Saturday, December 15, 2012

Elections 2013. Think about it.

Oh don't I just love politics. Actually, we all do; we just chose to brand it differently. Politics and gossip are two aspects that are more similar than they are different. You may not realize it but it is truth. I don't recall ever publishing or even writing a politically inspired post. But with the elections next year, why not?!
I first realized my passion for politics when I found myself listening to the 9 o'clock news particularly in expectation of the political feature. Citizen Tv, as most of you know, has this feature dubbed 'The Kibaki Succession'. It aims at assessing the country's political situation making regard to the chances (if any) of the potential successors of the now retiring president. President Kibaki has had a pretty good tenure, with more achievement than failures obviously. Most notably being the free primary and secondary school education schemes which Kenyans think they are 'entitled' to, so much so that I doubt we hardly ever take time and think how life was before the entire establishment. There's also the infamous Thika Road which I have a problem with. Why?! I think it was a misguided priority. Yes the road opened up the interior, that much I do not refute, but if anyone has been to the coast, you understand what I mean. The deplorable state of infrastacture is disheartening. Think about it like this, close to everything you own is imported. Just look around. Your Tv, radio, car, well over 90% of your wardrobe, pretty much everything. Ask then, how those items got to where they are right now. They passed through the port of Mombasa and was driven through that pathetic 'thing' they call a road up to where they stand. So yeah. I think Thika Road was less important of a priority.
Back to the show. It hosts a wide array of political analysts and their subjective views. It is captivating listening to people liken politicians to chicken and estranged wives. Quite hilarious actually. It actually a recommended watch.
Which brings me to the real subject of this post. Elections 2013. It will be my first time voting as it will be for a large number of people. Basically anyone's that below 22. I am sure that is no small number. Consequently, I want to be able to make my vote count. I was having a conversation with someone the other day where they pointed out how its impossible for me not to make reference to a tweet I came across mid conversation, so as you guessed it, I will do the same thing here as well. Because its MY blog. :-) So while making my aimless strolls on the TL, I came across this one, 'If you vote Ruto, Raila or Uhuru as your President, we can't be friends.' In as much as it may have been meant as a joke, it actually makes sense.
Lets make an analysis.
Ruto has since droped out of the race for the top job and endorsed Uhuru as Presidential Candidate under the Jubilee Coalition. (Jubilee because Kenya will be celebrating to 50 years of independent sovereignity next year. Sneaky these politicians). Kalonzo linked up with Rao to form the Cord Alliance with him as running mate. So basically its Rao vs Uhuru. The major backing that these two have, comes from their tribes. Other than that, they wouldn't be too famous with the electorate.
My problem with Uhuru's camp is their pending cases at the International Criminal Court. The rules of fair judicial procedure demand that one is innocent until proven guilty in a court of competent jurisdiction beyond reasonable doubt. So technically, he is innocent. But international crimes are no small thing. Trust me. Any one that has gone to a competent law school will tell you the same. When a person commits a crime if international nature such as piracy, genocide or crimes aganist humanity as the Hague 4 have been acvused of, jurisdiction subsequently moves from the domestic or national platform to the international plane. So the suspects are technically subjects of international law, just like states. Lets think of it like this, imagine yourself as an employer, because tecnically, thats what you are as a voter, would you employ a person who is 'accused' of criminal offences into your business?! No matter whether or not they are guilty, the charges leveled aganist them reflect negatively on their credibility and integrity and by association, yours as well. So, no. No #TeamUhuru for me.
Mother however is of a totally different opinion. She will vote for Uhuru because he defended his people during the post election violence. An act in self defence she says. He took up the responsibility of a leader and sought to defend and protect the lives and of his fellow tribesmen when noone else was willing to undertake such. Very convincing if you ask me, but is that all we should look for in the next President? Its a matter of opinion really.
Rao. My problem with Rao is pretty simple. He's old. He speaks reform and change yet he's been in government for the last 10 years. Second in command after the president in the last five. If he wanted to implement 'change' and 'uongozi', he should have done so then. We cant keep complaining of the old crop if leaders yet we elect them in. A significant portion of the Prime Minister's Constitution is the largest slum in East and Central Africa. I believe that I speak for the majority when I say that not enough has been done to elevate the status of Kibera.
My choice candidate, Peter Kenneth. My reasons are simple. He resonates an aspect of hope and change. His charachter avers his relation and passion for the youth of the country from his campaign slogan, 'Tunawesmake' which is a slang derivative from 'We can make it' to his demenour which has had him been equated to the Kenyan Obama (Which is ironic since Obama himself actually is, Kenyan).
I doubt my single vote will do much to influence the overall outcome of this election. But if you need any more convincing, read this. It convinced me. I hope it does you. Be wise. Vote smart.

