What are you doing for New Year's Eve?

That question, along with, 'Are you ready with your New Year resolutions' has been asked constantly of me this last week.

Well, I think I will skip resolutions this time around.... O.K... maybe that is too rash. How about I resolve to not make any resolutions other than this one. O.K. Done.

As for what I'm doing tonight... well, one thing I won't be doing for sure is making resolutions... see above. Other than that, anything goes. Hopefully I stay sober long enough to celebrate the dropping of the ball, and with luck history does not repeat itself and find me in bed with a man with a gun.

What are (did) you do(ing) for New Year's Eve?

Destiny; A puppet of the gods?

So Tafsiri wanted me to discuss what I thought about man being a puppet of the gods vs being a capt of his own destiny.

Mhmmm! Let's see. I bet you Tiger Woods is feeling very much a puppet of these crazy gods and much less a captain of his own destiny. And yet, I could bet you just as much that not too long before this, as he was galavanting across the globe, playing on.... please pardon the intended pun, cheap courses and putting in unremarkable holes, he was feeling very much the Captain of his own vessel. Come to find out that he didn't really own it and that he was not allowed to accept stowaways..... whatever the circumstances.

I on the other hand, well.... I'm most certainly the captain... or driver (my preferrence) and a very competent one , given the state of this vehicle that I am driving towards my destiny. A destiny which, it seems to me, is forever getting jerked back, forth, sideways and, more often than not, out of sight. For the sake of this discussion, I'll blame sadistic gods for the jerking about of my destiny, since I don't care to blame myself or my myopic foresight.

But I do sympathise with Tiger though. Life does have a way of upturning itself in your face and upsetting even the best laid plans or more aptly, plans to get laid. How else would you explain my driving a girl friend visiting from out of town to see a friend of hers, who, as we came to find out, a tad bit too late I should add, rooms with my last ex. Yeah... that right there was the gods messing with moi.

Do I believe in love?

Cecii wanted to know.

Love consists not in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction... Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I don't quite recall what it is I said to her but it can't have been the answer she was looking for. It can't have been a good answer either because to answer such a monumental question a man needs to give it quite a bit of consideration; something that is rather hard to explain on the spur of a moment in which any answer other than a simple yes or no will not do. Not without him appearing to be elusive. And yet, a yes, while being the more desirable answer, would only amount to a deceptive reassurance.... and perhaps a short-lived reprieve until some doubt crept in there and forced the question out again and this time a simple yes would most likely not work.

So, being of sane mind and body... I most likely said no with the hope that it would buy me some time as I sought out the real answer. I say likely because I truly don't recall if I did indeed say so and if I did, if I went on to explain that no. Did I tell her that 'love' for me was about as ambiguous as 'God'. That while I did not believe that he doesn't exist, that I don't really know what to believe.

Is love for instance a verb, noun, adjective or all of them? I know I love my mother dearly and would do anything for her...... right? And yet, I will not call her as often as she'd like me to call her. Most of my life I have rebelled, gone against her bidding and really been at logger heads with her; yet, I do believe I love her more than I love anybody else.

I also have friends who I don't nearly love as much, if at all, that I will call and talk to on a daily basis. People who I go to pains to remain agreeable with. So, do I really love my mother?

That is parental love... Perhaps that is different. Probably not what was meant when the question was asked but I think it goes a long way to explain my stance in the matter.

I hate to admit it now but for the longest time I believed in love at first sight... Actually, the idea of it appealed to me.... a lot. I dreamt of it happening to me, and a few times it materialized..... several times in fact. I have written about it here and here before..... And here is an account of the last time it happened. I bring this up because love as packaged by Hollywood and Hallmark, is an exclusive feeling that supposedly targets a single being - soul mate, who in return targets you with this same feeling. You'll tell me that it's not so simple and of course you will be right; Nothing is ever that simple.

For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow. - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Personally I like to think of love as a gift given to me by a benevolent giver - say the good Lord; or hardwired into my psyche over the billions of years it took for me to evolve, take your pick. An ability to care enough for somebody as to overlook their humanness; afterall, to be human is to err.

Like I once told Kellie, I love without conditions.... and that I think is as close to what I believe about love as my limited vocabulary will ever get. I have loved a lot, and continue to love to this day. It gets difficult when those that I love want me to define my love for them; even more so when they want to define it for me. It gets worse when they decide that my love is theirs and want to take possession of it. Very difficult.... but still I love.

Now, of being in love, which is what I think Cecii meant when she posed that question, I really don't know. I wouldn't accuse anyone of lying if they told me they were in love, but if it's anything like I felt in the instances referenced above, then that for me is too fleeting to be real.

So, do I believe in love? I really don't know if I do. I'd like to think that one day I'll find this woman who I'll fall madly and deeply in love with.... only question is, what then, will I do with all this other love. Do I stop loving others simply because I am now loving the one? Will the others understand that destiny has to have it's way?

So what keeps me up at night...?

Mr Darius was curious to know...

A new 'Hardy Boys' used to be all it took... then I turned 12. After that it was any novel I could get my hands on, be it a mere 250 pages or an 800 pages one. My written english improved ten-fold and my eyesight deteriorated at least twice as much. Which is why I can't stay up at night.... By the end of the day... well, maybe not the end, but by midnight, which as we speak... or type if you may, is but ten minutes away, my eyes are hurting so bad, the only remedy left is to shut them for a couple of hours.

In the last fifteen or so years I have learnt quite a bit, although I have to admit that most of it I have just as quickly lost as I have gained. But, one thing I know for certain I have learnt and retained is this; it is impossible to count all those sheep with my eyes closed. With luck I'll get to twenty... but usually I'm passed out before I can say eleven:)

Truth is overrated...

Honesty, on the other hand, is a more challenging game, and I am willing to play it in earnest.

I like to think that I am, generally speaking, an honest guy... but then again I don't speak generally.

All men profess honesty as long as they can. To believe all men honest would be folly.
To believe none so is something worse.
John Quincy Adams

Anyway, I have an idea. I have found that when questioned, due to my honest nature, I am forced to think and reply honestly to queries about myself and my life, outlook and what not.... even when I would not voluntarily discuss these very same. This has led to instances of self-revelation that have proven to be very fulfilling. I have gotten quite an insight into my rather complex personality.... yeah, I know I'm vain... and while I am not liking myself any more than I did before, I am at least getting used to the real me.

All stories should have some honesty and truth in them, otherwise you're just playing about.
Nigel Kneale

So, I am begging of you - my loyal reader, my not so loyal ones, and you who may have virtually stumbled upon me (blog) by accident to assist me on my journey to self-discovery. Ask of me any question you like... feel free to get as personal, or not, and I will gladly answer it here. I may not tell you the truth.... overrated and all, but I will be honest with you.

