Migration in 5 … 4 … 3 …

May 5, 2010 - 2 Responses

So …

I’ve found myself a pretty new digs. It’s airy and fluffy … and it matches my hair. It’s got a great big waterbed – well okay, maybe not a waterbed, but it’s got some pretty cool stuff. I’ve been lurking there for a while as I looked for a mkokoteni to move my stuff…

So if you don’t see me here, I will probably be hanging out here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here.

If I ever get that mkokoteni, all my stuff will follow me, but untill then, this space remains in case I get exiled to the couch and need a place to sulk or something *cheeky grin* It has been fun.

Alvederzein,  à bientôt!

PS: Does it have an accent aigu [?] when it’s capital?

Bye bye bye Insync


A little dose of poetry

March 17, 2010 - 2 Responses

She flies, she flows,

bleeding rhythm, spilling prose…

I’ve got this itch lately, this restless sadness that won’t go away. I feel like a hamster in a wheel, running round and round, making the same steps over and over, not going anywhere, and not even burning any calories. I mean, for all that running the little creatures do, you’d expect a six pack under the ball of fur, yes?

I’m supposed to be writing poetry. The idea is that since I rant like a needle on a scratch [think turntables and LPs], I need to put my rants in verse. If I can find five different ways to phrase the same whine, I could actually be onto something. So…

She flies, she flows,

bleeding rhythm, spilling prose…

So far, that’s all I’ve got. Meh.

I should be moving soon, to somewhere a little more purple. I’ve got the site all scoped out, I’m just having my house-guy tweak the furniture and stuff. It’s kind of scary, a bold move, like chopping off my hair, one of those transition things. I’m not even sure why I’m doing it except that I want to start again, return to basics, yank off the safety net and see if I can catch any fish. I’m kind of hungry for protein.

God, I hope I know what I’m doing…

Steven Curtis Chapman Diving In

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Yowsers bowsers

March 8, 2010 - One Response

Yes, I do occasionally watch Scooby Doo and Inspector Gadget. And I hated North Stars and Bata Bullets in the 80s. Absolutely love them now though…

Who’d’a thunk I’d ever be too tired busy to blog? Le sigh. Scary things happening in blogville. Something must be done! Like sleeping less. Four hours would be ideal.

So. Since I am mostly too sleepy and over worked to blog, I shall celebrate:

  • K2, the pretty boy that I adore, the one man that can make me laugh even as he gives me bad news. How I love that boy.
  • K1-plus-one, rediscovering siblings, my delightful brothers, both over six feet tall, yet they’re not above helping the big little sister out. Y’all rule.
  • K7, my best friend, he who makes me laugh and blush, cheers me up when I’m sad, and looks equally hot in suits, jeans, and shorts. But I do miss the weight and the baseball cap.
  • K3, the dark chocolate wonder who is so cute when he sulks that I almost enjoy his brooding.
  • K6, the fun-and-funky nerd with whom I will eventually synchronise fries and coffee.
  • K13, he of the pretty grey hair who finally got it right. I’m so very happy for you. *cheeky grin*
  • K10 The Sweet, whom I often think of even as I miss.
  • And the newest K who doesn’t yet know he’s a K, but who is smart and fun and fond of CTC. He wears glasses too, and likes rock. Yay! MTP I hereby knight you K15.

That is all. Back to work.

And btw, there is a downside to working freelance; I can’t whine about my bosses because they all read my blog. Le sigh. I can, however, charge them lots of PITA fees … *cue evil laughter*

Under my skinSkillet

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Again with the hair!

February 17, 2010 - 2 Responses

If I have one true obssession, this is probably it. Which is strange, because I really don’t fuss over my hair. I like my dreads because I can hit the salon once a month, spend an hour under the drier, and ignore it for the next thirty days. So it’s strange that I call this an obssession.

