Such is life. Huh.

C'est la vie.
That's all they told us. That, "Such is life", "that's life".
But no one dared tell us the whole truth. That most of time, it felt a lot like death. A lot of the time, life feels like death. Or, even worse.

C'est la vie.
If this is the way life is, I want to trade.

Also, I need a gin and gin. Scratch that, gin will do. No accompaniments.
Lets do this, Moe. Get drunk and forget. For a while anyway.

"The very thing you've been the most afraid of
You've been doing it from the start, breaking your own heart."

"Breaking your own heart."- Kelly Clarkson.

minus you.

The weather people predicted that this would be a hot season. Hot and dry.
Obviously, they were wrong.
It rains about three different times each day.


My mind said I would forget.
And I did. Most of the time anyway.
But my mind forgot to mention that I would remember. Like the weather people whose inept predictions have caused us to be caught unaware at 3 am at a bar with really not enough inside sitting room, my mind is failing itself. Betraying its former stance. Because I remember.
Everything. All of it, at the most inconvenient times.
At the end of a long, bothersome and uncreative day. This day could do with a warm, alone-with-the-one-I-am-with close.
This day should not end with me in my bed, with a good book but with aches. Dull aches.
Not the ones that sting and pinch. But the ones that weigh down all the life in me.
This day should end with you making me laugh, and reminding me that I am brilliant and talented and mentally-not-so-stable but gifted. You should be making me un-doubt my lack of creativity as a sign that I am in any way, less than amazing. You should be telling me that I'll be just fine. 


You should be here. To be my friend, my mentor and my personal comedian.


You should be pouring my gin and tonic, to make just the perfect blend.
Then stare at me until I get so uncomfortable, I beg you to stop.To which you'd cornily reply that I was cute and pretty and hot...and literally begged to be stared at.
Then I'd blush. And smile. And know that tomorrow would be better. Not because it would go perfectly, but because you would be there. At the end of it all, you would be there.


And give me the perfect close to the most imperfect day.
You should be here.

THE STATE OF ME.

So my new lady love whom I gushed about in a previous post asked me to whip up a post on THE STATE OF ME. 
Its part of a blogging meme started by http://angelakintu.com/ , another blogger. And because I welcome any excuse to gush about my tres hot and vivacious self, I jumped at the opportunity. Yes, I am going to go on about my favourite topic; ME. Be prepared please. Shocks are bound to happen. Gasps even.
This woman is going to spill the beans and provide the dirt on herself. The real, dark and muddy dirt. No masks.
We go.

I have a big heart.

Literally.
I have the hugest heart ever. While the truth is it accommodates a few, well-chosen individuals, my heart is still big. I do not know how to feel in halves. I do not know how to love but hold back half of myself . I do not know how to be a friend but not help you fight your battles.. I have never understood the point in staying in a relationship that doesn't make you happier or smile-ier. Because I am the woman that will love her lovers, her friends and her families with every inch of my heart, mind and soul.
And on a really good day for the lovers, I will throw in my body. Or a bit of my body, anyway.
I am a Gemini. And passion is my blood.

This....and more.

I am shallow. Excessively so. People who are not well spoken and well written turn me off. Literally. I turn up my nose at them and make no effort to hide it. I use the ability to do cross words as an S.I unit for any man running after me. Yes. A girl's gotta have her words.
I am not above judging you because you wore the wrong top for even wrong-er jeans. I am also not shy about sneering at people who think Ragga Dee and Soulja Boy can do any sort of singing. On a day when I'm in the really-narrow-minded-and-judgemental zone, I will dismiss any sort of seriousness in your persona just because I think watching "How I met your mother" spells serious humour dysfunction.
Friends rules.

Shut up already.

I am thoroughly self conscious. My hips give me day and nightmares. The things have a mind and life of their own. I'm still uncomfortable when people look at them pointedly.

Me is a caffeine addict. Happy junkie. Coke, coffee...any time.

I love good food. Crappy food gets me cranky. And totally bitchy. So does crappy restaurant service. I've been known to write burning reviews on hopeless eating places.

I LOVE GOD. I cannot break that down.

I do not comprehend meals that are meat-less. Vegetables are not meant to be a major sauce. Ground nuts are evil. Matooke is NOT food.


I am 5'2 tall.
I love heels. Mostly because of the 5'2 factor.

SHOESES!!!!