Email your queries.... but don't hold your breathe; a faceless corporation owns my time.

O.K...Listen up sucker...

Kindly tagged by Beth, and thus saved the embarrassment of having to tag myself again. In the same way, I am tagging all those sorry souls who have been missing out on getting tagged and are feeling it. A letter to 16 year old me. Thank God for the Internets for this letter would never have gotten posted.

This is probably my only chance to come back and virtually bitch-slap you for being the 16 year old fuck-up that you are and I'm a make the most of it. Whoever came up with this idea is about a decade and two years too fucking late but... like Bernard Shaw once said, better never than late. Yeah, for you anyway.

First, the world does not, and for that matter neither does your mother, your absent father nor anyone else unfortunate enough to be related to you, owe you a thing... nada! So you ranked in the top five in your fucking district when you sat your KCPE and still were not called to the National School you had picked. So what if your somewhat best friend who did not happen to have as high a score as yours was able to get into the same school just because his father knew the Minister of Education... it's called life in Kenya, at least back then. You didn't get to pick your parents, none of us did, but guess what, I doubt they'd have picked you either if they knew you were going to turn into such a sour puss. Move the fuck on.

Second, you don't know everything. Heck! What am I saying? You don't know shit so please stop acting like you do. A closed mind is an impediment to learning and, conversely, a stunter of growth. Eventually, you will open your eyes to this reality and it will hurt coz you will have no direction. You will look out to the world and your vision will be blurred. You'll reach out to the stars.....

O.K.... o.k...o.k... I realize I am about to completely lose you if I haven't done it already. You hate being told what to do and you hate even more being yelled at. Let me tone this down and see if perhaps I can get something through to you.

Here goes nothing.

Girls aren't nearly as fragile as you've been brought up to believe, they can handle way more than you think and they know it and will use it against you. Do not cater to their every whim. If you do, they will like you but they won't want you; you will want them but you won't like them. They told you back in primary school that girls are nothing but trouble.... that was not entirely true: They are trouble yes, but worthwhile trouble... trust me on that. So throw out the caution, you'll need the room for some condoms.

The boys on the other hand are hardly as tough as they seem. They may act and talk like it but they are not any tougher than you are. They are given to bragging... you are smart not to be quick to believe everything they claim to have or to have done. Especially when it comes to girls: You'll look back one day and realize that your history is replete with girls who've apparently lost their virginity multiple times. And do give in to the urge to brag too, sometimes. It may not win you friends, but being envied is not necessarily a bad thing.

Oh yeah... you don't speak much which is a good thing; too many words are wasted on too few ears. You probably should say even less.... trust me my friend, very little of what you say is necessary. But when you do speak, speak louder, and clearer. Those you talk to will appreciate not having to have you repeat it and who knows,they might think that you know what the heck you talking about.

Last but certainly not least, do please learn to say no. You will certainly get your fair share of those. You need not please everyone. Actually, you can not please everyone. All you will end up with is a shitload of tags that everyone expects you to finish but with no time to get to them all. Oh! Wait, did I actually tag myself again. Scratch that last point, but the others stay. You are freaking 16 years old, do you know what I wouldn't give to be you right now? No? Well me neither.

So I murdered my muse month or so ago...

Unlike Bob's shooting of the sheriff, mine was not in self-defense. It wasn't a shooting either... more a drowning. Just like the well meaning but inexperienced pastor who, while upriver doing his first dipping into the murky waters of river_X baptism of his flock, forgot the words of the baptismal prayer and as he grasped desperately for the elusive incantation lurking somewhere in the recesses of his brain, succeeded in keeping his would be new devotee under the water much longer than the poor fellow could hold his breath.... and thus the good Lord's will was done or so the heartbroken mother and devout follower of Christ would later allude; So too would my muse, in what can only be summarised as an unfortunate event, fall to the zealous ministrations of a spiritual devotee... me in this case.

Having read somewhere and believed (to read is to believe, no?) the supposed magical properties of absinthe - the green fairy, and having for the last few months been suffering a serious bout of the block, I went in search of this fairy. Slaying numerous dragons of fear and doubt that lay in my way, and leaving in my wake half empty bottles of rum and of coke (a cola), thus discarded unconsumed as I tried to cleanse my body of any intoxicant that could in one way or the other hinder the workings of this magical spirit, I finally sighted this holy grail (more like a watered down version) of the writing world on the shelve of the local alcohol dispensary of my town. Imagine that.

So, to cut a short story short, I partook and I passed out. When I came to, my muse was no more.

Of Toothless Dogs and their incessant barking

There was a time not too long ago when calling me a girl would have gotten your face punched in... not by me mind, but by the legion of loyal fans that I had somehow amassed in the relatively short span that was my meteoric rise to fame.... That legion, btw, has since disappeared in pretty much the same way that my star burnt itself out... unceremoniously.

Twice now, in less than a week, two girls have gone on to call me a girl to my face and I have done nothing but cower in the hole that I eventually sunk into.... not that I would hit a girl... heck, I don't beat girls except, perhaps, when in a race to reach an orgasm... thanks to having what one might call an unfair advantage in the form of hair trigger something or the other.

I don't know if it's something I said or the way I said it. Boy do I miss those fans.

One Score and a half......

Or to be more precise, one score and 9 years ago today, folks, unto a young beautiful woman hailing from along the ranges known as the Aberdares in the heart of the Kenyan highlands, a new babe was born.

Today while the rest of the world marches along on its quest for survival or whatever ambitions drive it, seemingly oblivious of our very existence, the owner of this blog has declared this day a holy day... nay, a holiday... nay... arghhh who friggin cares. Thing is, we don't gotta do shit coz you know what, it's his effing birthday.

So here's to doing nothing.

Inspired but without direction....

'A morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness...' I couldn't have said it better so thanks Hank Moody (Californication) for those bytes of wisdom. Actually, it would never have occured to me to say something like that. I wouldn't know about morning awkwardness, having majored in lonely nights for the most part of my life. But then again, who wants to admit on his blog that he's once woken up with a 'broner' - another Hank coinage (I think) for an 'unintentional male inspired boner'. Not me for sure, so don't expect any talk of morning awkwardness on this here blog.

So, I was crawling through the KBW aggregator the other morning.... my only access nowadays to all y'all's blog posting nowadays, when I ran across 'Tamaku's List of blessings.... and, I know I don't get to give enuff props for all the shit y'all write in your blogs.... this cat - gay as he is, is quite funny. And no, not in the broner inspiring kind of way. I am protected from self incrimination... aren't I.

Anyway, Tamaku's list, while not necessarily rib cracking served to inspire me to make a list of my own - but I am having trouble deciding what kind of list to make. I would make one of blessings like he did but that wouldn’t be too original now would it. I already made a Christmas list and I can’t quite think of any other interesting list that I could stand writing.. Can you?