But the truth is I love hair. I love to see it on other people’s heads, to touch it, to run my hands through it. I saw this Citi Hoppa conductor yesterday, a tough gangster-looking chick with a killer bob – I couldn’t stop staring! It was weird that her coiffe was so girly, but it just looked so perfect!

I wish I had caucasian [or at least Asian] hair so I could make it stand, dye it purple and pull a Roxette, just like my avatar. But, of course, if I actually had Caucasian hair, I’d probably still ignore it. I like my Sailor’s hair because it’s brown and softly spiky, I can run my hands through it, and he never has to comb it. Perfect!

Back to my own head. The short look has grown on me. And thanks to selective perception, I now notice all the girls [and boys] with long luxurious locks. Kind of like that scene in Ally McBeal where Georgia cut her hair, and then Nell came and twirled hers in the bathroom mirror.

But the odd thing is that I’m not jealous. I actually like my hair like this, even as everyone asks why. I think it’s because everyone asks why. I’ve always liked going against ‘them’, standing out for all the wrong reasons. In a world where the ladies either want their hair deliciously long, intricately bobbed, or rebelliously shorn, I kind of like being inbetween.

So, I think I’ll keep my hair short after all. Unless I change my mind. Or unless my Sailor says otherwise *wink* He’s surprisingly quiet on the matter. But then again, he’s a guy. Do you think he’s even noticed?

Lying from you Linkin Park

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The blackest white girl…

February 13, 2010 - 8 Responses

You know those days you sometimes get when you just want to scream?

I has it.

I’m sure there’s some convenient lolcat somewhere to express this sentiment, but right this second, I don’t really give a flying f*ck.

I woke up this morning with a sharp lower back pain that I last associated with labour. Or cramps. Eff. It only subsides if I curl up in foetal position, and I can’t exactly be placental all Saturday.

No, it’s not because I got some last night. It actually started when I tried on my kid brother’s glasses. It induced a mild headache, soon followed by general malaise, and by the time I got into bed four hours later, I thought I was going to die.

Not really, no, but I felt pretty bad.

Then come this morning, the hell-invoking ache in the back. I blame Mwaura.

But I digress. This was supposed to be about coconuts and greys.

See, I’m told that I’m too white.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. The boy that I love is white, and he’s tolerably fond of plain old me. Plus, I suppose between skating dates and wind-chime hunting, my race is sometimes in doubt.

I’ve also been told my writing isn’t Kenyan enough, and that ‘real people don’t talk like that’. Something about picture-perfect superficial dialogue.

Thing is, I’m as blue-black as  iodine Ajuma … only with a little more hair. I’m often described as ‘foreign-looking’, though both Kale’s and Jang’os are quick to own me, and some Nubians think I’m theirs as well. I suppose that’s why I liked living in Dar so much – because there I actually was foreign, as opposed to being lost in my own home.

I like the way I am. I don’t always understand it, but I like the way I am. And I like that some people like it too.

The thing with humans is that we’d all like to be accepted for what we are, but most of us learn to be what is liked. We conform to be more popular, which I think is really, really sad.

But as a business-person, I’m faced with a dilemma. Do I water down my product into what the masses want, or do I learn to make some money from the few who like ‘just me’?

Most people agree that quality-wise, Capital is the best station ever. But as much as we complain about Kiss playing the same songs over and over, and having shows that are sometimes … less than pleasant, they still have the greatest ratings.

What to do? Stick to Kiss or pull a Capital?

God I want to scream!

Fly awayLenny Kravitz

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Off with her hea … hair!

February 9, 2010 - 3 Responses

So I changed my avatar again. The main reason is that I cut my hair yesterday. Well, that didn’t come out quite like I intended.

See, I’ve always liked cartoons, and I love, love, LOVE yahoo avatars. So it figured I’d have one headlining my blog.

I initially had this purple-haired one because I really like the spiky hair look. If I had a different kind of hair, that’s exactly how I’d wear it. But this head does nothing but dreads. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I had Peaches [the flowered avatar] for a while, because she represented how I felt, how I saw myself. She’s flirty, and girly, and delicate … and fairly naïve. Plus that peach dress is to die for.

