I’m a big fan of the original Ally McBeal. You know, the part before it got silly and Billy went platinum blonde. [Though I have to admit, I liked the platinum blonde.] I’ve bumped into some episodes on Fox TV and it got me thinking about my theme song. I hadn’t really decided on one until today.

I’ve always liked the song ♫ Imagine me ♫ by ♫ Kirk Franklin ♫ I knew it was a gospel song because duh, it’s Kirk. I knew I liked the piano bits and that something in the beat truly touched me. But I’d never listened to the words, so it was just a song I abstractly adored.

Today I was moping around feeling down. The Bad Ex won’t leave me alone, and I really wish he’d just go away. After everything he put me through, the least he can do is give me peace. Milord SamSam gave QQ some advice yesterday that applies. He said people vent online when they’re not being heard offline. It’s difficult to speak to someone who refuses to hear me.

I see him on the street and cross over to the other side, because I’m shaking with rage and if I meet him face to face, I just might slap him. He decides I crossed because I still want him and was afraid to show him how I really feel. All I want is for him to shut up, listen, and go far, far away. That’s the best thing he can do for me.

Sometimes, you hear a song and it speaks to you so deeply it hurts. For me, that happens a lot, and it happened to day. I was listening to Kirk, and I decided to Google the lyrics. It’s like the boy was speaking right to me! Okay, maybe not the boy, since the boy doesn’t actually sing anything. He just does a little speak-rap at the end.

There are lines in that song that speak directly to where I’m at now. It’s like they’re singing right to me, right at me, and it’s beautiful. It helps that the harmonies are yummy and the drums are awesome.

There’s another reason why this is now my theme song. I’m in love with someone, someone I probably shouldn’t be in love with. I have been for a long time now, but I never admitted it. I know he feels the same way, and it’s a beautiful thing. I don’t know if this love will ever blossom, or if it will grow into anything else. But when I listen to this song, I hear my love speaking to me.

Now, of course, he would never do anything as sappy as a serenade, and I’d be mortified if he tried it. I suspect he has a lousy singing voice. But when Kirk & Chorus sing the words, they don’t speak of a God. For me, they speak of the boy that I love, the boy who told me for years that he adored me, and I was too scared and ashamed to believe it.

I am grateful for the love that I have in my life. I am grateful that he has made me cry, but that he also makes me smile. I am honoured to be his love, and even if nothing else ever works out, for now, that’s more than enough.

♫ Imagine me ♫ Kirk Franklin ♫

My baby carries packed lunch to school, so I usually wake up at 4.00 or 5.00. I get up at 4.00 when I have to make lunch in the morning, like on rice-and-scrambled-eggs days. Reheating scrambled eggs is just disaster, so I’ll wake up an hour early to cook. Baby herself has to be up at 5.00 because her school bus comes at 6.00, but I plan to change that soon.

Once she’s on the bus at 6.00, I have some options. I could go to the gym, I could get on Twitter and swiftly lose an hour, I could pop in a DVD and do taebo, or I could do some kind of housework. This week hasn’t been good on me, so as soon as she gets on the bus, I turn off all the lights and go back to sleep. I’ll then get up at 10 or 11 and start my workday.

I don’t know why I’ve been feeling so drained. I recognize the early stages of depression – for me, it usually starts with a difficulty getting out of bed. But I’m feeling fairly upbeat most of the time, so that really can’t be it. It’s been a while since I took Tre-en-en, so it’s not withdrawal symptoms from that either.

Some weeks ago, I started doing taebo, but it’s been on-and-off this week … mostly off. The thing with taebo is you feel it. You can’t see the pounds come off, but you sweat at every session, and sweating makes you feel like you’re effective. If you go three days in a row, by day 4 you find it easy…well easier at any rate. But if you skip a single day, you’ll be puffing a panting through the routine. So I’m wondering if fatigue is a result of dissing Billy.

Yesterday, I was starved and had no idea what to eat. I decided to go get some fries, but whenI got to the door I thought, ‘Hmm, why not do taebo instead?’

I was utterly mortified at having such a sensible thought so early in the morning. Exercise over fries? Sacrilege! Blasphemy!! So I wrote an email to get my mind off things. Then I went and got my fries.