I'm Hurting Inside

I'm Hurting Inside

When I was just a little child,

Happiness was there awhile.

Then from me, yeah, it slipped one day.

Happiness, come back, I say.

'Cause if you don't come, I've got to go lookin'

for happiness.

Well, if you don't come, I've got to go lookin',

Lord, for happiness, happiness.

- Bob Marley

A crappy post

September of 09 will go down into the annals of blogging history as the month that this blog almost went without a single posting... almost. But not quite. I could have also used the following line as the intro - 'I am back... this time not by, or to be depressingly candid - despite the conspicuous lack of, public demand....' but I did not.

No... this is not what you think it is. Self-pity, while obviously being a large part of my make up, is not what drives the publishing of this blog. No, I write on whims, and publish only when I have the courage or, as some might be tempted to call it, the audacity to think that what I wrote might provide y'all with an interesting read. The only difference this time is that, as I have tried to hint at by the title, I don't quite give a crap.

See, it's not, as I may have alluded to somebody earlier, that I have been lacking blogging inspiration or the mojo as some of you are fond of calling it; no the inspiration has been there, only this time it's been largely negative as opposed to the waxing positivity y'all have grown to expect. Forgive my vanity... a man can wish can't he? I do like to think of myself as an artist after all... but what is an artist without an audience? Anyway take this one for instance.

So there I was going through my day yesterday, when an urgent call of nature came in....

Irritated, I take the call and I'm further dismayed that it is a number two call. I glance at my clock to see if I have time to take it.... I didn't but I didn't really have the choice of postponing it anyway, hence the 'urgent' before call, right? I had to make the time. So excusing myself from my busyness, I find my way to our remodelled crapper.

So there I am, feeling all warm and invited a la the new warm and inviting ambiance that is the result of the remodelling, when a hissing noise above reminds me that I shouldn't quite get too comfortable. And as if the noise wasn't enough, a pungent gas suddenly envelopes me and in no uncertain terms lets me know that I have not only wasted the last five minutes not doing my work, but that also the waste that I have been getting rid off has resulted in the polluting of the air.

O.K.... so why should I give a crap about that? I ask myself. And while I'm at it, I decide to ask myself twenty other questions.... like what's with all the automation of this crapping business?

Has anyone noticed that they are taking away all the things that mattered away from the crapping experience... I mean, does it not piss you off that you can't even flush the darn shitter anymore? I know it does me. I mean I reach back for my mid-crapping flush but the handy lever that we used to flush with is nowhere to be found. No sweat, might as well count that as my contribution to a greener earth.... Then, as I shift around to efficiently and hopefully effectively, use the toilet paper, the auto-flusher senses my movement and flushes. I stand up and it flushes again... I walk out the door and the trigger happy thing goes off again as if to mock me.

I suppress the expletive that is threatening to explode from my mouth, mindful of the fact that anyone walking in on me cursing out the shitter might get spooked, and walk to the fancy new faucet ready for some hot hand sanitizing action but alas! no handles here either. Instead a stupid sign directs me to place my hands under the spout but the water that spews from it can not even be classified as luke-warm: Not anymore than the foam that comes from the automatic soap dispenser be called soap.

Disgusted after an un-thorough hand washing, I turn, now fully resigned to my powerless fate, and insert my wet hands into the hand drier and wait for it to do this apparently mundane task. It starts to enthusiastically attempt to blow the wetness off of my wrists. It is only after I have angrily wiped my hands off of my pants and I'm pulling the door open that I notice the directions etched on the fastest most sanitary drier in the market that say I should move my hands in an up and down motion for it to be effective.

Aaargh! I walk out feeling shittier than I did before walking in. I tell you, this would never have happened in the good old days before the automation. On the other hand, that means that this post would never have happened... and God forbid but September 09 would have gone down as the month this blog went postless. No Shit!

Za Wikendi? A two part trilology (sic)

A Concrete Jungle

No sun will shine in my day today.
The high yellow moon
won't come out to play
Darkness has covered my light,
And has changed my day into night
Now where is this love to be found,
won't someone tell me?
'Cause life, sweet life,
must be somewhere to be found, yeah
Instead of a concrete jungle
where the livin' is hardest
Concrete jungle, oh man,
you've got to do your best, yeah.

Bob Marley

So this past weekend would have gone by... well it did go by.. as just another event-less weekend but for two events; one that did happen and another that... well, just didn't quite happen.

Event one!

So, my uncle, having gotten better plans for himself and his better half, decided to postpone, indefinitely, my debut into the golfing world that was supposed to happen this past Saturday. So, after I'd finally picked my disappointed self off of the floor and wiped the tears of my face, I decided to... ummmm ....try and salvage the rest of the weekend by joining some buddies at the park.

So I get there and do the rounds... shaking hands here, hi-fiving there and all the while feeling the effects of that glass of 'Long Island Iced Tea' as it courses through that intricate network of veins and arteries that feeds my body. Apparently, for those who know about interactions... med professionals and all.... alcohol and high temps and humid conditions interact... and not in the best of ways.

So anyway, there I am... interacting with my fellow Kenyans, and as I go down the line of outstretched hands, shaking, hugging and pecking indiscriminately, I happen to hug a bust that is somewhat familiar. I take a step back and practically jump out of my skin when I recognize that the cheek I was just about to kiss belonged to none other than Leah's mum. Imagine that..... lol!

So I summon my wits... which are by then quite inebriated, and attempt what couldn't possibly pass for small talk.

KK: 'hic! Errr uhoro waku Mama Leah! hic!'

ML: Oh! Hi Kei... So good to see you... where have you been... blah blah blah...

She tells me they are all doing fine and, in-fact, Baba Leah had just come back from Zamunda and had asked her about me.

Whoa! Now, under normal circumstances, that statement right there would set off a million red flags and be cause enough for orange alerts to be declared.... but these circumstances were anything but. Somehow, I manage to last through the small talk... and smiling gratuitously, move on down the line of eager fans.

Peck here, "hi there"...
kiss, huggies... "uhoro? how have you been?"
Shakey shake "oh nice to meet you..."
"Kei, Kei Kei..." That with a Bondish wink
"nope, no autographs today." Haughtily with an upturned nose

Finally, fairly exhausted after shaking the last hand, I turn to where I imagine the drinks should be and run right smack into Baba Leah. I suppress a groan and try to match his enthusiasm as I return his greetings.

"Sema mbuyu, story za masiku" or the Kikuyu translation of same.

He goes on to repeat... I could almost swear it was verbatim, but then I wasn't quite myself and may have misheard.... what Mama Leah had told me before; except that when it came to the part of him asking about me, he pulls me towards her and asks her to confirm that yes, he had been asking about me.