I have a whole bunch of avatars stacked in my computer; each one suits a different mood. Greenie, the cybertwin’s avatar, is as close as I get to having green eyes. Plus the site needed a JPEG image, and Miss Purple is in PNG.

The Drama Queen is chilling out on twitter for a while. The one with the specs is my game-face, because I only wear my glasses when I’m working [or flossing]; the glare from monitors and pure white paper disturbs me.

I got Miss Purple when my hair was pretty short. It’s now short again. I like the look – it’ll do. Fatoo did a brilliant job with it … but I’m not likely to chop it off again. You could almost say I’ve gone latter-day-nazirite. My hair people will be so happy *cheeky grin*.

I’ve revived Miss Purple for another reason. I sense a subtle shift in my nature. Ever since I went into business last month, I feel … different. Miss Purple was my first avatar in the writing world. She was an icon for my writing career and my dreams of getting paid. And now it’s come true.

Now that I’m hustling for money, I feel tougher, more hardcore. I feel confident; like I can do anything. And I admit it took a lot of [wrongly placed?] balls to walk into a salon and have them cut my dreads off.

They’re not completely gone. They just look short and spiky and a little unkempt. I can still shake them if I spin my head really really hard, and I’m sure they’ll grow back.

If only I could dye them purple…

Back to blogging, I know how to work my avatars with Microsoft Photo Editor. It’s so easy to use. But I’ve now upgraded to Office 2007, and that only comes with a Picture Manager. I can’t figure out how to make it do what I want – which is to cut, paste, shift things around, and remove the grainy effect on my headliner.

Ideas anyone? And please don’t say photoshop. I tried it once and I got stuck at the layers. There’s a reason they say Microsoft is for dummies…

Afterlife Avenged Sevenfold

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Operation comfort food

February 4, 2010 - 3 Responses

They say stress is the best diet-plan ever. I’ve been trying to lose weight [mostly by using the power of very positively thinking ‘I want to lose weight’] for a year now. I cut down my sugar intake and meal portions, but the pounds just kept piling!

And then this week, by sheer stress and willpower, [and mostly through crying], I have lost 3kg! Yay!! If I can somehow replicate this [without the stress and tears of course] for the next three weeks, I will be down to my ideal weight…

So anyway, I was hanging out with Murphy today. See, I had this project that I’ve been postponing forever, and so I finally decided I would not sleep until I finished it last night. As a result, I did not sleep last night; not until 4.30 a.m.

[I was done with work at 1, but I had to do the dishes and cook lunch. Yes, lunch.]

At about 4.45, my little princess had a nightmare and woke up screaming. We had to do some nightmare therapy, which mainly consists of cuddling, praying, and talking about shiny things and butterflies. By the time the school alarm rang at 5, she was just dozing off and would not be woken again.

When I finally got her into the shower, well, let’s just say we are two very cranky divas when you mess with our sleep! So it didn’t help when the water ran out. Le sigh. At least it didn’t run cold.

Princess was so furious that she boycotted breakfast in protest and would not wave goodbye as the bus drove away. Double sigh.

I got back inside and probably cried myself to sleep [stress, angry babies and lack of snooze has a very bad effect on me]. Next thing I know it’s 12.00 noon and my cellphone is ringing with some semi-good news. The call surprised me because it came from someone who’s usually aloof and very distant. But apparently he was worried about me, and had called to see if I was okay. The quote is right: just because somebody doesn’t love you the way you want to be loved, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they’ve got.

We all show love in different ways, so just because someone doesn’t express themselves the same way you do, doesn’t mean they don’t care. They may not do the stuff I expect them to do, but if I can learn their language, I would probably realise they adored me all along. Just because he got me a kilo of Omo on my birthday instead of a bar of chocolate doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for me 🙂

Anyway, after the call, I rationed some water to do school-uniform-laundry since a bath was out of the question, then I made a few calls to see if I could somehow resolve my problem. No luck. So I had some breakfast [at 2 p.m] and sought more comfort food – cereal.