This morning I got up at 5 and some guys were yelling outside. I don’t know any of my neighbours, but I was terribly moody, and I was cursing in my head. Usually, I would ignore them hoping they would go away. But for some reason, I yanked the door open and said:

‘Come on guys, it’s 5.00 a.m.’

They made a meek apology and went completely silent. Yay me! But then again, they live on the top floor, and they were heckling as they walked down the stairs, so they probably just went quiet because they’d walked past my door and out of the building. Meh.

I had a grumpy morning on Twitter and decided to take a walk. But before that, I Googled foods that give you energy and realised I lack access to all of them. Well, almost all. I mean, think about it:

1. Green vegetables – Don’t they just look heavenly? *gag*
2. Whole cereals – Milk allergy
3. Green parsely – *blink*blink*
4. Fruits – Well … maybe …
5. Seeds – Do I look like a bird to you? Wait. Don’t answer that.
6. Nuts – This I can work with.
7. Fruit smoothies and shakes *blink*blink*blink*
8. Green tea – …
9. Honey – Yuck
10. Coffee – Er … no … I don’t think so.

I now realise that these are foods that give you energy, not foods that are good for you. Because I don’t see how coffee makes it onto any health list.

After looking at the list, I decided to take a walk to get some mangoes and an apple. But then I realized I just wanted an excuse to kill time and spend money. After all, I’d be walking to my brother’s place, and I would not leave him after two minutes. Plus, shopping while hungry means I would probably get chocolate with my apple.

I thought about doing dishes, but that would only take four hours – you haven’t seen the state of my sink. I settled for warming chapo and ndengu leftovers in the microwave, so I cleaned a cup, a bowl, and a saucepan. What. It was one of those cast iron chapati ones, and it was starting to rust. I think it got mad at me for leaving it so long, because it hit me on the nose. I can’t wait for someone to ask me why my face is swollen so I can say, ‘I banged it with a saucepan.’ God I love my life *cheeky grin*

After warming my food, I made up some lemon tea. I noticed princess forgot her Bimbo break, poor thing. She must be starving. But at least she had milk and mango juice. As I was thinking and warming, the Bimbo found its way into my mouth. I was going to have a second piece when I shook myself. After all, I’d decided to eat healthy to boost energy. My lemon tea was going to have no sugar, and eating a chocolate coated biscuit was a good way to negate that.

I argued in my head for a while, and good sense won, especially when I got the scale and saw I’d lost two kilos. Yay! Of course, that could just be because I hadn’t eaten yet, but still it made me smile enough to do my lemon tea. I did put in half a teaspoon of sugar … and it doesn’t taste bad when you think about it. Or rather, when you don’t think about it. Meh.

So here I am, fed, buoyed, working on articles and sipping on lemon tea. Now … what to tell the princess about her Bimbo …

The last 48 hours have been … interesting … and have resulted in ♫ My Boy Lollipop ♫ becoming a rather aggressive earworm. First, I bumped into this post about the merits of [not] being open about your … um … shoe size. Thank you Bobby. Then I bumped into this tweet questioning the evolutionary potential of teeny weeny wieners. Finally, my princess bought me a lollipop and two sticks and gum. It was a bribe … because she’d gone to buy six eggs and had come back with a loaf of bread and 20 bob worth of candy.

I’m not a fan of lollipops. The last time I had one was in 1998. We were at KCITI and I was happily enjoying my Chupa Chups when some voices from the drama hall asked if I was practising. I was 16 at the time, ridiculously gutsy, and having a conversation with a high barred window. I couldn’t see the boys on the other side, and I erroneously assumed that they couldn’t see me either.

Anyway, the conversation implied that they should come out and give me something … else … to practice on. I want to think I was just mouthing off – pun completely unintended – and that I was too young an innocent to know just what they meant. After all, we were throwing around terms like BJ and toothpick, and my classmates were staring like I was speaking French.

But when I heard seats roughly shuffling, indicating that the boys were coming out, I was smart enough not to stand there and wait to find out. I took off and made sure that for the rest of Music Fests, I was surrounded by a bevy of girls … just in case.

Back to today, this lollipop is going to take a while to finish, because it’s way too large to rest in my cheekbones, and as the latest Ex Mr 3CB commented, I don’t like having things put in my mouth. I keep popping the lollipop in and out, and by the time my princess gets home, she’ll probably wash what’s left of it under the tap and finish it herself. It’s strawberry flavoured, by the way.