I am attracted to men who are much, much taller than me. Something about tilting my head a bit to look into their eyes. And get me a snog.
Dark, manly men get my blood racing. The light and pretty ones make me think of....make-up. Making them up.
Sean Connery is one of my greatest loves.

Clooney has my heart.

I LOVE MY FAMILY. Mama, Martha, Arnold and Lindah, I would kill for.

I suffer from migraines. So, no chocolates please. I am trying to get off red wine. It's not easy.

I want to be a vampire in the next life. A smouldering, female vamp.
Or a man. So I can get the big deal with booty.

I am the world's bestest grudge holder. I block people out when they hurt me. In their place, I see dark spaces. Or voodoo dolls which I stab with my mind-needles.

I have never had a true or real love. I have had love, but I always left when things started to get un-pretty. Because I don't think love should hurt. Or demean. Or smother. So, I am a runner. Me and my friends await the one who will catch me. We're praying for him because, if I haven't said this, let me. My mental wires are loose. Perilously loose.

I have a shocker of a temper. I have broken crockery in fits of anger. And verbally broken people.
And slapped someone. I love you, my pretty.

I love gin. Seriously. I love gin.

I love, love, love to read. Anything written gets me.
I love to write. I was born to write. Writing is my life line. When I'm not typing away, I write in my mind. Most of that fades away, though.
My bed is my favourite place. I love the water. The ocean-type of water. One day, I hope to own a beach house. Complete with a cocktail genius of a bartender.

Somethin' like this.

Rock music is one, big soundtrack to my life.

I am insanely private. I do not let people see me cry. I do not let people see me broken. Unless I am intoxicated.

I believe in love. And fidelity. Cheating men have no place in my life.

I cherish my me time. No men, no friends. Just me and my thoughts. I have been called anti-social. And I do not care.

I have a tattoo.
I am still learning. Still growing. Still getting to know God. Still fighting demons and ghosts from the past.

But I am a strong one.
And will emerge victor.

Calling it; STATE OF ME AS AT 13:10 hrs. Friday, 02 September, 2011.

Striking a bargain.

Because God is a no-bargainer.
He doesn't kusaala ko.
Endless prayers, novenas, litanies and threats later, she's still in the same place. Ranting doesn't scare God. She has sent grown men to near-madness with her tantrums. God just looks on and goes,
"Gabriel, come watch. She's learned some new cuss words and stinging phrases."
And then He goes on doing the business of perfecting other people's lives while she falls into a deep, dreamless slumber. Listening to The Script. Danny O'Donoghue. She's thinking of ways to let him know that she'll have his babies, listen to him sing all day and feature in his videos at no cost and tattoo his name onto every available space on her body without sounding too desperate.
Or obsessed.

Smitten

She wishes God would make His mind up. That He would find another brilliant hottie to mess around with. But then, how many of those are in existence? Un-roll your eyes, Liz Kobusinge.
The curve balls He's throwing are not good news for her hotness. They kill her smile and dull her witty self.
How can she start being full-time melancholic when the world is used to bubbly and vivacious her? Sigh...

God does things His way. God is not moved by tears or  her threats to pile a ladder onto the highest chair possible just to get to heaven, part the skies and shake her fist at Him and tell Him to QUIT trippin'. Enough already.

First, that chair.

Why won't you give straight answers? Why are you allocating the not-bright-at-all grey colour to theme her life?
Because while she has sinned-greatly, while she has allowed sloth to get in the way of getting to the very top and while the lusty-thing for Clooney will not go away, she's tried. Real hard.
To believe. And trust. And hope. And be nice to people who write "I am" as "am".
Who knew God did things by the half? That he does something, you thank Him and walk away believing it was divine will at play. Sad maybe, but smug. And comfortable in the knowledge that you just obeyed God.
Then, WHAAAM!!
MAJOR FREAKING WHAAAM.
She was not meant to apologise for walking. She wasn't meant to look into his eyes and see the pain she had caused.
No, she was not meant to kick her strapped ankle and want to die. Because she asked you, God. She did.
The doubts that she might have let go a  good thing-albeit all its complexities is not a nice thing to carry around.
She was not supposed to think the dreaded "What if???" at any one point. She was not meant to feel styupeed. But she does. Extremely styupeed.
She should be in self-righteous and its-all-your-fault mode right now. Because it was his fault. He screwed up. Botched the job. Slept on duty. Tripped. He messed up.
Except it turns out, she messed up.
And is blaming it on the Almighty.

