you prepared for what you've asked for?
Can you handle the responsibility?

Can you accept that, by GOD, I am the chosen?

one, the authority, the comforter, and the head?
Will you submit and willingly follow my path?
Or will you fight with me instead?

If I am your King, will you treat me as such?
Will I get the best of your beauty and poise?
Or will I be subjected to an appearance
neglected, and checked with some serious noise?
When I talk, will you listen?
I mean whole heartedly and feel me?
Or will you rush me just to make your point too?
Can I be the man at all times? Even when it hurts?
Or is it just when it's convenient for you?

Can you love me for me, and not who you wish I could be?
Will you see the strong Black Man within?
Or will you always remind me of the all

the past brothers behind me and make me pay for their sins?

If I don't send you flowers the day your co-worker
received some, will you know that I love you still?
Or will my good name be uttered along with those other doggish brothers?
Will you question if my commitment is real?

Will you be patient and teach me to understand you,
and allow my knowledge of your needs to grow?
Or will you shut me out when I ask, Baby
what's wrong?
Or will you respond with, "Well a REAL man would know!"

When we first met, what was it that caught your
eye? Was it my mind, my heart, my personality?
Or was it my suit, or my job, or do you love
what I drive, instead of what's driving me?

Yes I can, and I will, make love to you from midnight to the dawning of the sun.
But, if I tell you I'm tired, will you trust
I'm sincere or believe that there must be another one?
My sister, I love you and my heart can be yours. No woman could lead me astray.
But like you, I have needs, so I beg of you, please, in this love thang meet me half way.

In life's tough times I'll hold you, in the rough times I'll mold you;
your simplest wish will be my command.
My life is yours if need be.
Yes you can fully bleed me, and when hell comes, in your place, I'll stand.

A good relationship is a powerful institution that must be built on a foundation of two.
So to answer your question,
YES sister, I do qualify.

Now, more importantly.....! Do you

CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET????

2006-09-08T01:22:00.000-07:00

After Sophie Kinsella's 'Can you keep a secret?'

• I don’t like animals. I have tried. We just have a hate hate relationship. I feel like they’re judging me (I didn’t say I was rational)
• I’m impatient. I belong to the instant gratification era. I want my successes NOW….. leading to :
• When I’m reading a novel and it’s not picking fast enough, I skip a chapter or two (So, V, if we’re discussing a book and I get this blank look at some point, you’ll know where that came from ).
• I can NOT stand littering. I carry garbage around in my hands looking for a bin. In fact I get positively agitated if I don’t see a bin (picture, in a moment of forgetfulness accidentally dropping my load, and running after pieces of paper and tissue till I ‘catch’ them)
• I like my men like my coffee; hot, strong and dark. And at times I DO get them like that.
• I don’t like men who are lighter or shorter than me. They irritate me.
• I can fall in love (in lust, whatever) with a man just because of the way he handles and drives his car.
• I talk to myself….and AT people. Especially in the jam.
• I’m SO scared of being perceived of progressing at work for sleeping with my boss that I keep a HUGE distance, despite the fact that he’s the nicest, most decent person ever.
• I get irritated when people get all up in my business (Jade, you need to tint your car, what did you carry for your break today, yadda yadda….jus leave me be…..)
• There’s a stupid part of my life that I would really like to erase. Completely. Like in ‘Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’….. Yeah, I watched it.
• I find it hard to not reply sms’s. Missed calls, I move along. Sms’s. I HAVE to reply. Even if a day later, or two…once, I even did a week 
• I laugh a LOT. Especially at work, when I get funny emails and chat messages. I just let rip. A syndrome has been coined after me in the office.
• I have ‘EXCESS’ internal dialogue. I am reading-between-the-lines-I-know-you-sed-this-but-you-musta-meant-the-other personified.
• I’m AFRAID of looking under the bed and behind doors at night.
• If something scary happens at night, in the dark, I close my eyes and play dead.
• I get crushes and lose them just as fast.
• I get bored really easily, with people.
• I’m very clean, but I’m not extremely tidy. My mom still doesn’t understand, everyone else at home is VERY neat.
• I want to fly, and ride horses, and learn how to skate, and deep sea dive and wind surf.
• I jus learnt to use the F word in spoken English., and that’s when I’m very mad. Other times it jus gets stuck at my throat.
• I can’t tell vulgar jokes, I cringe when I read them, or when people tell them.
• I have an irrational fear of being ‘left’ – maybe because I grew up in a 1 parent household, my ‘father’ left when I was about 6. Leading to No.2
• I sabotage relationships when I feel like someone is about to get too close for comfort, to the real me.

And I'm not even half through....he he

:-)

Why do you want me to make you small, 5 months later, and It's raining men....