Now technically, I shouldn’t eat cereal, because of my milk allergy. But something about ice cold [or sometimes almost hot] weetabix just makes my heart dance.

I remembered one Darius Stone suggesting I try it with yoghurt [?!?], but I didn’t have any, so I settled for the next best thing – mala.

[It is so cool that I don’t call it mtindi anymore! Viva la 254!!]

I got out my favourite bowl, poured in some mala and two tabs of weetabix. I watched it bubble for a while as the stuff sunk into the milk, then I figured I’d let it sit for a while so it could soak.

After ten minutes, nothing had happened, so I smashed it with my spoon for better absorption. Princess came in at about that time and nibbled on it a bit. I figured she’d finish it, so I shooed her off to the fridge to find her own snack.

We got distracted talking about school and homework and Austin, and the fact that it was flooding outside. By the time I got back to my cereal, it was, well, sludge. The tablets were soaked alright … but … the viscous mass was not so good to see. Plus, it had a watch in it.

Yes, I somehow managed to dunk my watch in cereal.

It was very hard trying not to spew a few choice words at myself, especially when Princess said ‘If I were you, I’d be more careful where I put my watch.’

This is a new watch, the first new watch I’ve had in years. It’s got sparkles and a big love heart, and I am tolerably fond of it. So yes, I was making little baby noises as I delicately tried to get the sludge off the watch without getting any water into the watch…

Once that was done, there still the matter of cereal. *Groan* I’d brought it this far, the least I could do was try it. I shut my eyes and put a little taste in my mouth…

Then I looked round to see if Princess was looking, and promptly dumped the stuff on the bin.

Since Princess is pretty curious, I had to completely hide the evidence. That means pour it in the trash-bag.

In my neighbourhood, trash-days are Thursday and Monday, and I’d forgotten to take mine out today. Crud. But that meant the trash-bag should still be outside the back door, right?

Let me explain. Most of the neighbours keep trash in the house, or some other place out of sight. I don’t like mine indoors, so I keep it in the back porch … eh … veranda. The veranda also houses the pump that’s used to load water, so once a day, the building caretaker comes into my porch to turn on the water. He has a little red gate with a lock that he uses so that he doesn’t have to get into my house.

Now, a few days ago, I found a hole in my trash-bag. I figured we either have an uber-friendly cat … or a really big rat. But today, as I was going about th business of hiding cereal evidence in said trash-bag … well … there was no trash-bag!

Now I know I didn’t move the bag … but why would someone want to kidnap my trash? Le grande sigh.

I’m off to watch Block D and find some real comfort food, preferably one that’s low in lactose. I’m thinking fries and two sausages…

Alanis Morissette Ironic

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OMG OMG OMG!! New Toy!

February 2, 2010 - 2 Responses

I know. I need help.

So here’s how I spent the last fifteen minutes. I was browsing here and more specifically here and figured I’d give it a shot. Since Mosh is a good friend of mine, I figured I’d ask the twin a few key questions to see just how authentic it really is. I couldn’t stop laughing!!

My Cyber Twin is a service that creates an ‘artificial you’ that can chat up your friends while you’re away.  It has obvious uses; it’s a sort of cyber voicemail, and for organisations, it can be like the automated customer care person at Zain or Safaricom.

It also has less … serious uses, like impersonation, or screening online acquaintances, or keeping you busy when on your pals are offline.

[You can see I spend a lot of time on the internet.]

So I went out [?] and got a twin of my own, just for kicks, and had a conversation with it. Yaani this takes talking-to-myself to a whole new level. But it was just so fun!!

So, my fellow chataholics, tweeters and tweeteuses, introducing…


…my alter ego’s alter ego!