That's just to emphasize the point. Not going to happen.

But He just goes on going on. Sending cloudy skies on a Friday evening. Because threatening to write bad things about God doesn't shake Him one bit. Mbu, He's been through worse.
So she kulamuzaas.
This drama just cannot go on. Her heart is out of whole pieces to be plucked out and chewed up then given back to her. To try and erase the damage. She is a writer. Not a magician.
She needs clarity. And pain erasing balm. And direction.
She needs to stop getting past him and then having him come back, if only to show her what a mess her mind is.
She needs him around forever. Or gone for good.
In return, she promises to let him go for good. Or try and love him the way a woman should love a man.
She will even make his evening dose of what-it-takes-to-close-a-particularly-bad-day;

She needs closure.
And a gin and tonic.

Ni Furahiide.

Dealing. Faith. Breathing.

I have the most murderous thoughts going through my mind.
Gruesome images of body-mutilation and stabbing and choking. Not of myself please. I am way too narcissist to consider putting my pretty self through any physical pain. I want to hurt you. In ways I haven't wanted to hurt anyone since the day they went and cancelled Friends. Okay. It wasn't that bad. Still.
I want to hurt you for hurting me and for being the biggest asshole this side of the planet. I want to hurt you because you re-define callous and reckless. And heartless. Yes. You, the-one-that-I-just-let-go-of are the universal definition of heartless.
And I am the universal definition of proud and strong-headed and mentally-loose-ish. At least by your standards. So, what the hell was a brilliant girl like myself even doing getting close to a...person like yourself?
Brilliant girl is not seeking answers. It is a rhetorical question.

This is meant to really hurt.

Alcohol is my drug. Gin is my bestest friend. Somewhere up there next to God-when I am not venting and telling Him to leave me alone.
And those Black Russians? Man, oh man...Vodka and rum are my comforters. Especially when it seems all my guardian angels are taking a very long and extended break from me. Alcohol helps me deal.
Stella used to. Then she just had to go and die. How so real-life-like. For the one person you allow yourself to be broken with, the one person you can cry with, to die in the year when real life and all its complications start to happen.

I miss you. Always.

There is Celia. But then she works in Nairobi. Convenient right? I should learn to cry over the phone. Except that will be quite frustrating for poor Celia and damaging to my smart phone.
Where on earth is Michael when I need him desperately? What's a woman to do when the very persons who are her warm arms and I-can-be-my-messy-and-currently-weepy-self with people are not within a boda ride's reach?
Said woman turns to alcohol.

My bestest....well. One of...

Dealing is difficult. Dealing is painful. Letting go is exhausting. Moving on sounds so easy when Oprah says it. In real life, moving on first of all requires you get out of bed in the morning. And getting out of bed is the hardest thing to do when you have to move on. There should be a warning manual for the twenties. Life gets foggier, friends get...complex and judgmental, God becomes a disturbingly distant figure and the Bible ceases to make sense.
Snogging people you have no right or business snogging becomes well....very likely.

Dear God.
At what point did life take such a ferociously dramatic turn? How did the aches, pains, sores, wounds pile up without me realising it?Why the hell does my spell check thingie insist on me spelling realise with a z? I am a product of British, NOT American colonialism.
Bloody Americans.
I am a victim-self-made victim of stoicism, facade(ing), first-bornism( that one's on the parents) and the psycho illness a friend described as the God-complex. Saving everyone and pushing me aside until I wake up and realise I have created my own hell.
Shadows don't make for nice company. Aching hearts don't make for easy breathing. Especially if one is an asthmatic. Stoic natures don't make for easy crying. And this does not make for easy dealing.
Because crying doesn't leave bright and sunny spaces in one's heart. It squeezes out a good deal of the pain.
But it leaves despair. Dark, empty and bottomless despair. I am not one for crying. But I think its about time.

Time I took the mask off, rolled aside the thick rock across my heart and cried.
Real, deep, gut-wrenching and heartbreaking sobs. The sort that would send my demons packing. Because my demons are of that nature. The lets-pretend-and-play-fine. They hate emotion.
I think its time. That.I.Cried.
I do not need company please.
Stella's ghost and gin bottle are quite enough.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."-Hebrews 11:10.