Now, up to this point, I was talking about actual lollipops. You know, with sugar and sticks and no body parts attached? So if your mind was chilling in the gutter, I can’t help you. However, from this point on, feel free to wallow in whatever gutter you please.

[Incidentally, while looking up the correct spelling for lollipop in the dictionary, I discovered that lollop means ‘to walk or run with long awkward steps.’ As in The dog came lolloping towards them. Who knew? However, Googling *cartoon dog lolloping* prompted Google to ask, ‘Do you mean cartoon dog lollipop?’ SMHW]

Back to the … um … point. I must be the only girl in the world that doesn’t care for size. According to Biology For Life, all appendages are capable of performing, and she can’t whine if she can’t see it, right? Besides, I have had a few … experiences … with overlarge … appendages … and they made it hard to breathe in a most unexciting way.

Every piece is built to function properly. Regradless of how long [or short] you are, all penises grow to about 6 inches when fully erect. True story. Google it. Besides, it’s not like they’re meant to be looked at. Otherwise you’d have an extra pair of eyes down there, yes? I personally don’t think wieners are particularly pretty, but if you are the type that likes to look, picture this. A guy that’s 7 inches gets stiff, and that’s it. A guy that’s two inches checks you out and tre[m]bles while you watch. Three times his regular size, and you stand and see it rise. Three times! I give you three guesses to which one seems more like a compliment.

[And by the way, to all Pberians who spent a considerable part of Form 1 trying to pry open page 80 and 81  – or maybe it 180 through 185 – I finally found them out.  The nuns apparently didn’t approve, so they firmly glued together those pages in every textbook on the premises. We spent ages wondering what they were trying to hide, and they used some seriously tough glue, so a lot of books were damaged trying to see the contraband. Years later, I found a copy of the textbook at a bookstore and went straight to those pages. They contained and approved descriptions of masturbation and gay sex.]

My take? Screw length, pun unintended. I focus less on how it hangs more on what he does with it. Still, perhaps I’m not the best person to talk about things like this. After all, I can’t even handle a good 69. In the past, I have been challenged with the do-me-I-do-you scenario, and as a result, had yet to discover the joys of cunnilingus. But I recently found a nice boy who was willing to introduce me to the art at no charge. It was … interesting … but it does make one itchy for days afterwards … and it made me seriously consider waxing *shudder* so I think I’ll skip that part next time, thank you. I’ll stick with the mortise-and-tenon variety of copulation.

But these are tangents – simply tangents. The point of the post on Single Black Male was to ask if it’s a good idea to advertise beforehand. Should a guy say in advance that he’s a little … you know … little?

Here’s my take on the matter. I value honesty, so I would have no issues with a guy saying he’s a few inches short. From experience, most guys who brag of awesome skills fall short anyway. Not sizewise, but really, the boy who says he’ll take you all night long very rarely does. Usually it’s the quiet ones with esteem issues that do well. I think it’s because they’re desperate to prove themselves, so they pay extra attention to pleasing. Or maybe they know enough to over-promise and under-deliver. Wait, that’s not right. But the point is that most guys who brag are relying on size.

I do realize that I’m not an average girl. The average girl will peep at your … peeper, decide she’s on her periods, and run bragging to her friends. She might even take a picture. So if you’re dating an average girl, mum’s the word. Don’t say a thing about size, don’t take off your pants till very late in the game – you know – like when you’re up to six inches? She’ll probably think you’re patient, gentlemanly, and excellent at foreplay. She’ll also think you have good restraint, which she will assume is proportional to your staying power. Then, keep the lights off and use candles – shadows add length.

Last bit of advice … why on earth are you sitting there talking about size? If you’re at a point where you can discuss dimensions, you really should be doing a lot more than sitting on the sofa chatting, shouldn’t you?

Addendum: Oooh oooh oooh – new fact. It isn’t just the guys that expand. We start out at just three inches [which means any guy can fill it up completely, teenie weeni or no teenie weenie.] But we can stretch to fit 8-inchers if they rub it the right way. But they have to do it reeeaaaaally slooowwwwly. Even I didn’t know that one. God I love Google *cheeky grin*