Feeling cheeky…

… or at least I was when I started this post several hours ago. Now, not so much, but hey.

Also, this post is rated. You have been warned.

So this gentleman here referred me here for reasons that will remain relatively undisclosed. Suffice it to say that it suffices to say where I obtained said info.

Now. First, I am of the straight persuasion, and my flavour of choice is one six-foot-three vanilla sailor that I love to bits. I also have a passing attraction to several of the other Ks in question.

I have no issue with gays lately, perhaps I have grown up or made peace with the bill of rights. For whatever reason, I  am accepting the LGBTQs. Don’t ask me to spell that out, I’m not even sure the letters are correct. I’ll google it later.

Second, I am a firm advocate of beauty in women. I know a pretty girl when I see one, and I fully comprehend they who drool at Megan Fox. Jamani the woman is hot. But  that said, I am not really the curious type, bi or otherwise.

The only  thing I wonder about is the appeal. What is it about girl-on-girl-action that makes boys so crazy? And why is it such a thousand-dollar show when a chick goes DIY?

I asked the pretty boy that I adore and he suggested I google it. I laughed, then did as he said.

According to this it is simply the lure of the unattainable – the guys are attracted to GOGA because they are not directly involved.

Also, projection. Dude can picture himself in the space between. Eh … yeah.

My pretty boy and I bounced ideas around and found a few more … possibilities. I for one think it’s about exclusivity. I mean, when one guy is watching two girls, he is the only male available, so technically, it’s like a harem. Technically. Kind of like polygamy, but without the gamy.

I figure it’s also a visual thing. I mean, ngingi takes part largely in the brain. The body parts are just the puppet strings. Hence wet dreams et al. So if your mind is stimulated enough, your body responds accordingly. With GOGA, the mind is stimulated without the [exhausting] burning of calories. It’s the ultimate shortcut. Better than XTV.

I suppose the same applies to DIY, coz he can see himself shadowing the … er … movements. I hear some girls like to watch guys too though I can’t think why. But then again, I prefer to have the lights off, so hey.

Ok … that’s enough for today, yes? Time for a glass of brrr.

Nitapitia baadayeAbbas Kubaff aka Doobiez

Green sludge

There are lots of ways I could tell this story. I could go with the crazy bus trip which involved getting stuck in the mud, spending the night in the middle of nowhere, meeting 4 shy nuns and a rude bus driver, losing my luggage [on a bus?!] and getting charged 100,000 [still on a bus].

Or I could focus on getting a pretty one bedroomed flat for 15K with no safcom network, and then, just days after signing the lease, seeing a second flat a few doors away – for 16K – with an extra bedroom.

I could go on and on about how I’ve changed a phone number that I’ve had for the last ten years because I’m just too tired to play somebody’s silly games. You, yes you. You are not well. You need help. Please go away!

Or I could talk about how I have spent three months worth of savings in less than a week because the cost of living has gone up that much…

I’m home to stay, and I’m glad. But there are a lot of challenges ahead of me. I’m happy to be here, and I’m pumped to face whatever I will find. I’ve learnt some lessons already. Like no matter how much you save up, it’s never enough for the move back home. Like people will surprise you; the ones that I thought would be happy I’m back could care less, and the ones I thought wouldn’t notice are being such darlings about helping me out. Like floor cushions are overrated, and carpets are very, very important. Seriously!

Like the scenes in movies where people have gobs of fun furnishing their new houses are, well, scenes in movies! Like big little brothers are priceless, and family, even dysfunctional family, is the greatest blessing ever.

Like Masai market is open on Sundays, and has lots of pretty calabashes but no clay pots. Like it feels really good to finally be indifferent about the Ex. Like I am truly blessed to love a Sailor boy who loves me back, and my heart has never been gladder.

Like no matter how hard they try, nobody can steal my joy but me.

So I choose to tell this story from a funny note.

See, today, I cooked.

The whole time I was in Dar, my nanny did the cooking, and when she was off, we subsisted on noodles and take-away fries. And ever since I got home last week, I have conveniently showed up at my dad’s during mealtimes. It’s so cool to have family nearby.