 And in that one verse, the good-intention(ed) apostle Paul went and made faith the most forsaken, challenged and ignored substance of life.
Because faith is the very basis of all things-faith in a better day, true love, totally accepting friendships...faith for the dark in all its forms to finally go away.
How does one expect mortal and fallible beings such as the 6 billion mass of pain-ridden, wound-carrying and fearful human species to have faith enough to last one through the tragedies that most of us call our lives?
In a world of cause-less wars, starving children whose only crime is being born of parents who have failed to master the concept of co-existence, in a country where class-differences are slowly building up enough reason for war, how do you speak to us of faith?
Faith in what? or whom?
A deity that walked away from this place centuries ago? Governments that plunder, loot and then stand by their patriotic albeit hypocritical and clearly-wrong decisions?
Excuse me please.
We might be made in God's image but surely there is a reason God took His own away from this just after 30 years. He should have stayed. Keep encouraging the rest of us mere mortals along.
But what sort of loving parent leaves their beloved son in this forsaken place?
So pardon my cheek God, but when do you plan on coming back for the rest of us? We also are your children.
Right?

Say Paul, ya think you could write letters to this day's peeps?

There is alot to be said for life's happy moments. But in summary; they do not last. Love dies. Or fades away. Or burns you.
Friends leave, friends move, friends die.
I will miss you Yasmin. Come back soon. Please. Please. You're one of my rocks.
Dreams die or take the life out of you as you fight for them.
Men can be real scum-of-the-earth-characters. Not all of them. On this, I will always insist.
Happiness is fleeting. Joy is something we all write about. Way less than all of us actually believe it.
The truth is, it is as elusive as happiness. Pain and hurt are lacking in the etiquette department. They do not call before they show up.
So we smile. We laugh. We kiss and make merry when we can. We grab at our dreams the first chance we get. Because deep down we are painfully aware of this-that this minute's happiness most likely doesn't have any intentions of making it to the next minute.

So this girl turns to alcohol. And mentally challenges the now sainted-and-heaven-residing Paul.
And reaches for her inhaler.
No one said this was going to be easy.

Drunk, achy and...waging war. Mbu.

bAcK In tHe DaY.....




These Days.

  Yes, those days when the standard unit of measure for political aspirations was Nelson Mandela or Mahatma Gandhi. When I had no idea that most of the wars in the world were a direct cause of greed, selfishness, and more greed. At the age when I believed in the goodness of men and the decency of women. Then I grew up and reality came crashing in. I saw men for what they really are, I learned that behind the smile of most women, there lay a dangerous fang. One that bit hard& deep, with intent to harm.
But childhood was filled with more than illusions about the nature of man. There were some real pleasures to growing up in my day.Let's go back in time and reminisce.



The Facts Of Life.

 Actually Funny Comedies. 
Seriously, the comedy at that time was hilarious. There were hardly any laugh tracks, the jokes were actually funny. People did not necessarily pick on other people's weaknesses in an attempt to be funny. Unavoidable weaknesses, that is. A bad hair do is laughter material. A family destroyed by a political scandal is not.  I remember shows like"Just shoot me," "News radio," "The facts of life,"..."Mind your language,"and the winner of them all, "FRIENDS." I do not care what any one says, "How I met your mother " is no match for "Friends". None of that cast can match Phoebe's weird nature or Chandler's satire or Ross' plain wussiness. If wussiness is a word. We grew up watching Will Smith be funny and truthfully, I can't say the same for people growing up on "Shit my dad says."
Bound to grow into crap-spewing adults.

Real TV.
No program director worth his name would have allowed things like "Amarula Family" to even get past the reception area of the station.HOW??? And risk choking viewers to their death on their own puke??How all these Spanish soaps have increasingly managed to penetrate the TV arena in the last years is proof that things are not good. Mbu...simanyi" It could be you"...People, we grew up on "The young and the restless," we watched "The bold and the beautiful" and more serious dramas. Deception, lust and lies were the real thing.
Your mother stole your boy friend and you only found out on their wedding day, where you were the maid-of-honor. You were not able to predict the ending of the series, and when time to close shop came, they did.
Nothing like unending seasons of the day to day life of Jack Bauer.Our producers knew when to quit.
These days they expose the kids to reality TV. "Kendra.....blah, blah...," "Keeping up with the Kardishians...." How about someone feel sorry for Kendra and buy her a brain? How about we stop exposing children to totally-scripted& plastic life styles and then complaining when they want the Iphone4 at 13??

If you are going to be a bad enough parent and show your kids the shallowness& deceit that fills the life of those society worships and most admires, show them the real thing.

These chicas were not simple.