2006-09-06T03:52:00.000-07:00

This past Friday I had an ‘interesting’ experience, for lack of a better way of putting it. My evening started out fine, coffee with friends, seeing as I was doggedly determined not to imbibe any alcoholic drink. So, Java, then my favorite cocktail haunt, only so I could make a ‘technical’ appearance at a colleague’s bash. *Still determined, no alcohol* Then another ‘technical’ appearance at some bar in town. Where all my troubles, albeit self-inflicted, began. *Small digression, earlier that week I had talked with a certain someone, let’s call him S, and seeing as we both had crazy schedules, agreed not to meet on the said weekend*…… *Fast forward to 11.00’ish, or it be a few minutes t midnight, my no-alcohol resolve has flown out the window * Phone rings. And rings. Finally, I pick. Cannot hear a word. I’m in a bar. Bars are not meant for ‘phone conversations. Like I didn’t know that. After a few acrobatics, twisting, turning my head near the said window causing the very sober waiter to give me alarming looks I give up and walk out. And call S back. I’m well mannered like that, you know. The conversation …..

S: Hi girl (with the ‘r’ drawn out the way he does when he knows I’m about to bite his ear off)
Me: Hey, ssup.
S: Where u at?
Me: I’m at X….with some pals
S: I wanna see you..
Me: Uh, I thought we wrote this weekend off, actually, you more’n me
S: I know, but I really need t see you….

Ordinarily, I’d hang up. I mean, this is an alcohol-induced conversation so I could always plead that.…. But. I care ‘deeply’ for this person, and I can kinda make a concession. So I tell him if he can be where I am in 10 minutes then well and good, if not, forget it. He asks, failing which, he pleads, begs, cajoles, 30 minutes, PLEASE. So, I’m thinking ok, ok, 30 mins. 30 minutes come and go, 32, 38.5, eish….2 hours, 3 hours….. am having a blast so I’m not really overly concerned. In my cocktail-ridden state, on uhuru highway, windows down and coldest AC on, I call him. At first I don’t believe it. Again. Ati unreachable. WHAT? You must be kidding me. Your phone is OFF???? HUNH.

**Fast fast forward to like 12 hours later when we finally talk**

S: Hi girl (the hangies won’t even allow my favorite syllables to draw out)
Me: (with as much incredulity as you can squeeze into 1 word) Hi….
S: I missed you last night…..
Haiya…splutter… I go silent for an amazingly long time….I’m waiting to explode…..
Me: HUH? You did????
S: Yeah, I did. My phone went off, and….
No, I know he didn’t just say that? What? Your ‘phone went off????? I’m AFFRONTED…OUTRAGED…..

*Breathe in, out….*

Phones go off, all the time. I know. Mine does. BUT. If YOU call me, and you wanna see me, and you make me, basically rearrange my night, then you make alternative arrangements to ensure that I can still reach you, or you me. Text me, tell me your phone is off, and if I can reach you on a pal’s number, or call me n tell me sumthing. BUT DON’T TELL ME YOUR PHONE WENT OFF!!!! And expect to get away with it.

Why do you want me to make you ‘small’? Why do you want me to treat you like a 21/22 year old? (no offense to 21/22 year olds :-) ). You’re 30 going on 31 for heaven’s sake, why do you want me to take that kind of behaviour from you in stride, excuse you because you don’t want to take responsibility for your word.

So, yes, I have refused to make people ‘small’. Especially if they’re not. (I don’t know anyone who is, but…..)

AOB 1 & 2
Of 5 months... Friday night. At another club. I meet a friend. Someone I met in Nax April this year, we exchanged numbers, out of politeness than anything else. You know the drill. And kind of kept in touch, sms-ville. Nice humour-filled sms’s every few days. No pressure to meet or anything. But we both happened to be in the same vicinity on Friday and decided to meet. And met. And talked and talked. And I was absolutely amazed that 5 months down the line, no seeing each other (we pro’lly wouldn’t’ve remembered each other if we’d met on the street)…and we were like old friends. I see an awesome friendship budding. To D, hoping that you never change, never stop being the really decent, insightful, honest, sweet person that you are.

And of others….
It’s raining men. Just that. No elaboration. No explanations.

‘Nuff sed.

:-)

Seasons of Love.....

2006-08-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear
525,600 minutes how do you measure
Measure a year
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In 525,600 minutes - how do you measure a year in the life
How about love
How about love
How about love
Measure in love
Seasons of love

525,600 minutes, 525,000 journeys to plan
525,600 minutes how can you measure the life of a woman or man
In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned, or the way that she died

It’s time now to sing out, though the story never ends
Let's celebrate remember a year in the life of friends
Remember the love
Measure in love
Seasons of love

Love Sucks, Cancer sucks more and Death sucks most....