Knock yourself out. *cheeky grin*

Can you be absolutely sure that person you’re chatting to is not me? I mean like absolutely?

Gnarls BarkelyCrazy

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Natty na gwaan so

February 1, 2010 - Leave a Response

I heard this song in the mat this morning and I couldn’t help laughing. It’s one of those songs that people expect me to know, because I have dreads. It’s also one of those songs that makes people smile cheekily when they hear anyone sing it.

The first time I heard it on Kiss FM, I only caught the hook, and since it’s pretty catchy, I just went right on hooking at the appropriate points. But then for some reason I started to listen to the actual lyrics, and, well, let’s just say I didn’t stop blushing for a long time.

Like many ragga songs, it has layers that are only hidden by inflection. I remember my cousins telling me why they switched from rap to ragga. Their mum banned rap for it’s inappropriate lyrics. So they switched to a genre where their mum could look at them in utterly blissful ignorance as they sang …

Ee-all vee-a-jin pu-ta-pu-no-and

I can’t say I’m a fan of ragga per se, I just like the beats and the cleverness of the lyrics. I mean who can help giggling as they listen to the words of the injection song, the drivers’ licence or the broomstick song, or even the mango tree song? Really now, those songs are not talking about fruit, documents and household appliances.

That diwali beat is pretty cool too, even though to a true ragga fan, saying I like Sean Paul is like telling a rock chick you’re into Katie Perry.

Now, would someone tell me who sang Natty na gwaan so and what the hook actually says, because I’ve typed this phrase on google [along with the snippets of lyrics that I can decipher … something about a girl on code red, and a kiss and a head…] and have come up with nadda.

Natty na gwaan so

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January 30, 2010 - One Response

At some point in the recent past, I embraced change. I realised that I was shifting – both subtly and not so subtly – and figured my life would be way easier if I simply accepted the morph rather than fighting it. Yeah, still working on that…


I’ve been thinking a lot of random thoughts lately, and writing a lot of random posts. I’m not entirely sure what’s causing that. I think it’s that I am – on some level – more relaxed now that I’m home, so my mind is free to wander in areas that are less than serious. I’ve actually made it my default category. Fun!


I’m a firm believer in signs. My latest sign is a red plastic Olivetti Valentine Typewriter. I don’t suppose anyone has an affordable, functional one lying around anywhere, do they? According to my google search, they’re ‘light as a feather’ and absolutely gorgeous. Red too. I don’t know how well they work though – I need one that can do a lot more than just sit pretty.


I’m the kind of girl that has more male than female friends. I like to think it’s because I’m not a girly-girl, but as my cousin pointed out,  I claim to dislike flowery things yet everything I bought for my new flat [from square plates to duvets] has flowers. Mild ‘mannish’ flowers, yes, but still flowers.

Truth is, I mostly find girls a little scary. I have no idea why. Lately though, I’ve [re]made friends with some females that are less … spooky. They’re actually a lot of fun. So I guess ‘they’ are right, it really is all about finding the right girl.


I’m straight. What.


The thing about having mostly male friends is that, well, the women in their lives sometimes have, you know, issues. I’m still finding a way to deal with that. I’m also desperately hoping that the tables will not turn. I dread the day when I will be the one that has issues with my Sailor Boy’s female friends.

I’d like to think that being a career pal to dudes with quasi-jealous girlfriends, I will be more reasonable. But being a more-than-quasi-jealous-type girl myself, I will be content to seethe in almost-silence and keep my claws well sheathed *cheeky grin*


It’s equally interesting to me that while I have many ‘platonic’ friendships with my buddies,  it is still somewhat strange to think of it in others. I hear my brothers and cousins talking about their ‘just buddies’ and I’m like ‘yeah, right’. Pot calling the kettle black?

Though, technically speaking, my water pot is red…


Homework calls.

Breathe (2 a.m.)Anna Nalick

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