"Footballers' Wives" will do.

Music.

I shall not put an adjective before the word. Simply because there is close to no decent music these days. In days gone by, music was....music. Deep, catchy and sang by people that could actually put their vocal cords to decent use. The pass these days is simply being able to speak. Say a few words and the producers will create magic. Or almost-magic. Miley Cyrus has refused to respond to all forms of magic spells. Even the hip hop fraternity had real beef to match their talent.Tupac and Biggie were the real deal. Nothing like,



Hit 'em up!!!

 
"This is why I'm m hot, this is why you're not,
I''m hot coz I'm fly, you aint coz you not...".
Seriously? I could pen badder lyrics. Music meant to be funny had lyrics to match. Case in point, "Every day people" by Arrested development.
Folk like Diddy formerly known as P.Diddy were kept away from recording studios.There is need to create a curriculum on the history& making of real music, compulsory for all wanna-be-divas& rappers. Anyone that needs auto tune to make semblance of a tune is failed.
And sent to writing school. Red Pepper is in dire need of basic-grammar armed writers.

ALZAWADI.
If there is any thing that university children of the current era have missed, it is that bar. Alzawadi...SIGH!!! Let me tell you about this bar ma props...(erm, properly).
Otherwise known as street bar to my year mates, with the main bar the size of a small carry-away-only fast food joint. Mostly because 99% of the patronage was out in the street. Yes, we dressed up in barely there skirts, tried to concoct cool hair stlyes from our otherwise bland& plain braids and did what the the majority of college students do, partied till dawn. In the road. Red pepper wouldn't have had to hack into people's face book accounts in a bid to create stories. The sights at that place would have created real scandal worthy news.
Yes, bars continue to sprout all over the place. But the difference is, we were allowed to be young at Alzawadi. We were allowed to look our age& try to act older by drinking things that would burn a car engine down, but still, the silly innocence was firmly in place. Who walked in with what man barely mattered in my 1st year. Now you go to Casablanca and 15-year old girls are attired in dresses that would make Carmen Electra blush and name-dropping boy friends' names. Men who buy them a cocktail and in return, take their innocence.
Younger boys are smoking things even Elephant Man wouldn't touch. Kids trying to be adults. The truth is, adulthood does come around. And it's not so glamorous. But by this time, these kids have been carrying around the burden of trying to seem older for so long, they don't realize there was a time when the world would have forgiven them anything.
The world is not as kind to careless real adults. You pay for your mistakes in hard currency.



Schweppes!!!

 Schweppes!!!!!
I am happily addicted to coca cola. I do not think there is any other soft drink on the surface of the earth...scratch that. I KNOW there isn't any other drink on the entire earth that even on its best, best day,( having had the brightest chemists work on it for about ten years) would match the ishness of an ice cold coke.
People puhuliz!!! Coke is the best thing ever invented by man. Right after Gin.
But, before coke, there was Schweppes. In pineapple& cream flavors. Sunday family lunches were spent trying to get a much color on your tongue from this awesome drink. Then there was crush..Heavenly...sugary drinks were exactly that, wicked!!!
Now they go and make things like mountain dew. And fanta berry( Coke, am so sorry. But your purply relative is lousy. She must be a distant cousin's aunt on the other side, right??)
Fanta strawberry is  very much trying to resemble Schweppes cream, but so far only the scent sort of gets it.  And am guilty of liking the past so much, I buy it for that reason. OK, I also sip it. Delicately though.
Replicated drinks are an acquired taste.

In a Word;
I love the fabolous(ity) that comes with growing up. I love that conversations get deeper, that you start to know what actually matters, and that you let go of pre-conceived ideas which by the way, were put into your mind by a mother trying to keep scare you away from the deadly sins and purgatory.
But I miss the things that pushed us through childhood and nudged us into adulthood. No, we didn't have FaceBook, we didn't have Android-whatevers but we had clean, mind-jogging television.
Most of all, we had adults that would have died to protect us, adults that let us be children but ensured we grew into adults who'd not hate their own mirror reflections. Am all for growing up& maturity, but could we please stop charging the children we're meant to be sheltering? Making them pay a fee that breaks their hearts& steals away their carefree& happily-naive souls?
Could we please give them a chance at a baggage-free adult hood? And while we are at it, could we tell the U.S.A to stop having double standards? Oil-loaded or not, a war-torn state deserves all the help it can get. Somalia...Sudan...Northern Uganda, where the hell were you?