But today, finally, I had to cook.

So. Ugali and sukuma wiki. Also, eggs.

Now, see, eggs cost 9 bob. I am still in trauma. And mboga comes pre-cut now. [I can also get pre-boiled githeri, yay!] I have a choice of plain sukuma or spinach mix. I chose spinach mix.

But … well … I forgot to ask how much mix there was in the spinach.


So by the time I was done cooking … well, I had this sufuria full of green porridge that, well, I haven’t tasted it yet, but it had princess grabbing the last pack of Maryland cookies and hanging on for dear life. Me, I hid in the bedroom with my laptop and sought solace online.

Le sigh.

Off to have a whiff of green sludge.

Happy New Year people. Spinach porridge notwithstanding, it’s good to be home.

Did I mention there’s no safaricom network in my house? Zain rules. Yu’s pretty good too. Arrivederci!

Welcome back Ma$e

Blue. And not the good kind.

I went to the hotdog stand today, you know, to get a hotdog. I’m feeling pretty down and hotdogs are the ultimate comfort food after ice cold weetabix. I’ll need that, later.

The hotdogs are doused in mayo and ketchup, and dipped in diced, salted onions. I usually skip the pickles and mustard, coz I’m not a pickles-and-mustard kinda girl.

Today should be a good day. I mean, the office closes tomorrow, and I just found out I have 2 months worth of freelance work. Yay! Plus we get a Christmas bonus, and I can maybe hit the beach Friday.

So why am I so sad?

I’m having one of those … how long has it been? More than a week I think. Maybe it’s because the pretty boy that I adore is stuck in the middle of nowhere and I have no way to hug him.

Or maybe it’s because the Nanny just walked in and said, ‘We have no water! What are you going to do?’ I hate when she does that. She creates an impossible situation then wails, ‘What are you going to do?’ As in

  • ‘Dada, it’s 2.00 a.m., the shops are closed, we have no bread for Princess’ breakfast. What are you going to do?’
  • ‘It’s Friday morning. You always wear jeans on Friday. All your jeans are dirty. What are you going to do?’
  • ‘You left me housekeeping money to last two weeks and went on a work trip. I finished it in three days. We can’t reach an ATM. What are you going to do?’
  • ‘You’re late for work and I just burnt your favourite shirt. What are you going to do?’
  • ‘I fought with princess over TV channels and she locked me out of the house. What are you going to do?’

Times like that it’s all I can do not to shove the dear girl’s head down the toilet and flush it.

I suggest a solution to the water problem: ask the landlord’s wife. She’s a sweet old lady, she will know how to talk her hubby into opening the well for us so we can fetch water. Nanny decides she doesn’t like this idea so she goes out, banging the door behind her, and all I can do is sigh and try not to scream.

Oh soap bubbles.

Princess decides to take advantage of the ‘nobody can see me’ moment and throws her food away. She hates eating. I am too tired to spank her so I give her some quiet time in the naughty-girl corner.

And the child falls asleep. Sigh. So much for punishment.

Granted I was in a foul mood when I came home. She asked me why I’m sad and I said I’m just tired.

“Mummy, you’re always tired.”

Yes I am. I’m stressed out. And I don’t even know why.

My face has been a mess lately. I’ve tried facials, steam baths, water … nothing works. It’s like I suddenly developed Achne. The bad kind. Even my boss has noticed. The lady at the salon figures it’s stress, but it won’t go away and I can’t make it stop 🙁

I can’t control my emotions. They just spiral and twirl away all on their own, and I hate that. It’s like being a teenager. Except I don’t have the reckless i-can-do-what-i-want trip. I can’t do whatever I want. I’m an adult and a mum. I have stuff to do.

I wish the pretty boy that I adore wasn’t so far away. Coz I could really use one of his famous fix-all hugs right about now.

I have to go listen to agonising screams plait my baby’s hair now. Sigh. Too bad my noise-blocking headphones are broken.

PS: The creepy black vampire guy in New Moon is Kenyan-born. His names’ Edi Gathegi. Sweet!!

Secret smileSemisonic