2006-08-22T03:02:00.000-07:00

Love sucks. Yeah, it does.

Then it stops for all the time you can hold your breath, then it starts again soon as you go on breathing. What? You don't think so? Then I'll let you read the piece on 'The Pain of Love' .... It goes thus;
Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so no one can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life.... You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the mind. It's a soul hurt, a body hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.

Love sucks. That was what my post was meant to be dedicated to. Then. Then, my girl sent me a text. A text that sent a jolt of pain through me. It said "It's cancer". We've been crossing our fingers, my girlfriend and I, you see. That the pain her father was in wouldn't turn out to be serious. And now. Now this. This while I was putting my energies this morning into cussin' out love, and the perpetrators of it. Instead of being there for my girl, while she waited for the test results. But if I wasn't there for her then, I will be there for her now.

Death. Life. Life is short. Such a cliché, yet, as clichés go, there is no truer one than this.

When you lose someone you love...
That someone who made you feel complete...
When you lose someone you cared about...
That someone who pulled you back from the edge, time and again...
When you lose a parent...When you lose a friend...
When you wish you had just one more chance...
To tell them you're sorry... To say that you care...
To show them just how much they mean to you...
To let them know just how much ou appreciated them...
To celebrate their life with them...

Reach out. Now. Not tomorrow, not next week. Let them know how you feel.

Life....and finding myself.....

2006-08-09T03:02:00.000-07:00

"Who we are gets lost in all the things life throws at us."

Think back to when you were about 4,5 years old. When all you knew how to was eat, sleep, play, eat, get into mischief, eat. Then life happened. In one defining moment you stopped being carefree, blissfully ignorant, to being wary, guarded. You stopped being the mischief maker, happy-go-lucky child to being the naughty, bad child everyone was vigilant around.

And the labels didn't stop there. All the while you were growing up, they accumulated. From noisy, rebellious, defiant, pesky to their more sophisticated versions; moody, insubordinate, undependable, weird, reclusive. The list could go on. The thing with labels - if we hear them often enough, if the 'idiot' in us yells them at us often enough, we begin to believe that we are in fact them. Soon, we don't know who or what we are. We are engulfed in this huge chasm that seems to be swallowing us up day by day, and all that's left at the dreary end is a shell of our former selves.

Finding yourself makes it possible to shed away the copious layers of imprints. It might feel like an almost daunting and protracted experience, but it's one that leaves you feeling wholesome.
That word. Wholesome.
That represents completeness, integrity, synchronisation of body, mind and spirit.
That opens up all the possibilities that we create for ourselves.
That makes us see, with an inordinate amount of clarity that we can be WHATEVER we choose to be.
That lets us break away from the shackles holding us.
That makes us FREE.

Thank you, Larry Pearson, and the Landmark Education Team for one of the most amazing, enlightening and liberating weekends ever.

EVERYONE should attend this forum.....simply put, "It'll blow you away"...

After a while....

2006-07-27T04:08:00.000-07:00

After a while you learn the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love does not mean leaning and
company does not mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses are not contracts
and presents are not promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up
and your eyes open, with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today because
tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure ..
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.

Veronica A. Shoffstall

I forget how long ago I came across this, it must be close to 6 years. But what remains clear is how deeply poignant, how amazingly accurate those words will always be. 6 years later, it still quells inner turmoil, mine, my friends'....

How many times do we, do I think that just because we held hands, even if in more ways than one, your soul belonged to me; that just because you were there beside me, I was untouchable, undestructible (is there such a word??); that just because you told me you loved me, that I always could lean on you, you would never move away when I needed you next to me?????

But now. Now, I'm older and wiser (The 'wiser' bit sometimes is a tad debatable, seeing as sometimes my heart still twists and turns in ways previously relegated to my very younger counterparts. I digress). Now I can accept gifts without expecting them to be affirmations, declarations, implied albeit unspoken agreements. Now I can move on because I know I was not responsible for things not working out, and that just because I didn't succeed that one time doesn't mean I'm a 'failure'.

So, here's to planting my own garden....finding an inner sense of fulfillment in everything that is me, seeing more reason to smile a bit, hell no, much more....daring to guffaw out loud whenever I see fit....

Here's to thanking you, vagabond, for inspiring this post....

And here's to thanking you.....my 'prince',
For your absolutely sweet mischievous smile..
For holding me when I needed strong arms around me..
For making me deliriously happy one minute (even if I wanted t kill you the next)..
For all the stolen morning kisses, on my forehead, my lips, my hands..
For listening to my rantings..
For being the ONLY person who's ever dared 'kamum' me..
For constantly reassuring me about your feelings..
For being proud of me..
for thinking me beautiful, and intelligent, and mature.. and...and.....
For...everything....even that which I cannot put down..