Now, after hearing it the third time, my highly sensitized defense system scrambles to get the red flags up and the brain struggles to come up with a coherent response to the... ummmm ...allegation. We most certainly do not want a repeat of the Iraq debacle here so this calls for due diligence.... no!

But alas! no rash response is needed as this dictator is not afraid to reveal why he had been asking about me.

"You know Kei..." He starts in that patronizing drawl that is so Kikuyu.... designed, I think, to let you know that what you are about to hear you aren't supposed to know.

"You know it is quite refreshing to see a young man like you with a good head on his shoulders"

I don't quite burst out in laughter but only because I shake the said head as if to verify its goodness even as he goes on to shower me with praises.

"So many of our young men get lost when they come here," He goes on to say, throwing a disparaging eye towards a rowdy group of guys that I was just thinking of joining.

"But not you. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

'Well... actually I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my Uncle flaking out on me' I'm thinking to myself but dang...

"You know, I wish my daughters would end up with a stand up guy like you..."

"What!" I manage to say through my embarrassment.

"I thought you had an eye for Leah... what happened?" He chides.

I try to say something intelligible but my mouth does not cooperate...

"Anyway... you are too late now," He goes on to drop a verbal weapon of mass destruction on my ass..

"Somebody beat you to it..."

"Yep," He reaffirms as if he's read the disbelief in my eyes, "they are coming for the official courting business this coming week."

I was speechless before, I am dumbfounded now...

I mean.... WTF!

So I stand there for another minute or so, embarrassed, smiling like a fool as he goes on... telling me not to worry, the other daughter is still available.... blah! blah! blah! And the first chance I get I am so gone. I am out there gulping down shots of Captain Morgan with that very group that I, supposedly, different from.

So there, you have it.... Celibacy my ass. Ms. Leah may be voluntarily celibate... but I sincerely doubt that pure enjoyment is the reason for it. My thoughts are that she has to prevent potential trauma to the goods before the eventual owner has put down a down-payment on them. Either that or she's afraid if he turns out to be a lousy lay, her recent memories might mess her up. Both moot points but.....

What do you think?

About the second event... well, it didn't really happen so it's really not an event. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. For now, let me placate my boss by getting some work done:)

Celibacy is overrated.....

I'm jus saying.

Y'all remember Leah... of the crossroads fame? Yes? No?

Well... anyway... a chance meeting after what could only amount to a very long time led to a night of painting the town red.... and getting wasted in the name of catching up. Turns out she ditched the boyfriend of many years and is now enjoying being a single lady.... and, apparently, the best thing about her new status is the celibacy part.....

Mhmmmh! Is all I am gonna say to that.

Thankfully, though, her couch must have been made in heaven... Or perhaps I was so drunk I could have slept on the floor and enjoyed it. LOL!

Anyway... Part Deux... of the Racheal story is up.

Santadearest@?.? :All I want for Christmas

PS… Due to technical ignorance…. My assuming that the Nokia peeps didn’t know what the hell they were talking about when they reiterated to back up my memory and contacts and such before updating the firmware of my E71 can only be characterized as such…. I no longer have Santa’s contact information. If you happen to (have it), please, kindly forward this email to him. It contains my Christmas list which I have gone to great pains to compile. It would be a shame if he should fail to get it in time…..

So dear Santa,

I hope you don’t find it presumptive of me calling you 'dear' when you and I have yet to meet. Heck, I didn’t even know you existed until I came to this here land of milk n honiez… and even then, I only heard of you through tales told to me on the radio and twice or so, I saw your ugly face on T.V. To be honest, I’d have gone on to discard your myth amongst the pile of useless info I retain at the back of my mind but you wouldn’t have none of that. You surprised me last Christmas by leaving me a rather desirable gift…. albeit at the wrong address.

Yes… that was very kind of you and very clever too now that I think of it. For a moment… six months or so… I was so pre-occupied with it (the gift), I didn’t realize how self serving that act was for you. I mean, now I’ll never forget you… will I? Only one problem though…. while that was a rather thoughtful gift for sure… I wish, in retrospect, you hadn’t tried so hard. In fact, I decided to save you the trouble and make you a list… see below… And what’s more, you don’t even have to choose, just get me everything on the darn list. I even included hyperlinks to picture

Oh! And next time, please, check my address beforehand. Due to my fugitive status, I am not able to stay in one place indefinitely…. But I always leave clues… forwarding addresses… footprints… tell-tale smoke signals…etcetera

Here goes.... in no particular order

1. Numark NS7

2. Coffin … for the NS7 not for me…lol

3. Computer Desk

4. Powered Speakers

5. Laptop Docking Station

6. 24” LCD Monitor

7. Leather swivel chair

8. 06 Audi S4

And in case you are wondering if I am leaving all my dreams to you to fulfill…. No, just the easy stuff. Getting the listed items should be easy… keeping and maintaining them is the hard part… and using them is even harder. It takes talent, time and patience… apart from the S4…. That one just needs gas and an open highway… oh.. and a sharp eye for the cops. Yeah… Lil Weezy was lying with that Mrs. Officer shit… I’ve found that you are better off paying a stripper to dress as a cop than trying to sing that to a real one.

Come to think of it, perhaps, I should add that to my list. Hmmmh! Can you get your hands on a sexy cop uniform? Or better yet, how about you just get the stripper… I'll work on getting the uniform.

Anyway... that there is my list.... and I do pray that you get it on time.

There's a thin line between love and hate.....

And the person who drew it did not use permanent ink.... Kei :)

"We'll have to work on getting you in touch with your emotions.." was a line that my ex used on me a lot. She did eventually succeed although probably not in the way she had envisioned as I finally got in touch with the... "I can't stand this nagging B!#*h" emotion and the "I swear if she says that one more time I'ma...." one.

Mostly due to, I think, my personality, I don't express myself much.... other than on this blog that is. I do do that... right?

Anyway, I have recently come to learn, thanks to the indirect efforts of Mo and Crys, that I can blame a lot of my quirks on my INFP personality. Like the fact that most people think I am easy going and able to get along with just about anybody... which is quite true for the most part. Ok... maybe not those of you who read my blog... I'm aware that mostly it's my arrogant self that sells itself here. I am talking about those people with whom I interact one on one on a day to day basis. What those people don't realize, is that I am so in control of my outward emotions that I will instinctively portray the emotions I want them to see.

So I come off as this polite, patient... nice, young man with a great personality and a kind word for everybody. If you ask most people about me, they'll tell you what a nice person I am. Incidentally, I really loathe that word..... nice. Don't ever call me nice or else I'll loose whatever respect I have for you. In the real sense, though, I am all of that... polite, patient, inconceivably tolerant and, perhaps, even humble, due mostly to my mother's no nonsense upbringing, but I am a lot of other things too. Most of which I can not dare to print in case a future employer chances upon my blog... but suffice it to say that if you really knew me, you'd know that I am not a 'nice' person.

