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.

All Things Dark and Tasteless

Oh you whining, ungrateful lot. When do you ever appreciate anything? Hmmm? WHEN?? You complain like a woman married to a broke man who seems to pair the term “sauce” with all things leafy and legumes. Does he not understand that cows, chickens and pigs were made to be eaten? Mbu biringanya.  Msssccchhhew. Who tells him you want clear, zit-free skin? There’s also a reason samona was made. Mekako also.

Moving on. You Ugandans have taken this freedom thing too far. Because they allow you to complain about sensible things like unchanging election results, you now think you can sneak in other grievances. Where are your manners? Oh, wait. You must be the lot that went through school minus caning. Sigh. More work for me. But I will try. To teach you. Educate and enlighten. On the saintly virtue that is compromise. When food prices compete with house construction materials, you compromise. And you buy the meat. You can find a free house in Kololo. I swear. One is just about to be vacated.

Sugar is bad-Yes Dr. Phil was right. If you watch TV, you know that Dr. Phil has nothing to do with physical issues. I just needed a popular name. Now, because sugar prices have shot up 5 times the amount in as many months is no reason to pout.  Children, sugar gets you fat. Eventually. Our economy is helping us out. If you cut out sugar for the rest of the year, you can lose 5kgs which will provide more room for gluttony come Christmas. See?

All things foreign- Why o why, do you even rant about this? This is history repeating itself. No, we have not sent Asians packing again. Yet. First we’re sorting out the Somalis. Foreign things are the reason you spoilt kids are suffering at the unseen kick of the economy. We’re throwing them out. Mbu blueband. Just dip your bread in the tea. I know the tea has no sugar. But no blueband+ no sugar= 10kgs weight loss. Smile for auntie?

Veggies are good-Auntie knows you don’t understand how katunkuma has moved from mama’s weed pile to your plate. It’s like this; katunkuma burns cholesterol. And meat has plenty of that. Unnecessary fat. You do want to fit in those barely there dresses, don’t you? And the men? Please. It is time. Bellies are 1999-rated. We prefer tone and muscle. Quit pigging out. Pun intended.

Giving glory-God made the moon for a reason and you foreign-things-loving people have denied them their power for decades. Now, we must repent. And our beloved government is helping out. No power for…well, a long while. Bright side is you get to relive your granny’s childhood and play with battery-run radios. Now, who ever thought they’d have common history with jajja?

You see? Oba you squint? Whichever. The current situation has a dark, tasteless and unsatisfying appeal. But this is the stuff history is made of.

I knew I’d have you all smiling by the end of this post…err, typing session. Good boys and girls.