.....thoroughly confused......

2006-07-26T04:00:00.000-07:00

I've been too preoccupied reading other people's blogs and ROTFLMAO to get down to say sumthin'.... :-)

I lie. I been too busy working my a$$ off to post.

But now, there's this thing that I cannot keep inside any longer. That's been coming up with amazing alacrity, concerning which I need to hear/read what peeps think, that I'm VERY confused about (yeah, that's me, Ma'am Wiseacre who always has a logical reason, an answer for everything is actually perplexed, bewildered, befuddled).

This guy said, over the weekend.... "One person cannot fulfill all your needs as a woman, you pro'lly have different guys for different needs......" At which point I vehemently denied. WHAT? Ok, I'm not going adopt a holier-than-thou attitude and say "Hell no! Who? Me?". Even I, at some point pro'lly have thought about and maybe even so far as gone ahead to rely on one person for my sexual, emotional, wellness needs then another for the cheering-me-up-when-am-down and at times feel-good bit. (Note that I didn't mention 'financial' anything, I wonder what it is about me that I've never received an offer from a man to buy me a car, or a house...Yeah, so I'm fiercely independent, but even as a joke???? Si me I know peeps who that has happened for....Sigh....I digress)

But lately, this is becoming like a norm. Socially acceptable. Everyone around me is starting to think like this. Maybe I'm a bit, eh, naive (and no one has ever called me that, surely), or maybe I'm not worldly enough, lakini this is what methinks.... If I'm seeing someone exclusively, then that means that I will try and be an all-in-one package, and I will also want them to be the same for me. Or at least to fulfill the important roles in my life. But if this is the raging mindset, what happens to the marriage institution? I get married to X for financial security, I see Y on the side for my emotional needs, Z for goodness knows what else, will these lines sooner than later not get blurred?

.....take me away

2006-07-14T04:58:00.000-07:00

I want to move...to an island. Not for the sun, not for the calm, not for the beauty.

So I can live alone. In solitude. So I don't meet people I'll fall in like with any more. People who make me feel special, and cared for, and loved. People who will, as people often do, subject me to their fickleness, their undependability, their spinelessness.

You see, am tired, so tired.

Of those who say things and renege on them.
Of those who say things they don't mean just to 'make me happy'.
Of those who make promises they know they won't keep.
Of those you have to keep second-guessing; they never say what they truly feel.

So, am off to my li'l island. There, I will lie down with 'Tai-Pan', my piná-colada, and my Angie Stone CD....and I will not meet any people who I might like. Cos you see ,there'll only be myself to like, to love.

Cleaning out my closet....

2006-07-13T07:16:00.000-07:00

I did it.

My June-every-year-cleansing-ritual.....

And now, I feel almost good as new. Heck, I feel new.

I have this habit, you see. I hold onto things. No, not only clothes or shoes or pieces of paper (now where did that come from surely....he he) I keep thinking, I can't throw this away, I might need it one day (here one day could translate into in 5 years...pffftttt, now how, anyhoo...) I hold onto other intangible things...

Destructive relationships
Obsolete phone numbers
Sucking-you-dry people
Negative energy friends
Rain-on-my-parade acquaintances

This morning, I went thru my cellie and deleted almost half the numbers. It was hard (picture bending over every 10 minutes in pain....almost in tears), it was gut wrenching (I kid you not), it almost tore me apart. But at the end of it, I felt relief. I mean surely, those numbers I collected from the 6 months ago Jack Swing, those ones that belong to faces I cannot remember, how will they help my life??

Then I wrote a few sms's; they had phrases in them that went 'I cannot be the person you want me to be'...' I'm tired of the games, the innuendos, the reading between the lines' ...'I want to be a grown up and stop stringing you along' ...Damn!!! It was hard. But the way I see it, life is too short...

For playing mind games
For trying to figure people out who don't want to be figured
For stringing you along just so that I can 'keep my options open'
For spending a whole night wondering why you said, did, what you did
For not knowing if tomorrow you will smile at me, or you will walk past me without a glance...

And tomorrow, well, maybe tomorrow I'll have the strength to toss out a few papers, and with them, a few more things I shoulda cast off long long ago.

Free yourself.

Loving me....and here blogging......

2006-07-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

I want to love me, for who I am,
Not for what society thinks I am,
Not for what I feel I am because they said,
Not for what I seemed to be when I stumbled.

But,
For who I am because of my faults,
...my strengths ...my dreams ...my fantasies...

Even if nowhere else, then here... on this blog...