Yeah... you are probably thinking that that is being rather double-faced.... Well..... blame it on the ah ah ah ahhh al alco... nah, blame it on the person who came up with those stupid personality profiles. LOL!

So anyway, what was it I was going to blog about.... Yeah, love and hate... right. Well, a friend of mine is pregnant and soon looking to get married. I was thinking about her the other day and it occurred to me that, though I really liked her a lot, I literally cannot stand her . Is that even possible?

We met last year... towards the end of winter, and we hang a total of five times between then and the end of summer. There was undeniably some... actually, a lot of chemistry between us, but I ended up sabotaging, by design, our budding relationship. There is something about her attention seeking personality that really rubs me off the wrong way, and yet, she has this childlike disposition that is so adorable...

Anyway, I'd go on and on... and give you the dirt on how that relationship went burst, but that would be too boring. I did however try to characterize her as best as I could in my nanowrimo entry last year. Well, I never quite completed it.... Yes, Suga, Crys, I know...... I am working on finishing it... I promise.

Here are the pertinent excerpts.... Enjoy.

Get to know me...... Shameless self tagging

Copy all questions, write responses, and tag yourselves, blogger pals.

I did.... From Maua's :)

1. What time did you get up this morning?
-0615

2. How do you like your steak?
-With a side of baked potatoes and gravy.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
- Cinema? Sounds very British. If you mean the Movies, I really don’t remember. Probably some horror flick with my last girlfriend. Does that sound too American?

4. What is your favorite TV show?
- Dexter… Quit looking at me like that.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
- My own island in the Caribbean.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
- A chapo and peach jelly. English breakfast tea and a couple of digestives.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
- Hmmmh! I try not to do favoritism. I don’t care much for Ghanaian and Chinese.

8. What foods do you dislike?
- Ooops… I think I went ahead of myself above.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?
- At my desk… Then I have n excuse not to work. After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin my keyboard by spilling food or liquids on it.

10. Favorite dressing?
- On me… Casual; on her… that little pink slip.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
- An 05 Malibu… I was desperate at time of purchase. I'm nolonger desperate... just stuck.

12. What are your favorite clothes?
- What’s with this favorite question anyway?

I don’t have Sunday best anymore.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
- Depends on whether I’m emptying or filling it. Donnit?

15. Where would you want to retire?
- On that Island

16. Favorite time of day?
- 5:00 P.M. Hands down. That’s when the boss opens the door slightly and looks the other way so I can slither out of my workplace.

17. Where were you born?
-Nakuru

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
- Football… American Football. I know... u may not think it is, but that's what they call it here.

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
- Trying to answer this is, I think, an effort in futility.

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
- I don’t want anyone accusing me of expecting too much from them.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
- Heather… She’s crazie like me. Or is it…. Crazy she likes me?

22. Bird watcher?
-Is this a trick question? Are we talking real birds or chics?

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
-.I am not a morning person. I sleep walk through my mornings and get up around noon.

24. Do you have any pets?
-Nope

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
- What I have is exciting but old so it doesn’t qualify as news.

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
-I wanted to be a grown up… then I grew up and found out how overrated that really was and now all I want is to be a little bit more richer… and leaner… maybe a little taller.

27. What is your best childhood memory?
- I truly don’t remember being a child… all I have is a weird longing for those years I think I lost between my getting born and becoming a lost adult in the real world. Could that have been my childhood?

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
-Mhmmm! Not sure. I think I was born in the year of the monkey. Or was it the pig.

29. Are you married?
-Thank God no… but I am taking in applications if you happen to be eligible

J

30. Always wear your seat belt?
-When I remember to… Even if I am but a minute away from my destination.

31. Been in a car accident?
-Several and lived to tell the stories. Fake ones mostly because there was no way I was going to admit liability. You have no idea how much money (insurance Surcharges and such) I've save myself over the last ten or so years. I don't have an idea either.

32. Any pet peeves?
-Yes… Too many questions. Whoever sat down and thought up a 50 question tag ought to be hung.

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
-Sweet and sour chicken and pineapple.

34. Favorite Flower?
-I’m all about deflowering.

35. Favorite ice cream?
-Any Combi I can come up with at Cold Stone Creamery.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
-Miranda Bread…. Well it’s actually a Brazillian place and their service is nothing close to fast.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
-Once… Then I went out and became an expert parallel parker. Of course, they didn't bother to test me on that the second time.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
-Paypal thanking me for using my paypal debit card to pay for my $4:00 lunch at my favorite not so fast food place.

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
-At this point of my UN-Creditworthy life, any store that would be stupid enough to give me a credit card.

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
-Does doing this tag thing qualify?

41. Like your job?
- Do you like to knock your head against the wall?

42. Broccoli?
-Pleasant memories of when I unknowingly fed my Albanian friend a stew containing broccoli having forgotten that she was allergic…. hahaha.

43. What was your favorite vacation?
- My last one… and the next one will be even better. I actually have a poor long-term memory so I cannot really be honest with these questions. Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that before but I forgot.

44. Last person(s) you went out to dinner with?
-Kagweria…. After I picked her up from the airport last night.

45. What are you listening to right now?
-A Bongo-Genge mix I made on a sleepless night a couple of weeks ago.

46. What is your favorite color?
-Black… I think.

47. How many tattoos do you have?
- Two fake ones and don’t ask me where.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
- All of them. It’s hard for me to count.

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
-I’m still working on it. I answered the easy ones first like I do all quizzes. This just happened to be one of them.

50. Coffee Drinker?
-Yes… If you are buying.

Fifty questions? For crying out loud. Hope you lasted this long. I almost didn't.

I am a marathoner.... that's right

Say it with me now.

I am a marathoner. I run four times a week and I never miss a run. I enjoy running.  I never get tired. Up the hill then down the hill; easy strides the whole way through. My feet are light like feathers, watch how they glide. Hear them tap the tar, before they take off and fly again. They are fit as a fiddle. My whole body is. I am in the best shape of my life.My middle name is NRG and I am full of it.

This book is something else... If I repeat the above paragraph enough times, not only will my mind start believing it, my body, supposedly, will transform and become what my mind believes it is.... ha! This is me not being skeptical... lol!

How many exactly is enough times?

