Nundies and Braless.

Since you ReAly want to know, i will tell you why i am not wearing any underwear tomollow ;).

So I was driving down the other day and picked up a hitchhiker, isn't that what you do when driving on a deserted road? at least in this part of the world it is. We would have driven on quietly like proper strangers, not disturbing each others peace but no, his chatty drunken mouth wouldn't let him. I didn't mind (much) coz i knew my tyres weren't so good and was sure as hell i would get a puncture. In the event that that happened i would need a pair of masculine arms to handle the jack (and what is that other stuff you need to fix a burst *starts to google*)

Half way and a very heated convo later (you know how it is when one party has imbibed a little too freely ) one thing led to another... it rained, my car got stuck and the possibility of spending the night in the bushes was imminent . The guy being a good samaritan (as they all are, until they are not ) helped to push but later demanded payment for services offered (??)

Now, 'scratch my back and i will scratch yours' is when you push a car that had given you a FREE ride and which is to later get you to your destination aka FARE, its there in the dictionary, look it up... next to Fcuk you. See when i refused to buy chai the pea-brained bushman decided to pay himself with my hard earned mbesha which he thought he'd get access to by stealing my shoulder bag, only my wallet wasn't there. Instead bugger got away with all my newly aquired under garments.

And that is the heartrending tale of how, after throwing out the tattered rags, I now have no knickers until the next time I see a shop (several days I'm afraid).

PS: Be wary of muggers eyeing your underwears this weekend. Deuces.

The party that was.

That I only write about boys in this Blog is false and doesn’t paint me fairly, I mean, I am not boy-crazy and its not like I don’t have any girlfriends. Ok, that is not entirely true; I am boy crazy, which is a little odd for my age –but I like to think of it as a phase that I sort of skipped in my teens :). Then I was too busy hating men and was obsessed with motorbikes, salsa and had just discovered HELLO magazine which left me zilch time for the lads.

So I had a farewell party to attend and was wondering, who to take with? Normally the usual suspects would make do but this outfit has become too small and needs re-designing and a bit of colour. The usual suspects are basically the girlfriends whose bad manners I have grown to tolerate and because I was allowed only +3 this is how I decided who to take.

Martin; my not so secret admirer was feeling a little below the weather, so a little crowd to cheer the bloke sounded like a plan. Since my dreams of joining the jet-flying forces crashed and burned I feel fulfilled hanging around pilots. In the past I have entertained the idea of aviation until the inseparability of physics and aeronautics became apparent. Damn you Mr. Rono for making the subject so incredibly hard to grasp. All I remember was this teacher’s rotting chest skin that oozed puss… where were we?

Neema; I had met her the other day through a mutual friend and she seemed like a ball of fun. She is charming, blessed with the gift of the gab, makes jeans, boots and checkered shirts look stylish, and boy the husky voice- mama mia I want to know this woman. That she curses worse than a sailor and smokes a train is tolerable.
The only other jeans-boots wearing woman I want in my circle would be Dr. Manji, the coolest researcher I ever met and as soon as I upgrade my status in academia I will invite her for coffee and intelligent chat about the endangered Patas monkey.

Samantha was out largely because these days she is Sam&Ocampo. Never alone. I actually enjoyed their company until I didn’t. Ocampo the fiancé is hitting on me. It started out as a funny joke then his groping hands found my bum; yes some men are just gross. I have no intentions of telling her so don’t even go there. Experience has taught me different, things like these backfire on the victim and I don’t play ‘my word against yours’ his words. I’ll figure something out before they walk the aisle, I hope.

Mirror mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all? Jamie! She is the ultimate boy magnet without a doubt, so beautiful and funny that our table often flocks with men of all tastes, shapes and sizes much to my delectation: I always land one of her cute rejects. Don't give me that look? Don’t you already know how I suck at getting me a decent man?
Anyhoo Jamie couldn’t make it for she needed the kind of TLC only the beau can provide, it had been a looong Ramadhan.

Lastly, every pathological social climber needs a Serena a.k.a the directory of the Rich and Famous. Anyone interesting I want to meet she almost always has their contacts and thanks to her invites I have thoroughly enjoy hobnobbing with the who-is-who and glad to report that my social life is so vibrant its bad. To return the favour I invite her to my usually far apart drab gatherings which surprisingly she loves because she can take a break from toxic make-ups, speak imperfect English and carouse to the ground.

It was a wonderful send off for our friend until I absentmindedly agreed to go for Rumba night with the gang, NEVER again. Two songs and I was ready to blow my brains out. But in an interesting twist of fate I run into Funny-boy… great company. I haven’t quite established what he feels for me and I’m not sure I want to find out, just yet. Comes as surprise even to me that I should be the cautious one.

PS: For the damn bunnies that read this page: I haven’t altered the names and events herein. This is a recount of my life as it were :)