Then, because we need a reason to make us forget all present-day troubles, could we bring back some real TV?




I HAD TO PUT THIS IN!! DUH!!?!



I am not stuck in the past, no. I am simply saying let us make the present a time that will bring some sort of light to the history books.
With Love,( in those days, this actually meant something, not an attempt to get something)
Moe.

The Facts Of Life ;Part Two.

Life Goes On.
I have lived through extremely dark nights, and very shadowy days. I have had pain live in me to the point that it became a normal acquaintance which I didn't try to chase away.
It was easier that way.
I have carried the pain of those that matter the most to me, cried with them, prayed with them and for them. And have had several of these pleas go unanswered. But still had to get up, dress up& show up.
The world will not stop because your soul mate just died or because the love of your life just became the pain of your life. It will keep keeping on.And you will cry, scream, curse at God..or if you're anything like me, you will let yourself be human and tell a friend that you're falling apart.
But the light will find a way in...Life will go on.
Whether you stay in the past re-living its horrors, or move the heck on, it shall go on.
I will move the heck on. I don't like being behind the program. And this is a temporary one.
Life, that is.

Someone else is In Charge Here.
I went through a long period of mindless torture that I lost my faith for a long time. It helped that my BFF was in the same boat.We figured we wouldn't be puppets to a cynical creator any longer.
So we set sail, alone. With the most amazing of friends by us, but without faith in a higher power. And we made it. It was tough but we endured.
And then I think about it now and I realize He never left. We walked, but He'd given us each other. He made sure we were safe. He couldn't force His stay so He found a way to remind us that it is never that bad.
Life can be crappy. Scratch that.
Life gets shitty. On this side of the galaxy, anyway.
Nothing is certain.We're on borrowed time. We're leaving this place at different times...there are tougher times ahead.
I admit it scares me to bits to not be totally in charge of the future. I have buried two friends...
Stella and Faith..Have a peaceful rest...and be happy. You messed up a lot of people, though. Yes, I am one of them.
That took the life out of me in ways only my bedroom floor can comprehend. It absorbed all the tears from my collapsed body...my pillow still suffers wet& drenched nights...Life can take the life out of you.
And to trust a power which doesn't consult you before wrecking havoc in your life is almost impossible. But it keeps hope alive. And on the cruel days, Hope can mean the difference between giving up and the next step.
And the next step always means a new start.
Someone mightier is in charge here. That's all I need to know.

Incredibly Cool-U2.

Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own.
First& foremost, I would like to thank the incredibly amazing and popular rock band,U2, for coming up with the phrase that's the title to this paragraph. One line is all I can use to credit them though. I prefer my attention undivided.
To the point. This life that we have been blessed with can on countless occasions get taxing. In a really irritating way, if the mode of stress that day happens to be the tasteless pick up line of say, a market vendor.Mbu, "size yange..."
Or the endless on-hold customer care call to these telecom companies.."Please Hold... followed by...boring tone..."
On the bad, bad days, events will fall apart like a Chinese made Iphone. And as much as you will it to, the ground shall not open up to swallow you. And to top it off, sleep shall evade you. But these moments have solutions;

Just pluck out that green...thingy..

• Prayer; Words, hymns, mysteries.Or novenas. All accord some sort of peace.
• Food; Has to be really oily, creamy,sugary or meaty to achieve the desired effect. Dodo will only depress you more. So shall matooke. 
• Music; I prefer the rock genre, but Bieber 
• seems to work for some people. So does P-Square. Miley Cyrus has moved people from depression to insanity. Her voice should be labeled as potentially life threatening. Especially when she speaks. That is lethal. And that is not a compliment.

ALCOHOL; I would like to state with ALL certainty that alcohol is the best antidote to depressing days. It makes you silly-happy, then some how gets it into your head that you can pull off all the dance strokes from the latest, funkiest video.That you look more spirit-possessed than groovy shall not matter to you. Alcohol boosts self esteem.

• Then it causes you to fall into a deep slumber, leading to a morning with no recollection of the previous night's activities. Alcohol helps you forget.
• But if your mind manages to drag up any last-night memories, worry not. Alcohol shall present you with a hangover so bad...&all associated symptoms such as blinding headaches,you will not have the energy to nurse remorse. 
• Alcohol has amazing powers. It is one of my super powers.
• To Gin and Tonic. I owe you several.

I came into this world to live out L.O.U.D.