Public Service Post.... Modest Self-Serving is more like it

Ahem... I am not usually one to drop names.... but, for Juliet @ Storymoja, I will. She wrote the letter below but I am po[a]sting it on my blog... so there. If the names Verdadero, Zaidi, Partington.... etcetera... mean anything to you, then you know I knows people who know people. If they don't, well... you need to do your homework. Show up at the Hay Festival and meet them... who knows, they might spare you and your manuscript a moment or two. Thanks Juliet... by including me in your mailing list, you've helped perpetuate that illusion that I've had in my head... me an artist.

 

Dear all,

You no doubt understand the frustrations and challenges of getting your work published on print. Storymoja has arranged a session at the SHFK which will help writers which will not only help writers perfect their writing but also help them understand the intricacies of the publishing word. Please help us get the word out to more writers by posting on your blog and/or forwrding this message to your writer friends.

Saturday 1st August 2009 at 10am – 11:30am MANUSCRIPT DOCTOR SESSION w/ Doreen/Agatha Verdadero/Ali Zaidi/Stephen Partington/ Bibi Bakare, Suhaila Cross/John Mwazemba at the British Council Pavilion at the Storymoja Hay Festival.

Writers! Poets! Playrights! Scribes of all sorts! You all practice the written word, but how do you perfect it? By showing your writing to experts and getting feedback. This is your chance. A team of expert editors of all genres of writing will be on hand to peruse your manuscripts and give you instant editing advice and writing tips. You will find out what works and what doesn’t and how to refine your creative ideas. The team includes publishers and editors of major Kenyan journals, magazines, newspapers, and books. Come with 5 to 10 TYPED pages of your manuscript. Do not miss this chance to improve your art.
Tickets are available from Storymoja as well as all leading book stores ( Booksfirst, Silverbird (formerly NuMetro), Savanis, Book Stop Yaya, Sarit Info Desk). Contact info@storymojaafrica.co.ke for more details about tickets. For information about the dates, venue and guests of the entire Storymoja Hay Festival 2009 see here…

Thank you very much for your assistance.
--
Juliet Maruru
Creative writer, Author of www.jmaruru.wordpress.com
Website Content Manager, www.storymojaafrica.co.ke, www.storymojaafrica.wordpress.com

This race is certainly not for the swift; Runnin out of running titles

=

Back due to public demand... yes farmgal ... u do qualify as the public, unless of course you'd rather make a private demand:) We are dedicating this post in part to the dearly departed, specifically my cousin's cousin Kariuki, who accidentally passed away recently.... And JOINTly to my dread sistaz in KL... puff puff n pass it on:)

So.... I went to Jersey254 two weekends ago and all I brought back was two bottles of Captain Morgan...

Ok... Last I checked both bottles were unopened.

Anyway, that and the fuddled up memories of good times, good peoples and some damn good nyama choma. No kidding, if you ever find yourself in Paterson NJ, please, do yourself a favor and visit Mt. Kenya Bar & Grill... Well worth the three trips we made there and bounced.. I mean, what the heck! .....and that being a weekend when Kenyans were supposed to be flocking into New Jersey.

Anyway, back to the memories and the good peoples... One people in particular stands out in my memories... probably because I just saw a picture I took of him, very inebriated, telling us about growing up in Kariobangi. Don't quite remember much of the details... actually none if I am to be honest. But I do remember chastising him for wasting my alcohol when each time I poured a generous portion of my Cpt. he would pour half of it (it seemed to me anyway), libation to his ancestors. A total waste of my money, I thought then, considering that chances were his ancestors had never heard of let alone tasted Captain Morgan Rum when they were alive.... I doubted very much they'd have much appreciation of it in their repose.

But not so Mr. Kariuki, in whose memory I was getting ready to drink to the other day when I was accosted by a certain Pastor Joanne. The good pastor was on that particular day leading the prayer service as we got together to mourn our departed brother, uncle, cousin, friend and fellow Kenyan. Kariuki would most certainly understand my not bothering to pour libation to his good memories considering it was on that very cement floor in my dear uncle's kitchen where, forgetting that he was not in his mother's hut in Karatina, he had insisted that we ought to dedicate a portion of our drink to our ancestors and gone on to spill a good portion of his Heineken on the ground..... Let's just say that the only thing that saved his life as the lady of the house came after him with hell's fury, was his slipping on the very drink he'd spilled and nearly killing himself.... perhaps, the ancestors were really looking out for him after all.

Unfortunately, not even the most watchful ancestors could save him from the treacherous roads in Kenya.... A point that I got the feeling Pastor Joanne was kinda driving at but never quite got to in her lengthy sermon. Probably because she got sidetracked and went off on a tangent or two talking about drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes. I was never quite good in geometry back in school so don't ask me what she said.... I could never follow a tangent let alone two. But I do remember her accusing me of hiding behind the alcohol and suggesting that all I got out of drinking was a fake high. Fake my ass, I wanted to snort out loud... fake or not, I'd prefer it to a low... wouldn't you?

Her premise, I gathered before I got distracted by a cute thing that had just walked into a wake in a mini-skirt.... designed, I'd say, to awaken even the dead... was I ought to give up the alcohol and turn to Jesus.

Now... pray do tell, why should I have to give up one love for the other? I mean, to bastardize our worldly President's favorite phrase, those two are not mutually exclusive now... are they? I raised my hand in objection... prepared to explain to her how my love affair with the Capt has led to my appreciating even more the Love that the Lord has got for me.... It is not rare for me, in a drunken moment, to recall quite distinctly the words to a X-tian hymn that I have not sung in nearly twenty years and bless my fellow drinkers with an off-key version of it.... And more often than not, a kindly fellow while sober, I become overly charitable when inebriated.... ask all those girls to whom I have given my number without them even having to ask...

So there I was enumerating all these pros of drinking alongside the 'For God so loved the World...' ones, and meanwhile the kindly Pastor had moved on from the sermon to the summons and she was now calling out to all those who would like to take a step of faith and accept....

Yeah, at that very moment she was calling out to the sinners amongst us, I had decided that I did indeed have a case to plead and raised my hand.

It took me but a few moments to realize my blunder... well, for luck of a better word anyway.... After all, this wasn't the first time that I had gotten saved, albeit by mistake.... He doth work in mysterious ways after all...and was about to ummm... withdraw my faltering step of faith when I saw the pleased look on the woman's face. Did I mention how charitable I get when inebriated....

Well, I just couldn't bring myself to wipe that look of happiness out of that face... After all, she was rather fetching and who knows, she might have gone on to suggest a private prayer session where we could reminisce on the good old Soul Night days at Carnivore... Yes, she was speaking from a position of ummmm.... knowledge when she spoke about the vices that are alcohol and cigarettes.... I should, perhaps, refer her to Loco's...

So anyway, last Friday, they laid Kariuki to rest.... and this time I spilled a little church wine on the ground... I couldn't afford to waste too much... the good stuff is rather expensive.... and given how much of it it takes to get me drunk.... In fact, the price alone is about to send me running back to the good ol' Capt'n.

Oh! Crap! Forgot I was blogging about my running... Well, after having acquired, via Pastor Joanne's impassioned prayers, faith as big as a mustard seed... I took on the mountains... and my legs are still telling the story... So FG... about that massage....

Running down the dream...

I rolled on as the sky grew dark
I put the pedal down to make some time
Theres something good waitin down this road
Im pickin up whatever is mine

Yeah runnin down a dream
That never would come to me
Workin on a mystery, goin wherever it leads
Im runnin down a dream

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - Runnin' down a dream

I stand here... in front of my bathroom mirror... still slightly out of breath. I stare back at the mischievous pair eyes on the other side... and can't help myself as I grin sheepishly and wipe the sweat that's trickled down my forehead and into my my eyes.... I can taste the saltiness as some of it finds its way past my lips into my mouth. That was quite a run... I muse as I contemplate my glistening body bathed in sweat.....

'I feel good...' I feel like yelling. And I'm feeling it too.

The kinda tired, worn out good that one feels after an unexpected session of morning sex.... my favorite kind if you care to know. You know the kind where you roll over after a long night out... and eventual loss of memory.... and, lo and behold, your arm falls upon a soft fleshy mass that can not be your pillow. And before u can say... 'whoa!'... a fleshy thigh reaches over and straddles yours... and you and your morning glory recoil in horror... that is until u ascertain that the thigh is feminine and that the flesh you inadvertently caressed was of the mammary kind.

And then your manly instincts take over, allowing you to slowly wake up to the choreographed rocking of your bodies amid loud bed noises, as the two of you attempt to remake the soundtrack to Sex and the City... but succeed only in annoying the neighbors instead... as they come to to the sounds of you two coming.... Then, exhausted, you both lay back... lost in your own little worlds.... She, amazed that she actually came... and you thinking to yourself... 'wow, this sure beats wanking.." just before you begin to drift back to sleep.... smiling inwardly to yourself... only to be brought out of it by that fleshy thigh that all of a sudden feels much heavier than before...

But I digress, I was telling you about the feeling I'm feeling as I stand in front of my vanity mirror... tiptoeing as I try to see the rest of my body, below the neck, and cursing myself for picking out this tiny mirror when the Landlord rewarded our tenancy with a complete house renovation. It did seem like a grand idea at the time (maybe grand isn't the right word).... didn't care much about seeing my whole self in the unflattering lighting in there... It was bad enough that I was dragging my increasingly out of shape body around every day... I didn't need to see how it looked every morning. Or was it a need to prove my manly lack of vanity? I forget.

Anyway, on tip toes, I can swear the man boobs are flattening out and though the love handles are still prominent... they seem to be taking up a hardness that wasn't there before. The curve of the belly seems to be tapering more... 'Soon...' I console myself... Soon... by the end of this summer even, those abs will be well defined. I let out the air I've been holding and look away, but not before catching a glimpse of the relaxed flesh rolling over the evidence I had just been admiring.. Forlorn, I drag my aching body into the shower and let the hot water drown out the thoughts... the aches and the longings.

Ok... truth is not as entertaining as fiction... so u can mosey over here for an alternate ending.

Tonight was a great night.....

Who coulda known that great food could fill the soul so well? The makers of Soul Food were on to something, that's for sure.

A non-runner.... Training for a marathon

'You can do this, if you want to. the only prerequisite is that you really want to. You don't have to be in shape - you don't even have to like to run. You only have to be willing to make yourself a priority equal to all the others in your life for 16-20 weeks. If you follow the training program as outlined in this book you will finish a marathon! And it will be an experience that will change you forever.'***

Sounds to me like a sales pitch for an MLM program... right? Or perhaps the intro to a self-help book. Perhaps it is that... according to the authors, the program outlined in this book when followed, will not only ensure that I finish a marathon, but that by the time I do so, I will have raised my self esteem too. Now really.... I mean, I have been running for a couple of weeks now, and if what I've felt, the pain not withstanding, at the end of each run and for hours after that is anything to go by, I highly doubt that I'll be able to hold my body up, let alone my self esteem. But that must be one of those voices of self doubt that the authors claim I have to shut out. Mhhmmm!

Anyway, so here I am, bogged down by strained calf muscles and frustration from my inability to breathe in any functional manner after just a half hour of running. The realization that I am not a runner did not come as an epiphany.... noooo... Actually I've known it all along if I should care to look back... I mean, that I once hid in the rafters of my dormitory to avoid running cross-country back in primary school is proof enough that I am not...... And that after four years at Kavau, my required P.E. uniform was still crisply folded at the bottom of my box... still new and unused.

So, why the marathon? One may ask. Actually, I am not sure..... I jumped onto this particular wagon in the same manner that I've pretty much done all the other wagons I've jumped on in the past.... without giving much thought to what the hell it will take. Of course if I had stopped long enough to realize that nanowrimo would demand more from me than a couple of hours a week and that I'd be expected to write 50,000 words.... Wait, I knew all that beforehand. O.k. If, perhaps, I had known exactly how many, 50,000 words really are... Or, if I had known how daunting door to door sales were when I allowed myself to be talked into into selling Cutco knives... Or if I had thought about all I'd be losing by getting into my last relationship, and the one before it, and the one before that other, then maybe I would not have gotten into any of them in the first place.

But I don't have that luxury... of thinking ahead that is. I see a challenge, and I think I am up for it. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Apparently, as a human being, I have this inherrent desire to test my limit.... hmmmhhh! I don't know about that..... in search of how far I can go. And that the avenue of this testing is limited only by my imagination, my fear threshold, and my financial resources. Now, that last one did ring a bell.... I honestly would rather be traveling the world, drinking and dancing my life away... but I lack the resources.... so marathon it is for this non-runner.

***The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer
- By David A. Whitsett, Forrest A. Dolgener and Tanjala Mabon Kole

Groan... Madaraka Day my f....

(Addendum to prior post)

Running, I'm finding, is quite liberating. I am so sore..... all my muscles, some I had no idea even existed, are speaking out.... nah, shouting in protest is more like it.

On the other hand, I am now living fast.... like literally. Went drinking last night and what do you know, I already caught up with my hangover and overtook it. I can actually look back and smile... now ain't that something.

O.K. Gotta keep going.... can't linger around here if I am serious about getting away from myself.

Lord I got to keep on moving
Lord I got to get on down
Lord I've got to keep on moving
Where I can't be found,
Lord they coming after me
- Bob Marley

Running away from ... The ShaggzModo who spied me....

Ya running and ya running
And ya running away.
Ya running and ya running,
But ya can't run away from yourself
Can't run away from yourself - Bob Marley

Well... after buying $100.00 running shoes...and other miscellaneous running accessories, I sure hope Bob Marley didn't know what the hell he was talking about. After all, in this race I'm running, the only person I gotta beat is me... Now, if I can't run away from me, then pray do tell.... is the end even in sight?

No? Well I don't know... gotta run for now.... am a keep running till I can get away from this shag.... Wait, there really was a post in here somewhere.....

The Captain n I... and other reacquaintance storos

So today I woke up at like 7:00 a.m WTF! On my day off, come now... But no problem, I was on my way back to lala land in minutes.... that is till I remembered this girl I'd been chatting with on Bearshare last night (or was that this morning?), before I drifted off. Long of it, at 8:30 I was huffing and puffing as I jogged past my workplace, trying to keep up with my jogging partner, who seems to want to prove that what they say about her in the gossip columns is true.... 'That when she calls, men come running.' Very out of breath but glad all the same that I wasn't inside kissing @ss, having extricated myself reluctantly from a steamy chat session that was only marred by the fact that this girl is in Italy.

So yes suga... I did go running like I had told you I would... 2010 Boston Marathon is back on the door of my fridge as a goal. And to tell you the truth, getting reacquainted with my shortfalls was no fun... At least not nearly as getting reacquainted with you yesterday was.... but I'm getting ahead of myself once again.

First, the Captain:-

stolen from here

So the other day, Sunday - Memorial day these sides, the Captain and I got reacquainted.

K: Hi how u doing? I'm K; KK

Cpt: Morgan, Captain Morgan (winking conspiratorially)

K: Well Cpt... Mighty glad to remake your acquaintance (returning the wink)

Cpt: Aye Savvy, same here mate (I could swear I detected a New Jersey accent in there somewhere).... You ready to party hommes?

K: You betcha...

And we proceeded to get to know each other, quite intimately I would venture to say. Pretty soon we were consulting each other on when to use the bathroom, weighing the risk of getting caught by the WPD with our pants down in the middle of downtown against that of trying to make it to a public latrine without dripping.

Somehow, he managed to convince me that he would be able to contain himself and not give himself away while I visited with my sick auntie in the hospital. You should have heard us argue about whose fault it was that I had belched out loud at a most inopportune moment. Apparently I should have warned him to hold his breath... Thankfully, the embarrassment didn't kill my aunt, I'd never have forgiven him otherwise. As it is we hang out all night and like always, we had a fallout at some point in the night... and as always, it was due to his stupidity.

You know, I'm kinda used by now to his antics when overindulged... The thinking that he can dance, charm, be funny... etcetera etcetera and his proceeding to act the fool as he tries to prove to the rest of us that he can. All of that I've learnt to live with... a day later it's usually all forgiven and forgotten... or more aptly forgotten and therefore forgiven. This past Sunday though, he went past stoopid to unforgivable.

Now, we all know that when the last song is playing you want to be dancing with the girl who you want to take home, or if that doesn't look like it will work out quite, at least get her number to take home. It doesn't matter that you haven't danced at all that night.... if you don't want anaa bloke doing the honors then you better be the one in whose arms she ends the party in. Now, every dude knows this... but what does the this geezer do, right before they start playing the last song, he manages to pull out of the position we have worked all night to get ensconced... the rear of this beautifoo Kenyan girl who from what I've managed to gather by then, her good looks are only rivaled by her sharpness... a good looking brainee with a great behind... can you say once in a lifetime.

Well, not the ambitious Captain... Nooo.. out of the corner of his eye he notices these good looking faces that can't stop smiling at him... and without stopping to think or at least consult with me, he lets go of the bird in hand for the two in the bu... well, ballroom actually. I am actually thinking its a good move until we move closer and I realize that I know these two girls... but alas it is too late as I get pulled into a tight warm double d hug, and a moment later the lights come on and harshly expose his glaring folly.

Being the gentleman I am, I went on to dance the last dance with my two beautifoo cousins.... well it was more to save face than anything. The Cpt was besides himself..... there is no blood connection he tried to argue but I was inconsolable. They are my cousins, and besides, I already had their numbers. So I went home to my empty bed, sullen after having told off my old friend and admonished him that I did not expect him to be there when I got up in the morning.

Second the BHH.....

Two O'clock next afternoon, last night's saga nearly forgotten but for the nagging headache the good captain left behind, found me racing to what has become our annual BHHs (Boston chapter) with Suga.... BHH for those not in the know stands for Bloggers Happy Hour with the s in ours denoting the several hours it lasted. The highlight, other than seeing my dear Tandra, whom I hadn't seen since Thanksgiving last year, was the ride on the Subway, which given that she uses it quite often, wasn't as awesome to her as it was to me. But given the recent crash that resulted in part (or was it entirely) because the driver was texting while driving, I couldn't wait to get on and watch, with my camera on the ready, incase this driver was waiting to learn from his own experience. But this driver was either good, or too good at hiding his texting.

So... sorry, no pictures of peeps doing what they shouldn't while doing what they should. Instead, here is one of me while we were having lunch at 'Dick's Last Resort' whose name should tell you enough about our experience there. If it doesn't, then this picture of the paper hat that our brash waitress made for me should.

If that didn't do it.. then go here

All in all, a good time was had by all as we explored Boston... a beautiful city I would recommend for all to visit.... when it's warm. Frigid Boston is exactly that, frigid. Take my word for it. We saw the greatest places on earth via the huge Mugar Omni Imax at the Museum of Science, that is a must visit, though we both agreed that the director obviously forgot to consult with us when picking out these 'Great' places.

Last and least...

About a quarter off 1:00 this morn... that is quarter to for those of u who like me were not brought up in New England, I get home with one thought in mind... sleep! Except it wasn't to be as my South-African-Italian friend was online and interested in talking... Crys was also on and in a bloody shock and the glass of Cpt and coke was still swirling around in my head... traveling all too familiarly in my system. Yes, I know, My name is KK and I have a weakness for Captain Morgan.

In Other News:-

We are officially retiring our trusty mammoth of a phone -

Nokia E61

It served me valiantly for four months in the face of sleeker fancier phones... It actually outlived my last failed relationship... Good Lord, the secrets it's carried for me. But don't worry my ol' fella... you've been replaced by a sleeker, thinner, smaller, faster, sexier and definitely worthy replacement. What do you know, it can even take pictures... Well u should know since I took this one of you with it. Unfortunately I couldn't use u to take one of it with you coz of course you have no camera. But never one to be ashamed... I stole another

Nokia E71

I apologize for the extra long post... please feel free to skip over whatever content you find unappealing:) If the Cpt. Morgan picture is yours and u object to my use of it, please let me know in the comments section and I'll find a replacement... Heck, if it's not yours and you don't like my use of it... let me know.