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Friday, November 16, 2012

From the heart.

Today I write from a staircase. I feel all poetic and artistic in the perfect setting to write and express myself. Lol. Screw that shit.
So I've been well thanks for asking. Still alive unfortunately... I'm sorry but I'm not going to do suicide, if you want me to go, you'd better just come do it yourself. Oh, and I got a new girlfriend. Yeah. I dont think she knows about the blog. If she did she wouldnt be with me; judging by all the dumb stereotypes that go with bloggers. I may not have a life, but atleast I have this blog, which is definately more than I can say for most of you creeps... I also have a girlfriend. And she's pretty. Very pretty if I dont say so myself.
So this blog has seen my worst and best moments. It serves somewhat of a memoire to remind me of how pathetic my life has been over the last couple of years. I actually love to write. Very random things if I may add. I find a certain solace in words. They are probably the most flexible and malleable of symbols to convene emotion. I actually had a diary of sorts where I wrote out all my thoughts. I actually had-attempted only in vain- to keep it a secret. But when my mother bought me another identical book for my birthday 'coincidentally' after the original one filled up, I gave up; both on writing and keeping secrets. I actually suck at keeping secrets. If you want the world to know it, tell it to G.
Okay. Back to the real point here. My girlfriend. I find it almost impossible to hold a conversation with someone without making reference to twitter. So in the same regard, I once saw this tweet, 'You know life has been kind to you if you never find yourself doing things that you stood aganist.' Well with the way my life has been a roller coaster the last couple of weeks, I've engaged in my fair share of 'Catch me dead doing...'s' some totally irrelevant in this context and others... Not quite too much. This whole relationship included. After my last one, I seriously vowed not to get into another relationship so long as I was still in school. I know all of us have had that one. It can be equated to the 'I will never drink another drop of alcohol in my life' phrase most frequently said the morning after. But life has its own little way of showing us who's boss. Fast forward several months later and here I am, no regrets and enjoying every second of it.
But I am insecure. Its one of my worst vices. Its rarely predominant in how I handle my life and issues but it is there.
Like today for instance, we had our first disagreement. Ladies (who read this blog, though I doubt you exist), the only piece of advice I can give you as relates the men in your life, they want to feel wanted. Every man wants to feel important and useful to you. And yes, I said every man, particularly men you share a relationship with- dads, brothers, boyfriends, clandestine boy toys, secret lovers name it. Its like a basic need. When you laugh at our corny jokes and want us to do stuff for you, we like that sh¡t. No. Correction... Love it. We may not always show it, but its actually true.
So imagine my frustration when my girlfriend enjoys being in the company of every other guy except me. She finds solace in confiding in my neighbour the reason she's mad at me rather than tell it to me herself. That she'd be laughing with a couple of guys and then suddenly change her mood when I get into the room. I'm pissed. Irked actually. But what you gonna do about it... Smile and wave. All I have is the hope that kesho will be a better day than today was.

Plus I just heard her scream to someone, 'I (curse word) have a boyfriend!!'
It prolly is going to be a good night day after all.

Ignore all I just said. Have a good morning.

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Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Leave me alone. Or not.

I have said it once and I will say it again; I am convinced that I am socially awkward and irrelevant. This does not help my plight to become famous as I have always desired. In fact, its quite a hindrance... Seeing that I cant ordinarily approach unfamilliar people and tell them of my greatness. But its alright. I'll find a way around it.
However, I have this theory that I've shared with a few of my friends and has gone on to agitate them. The only reason (I think) why anyone would want to be friends with me, with the obvious exception of those really cool peoples that tolerate my idiocy, is if they've been in the future and seen that I'm famous and now they've come back to the past and want to be part of my great success. Makes sense right?! So all you girls out there that want a piece of this... You aint getting it! I think I'll hang a 'Closed. Gone Fishing' sign on my neck just to put the point across.
In today's bus ride, I'm seated next to a 60 something year old man who's playing games on his phone. Well as this may be fine and all, he has the volume up for all, sundry and sundry's family to hear. I think I'll name my kid sundry; you know, so that he feels like he belongs. So this game. I think its about ducks or duck porn. I can hear ducks oooohing and aaaahing like they've been spanked or coitusly handled. (I learnt a new word today. Coitus. Not so sure bout the spelling though. Mfano kwa sentensi... That chic can coitus it. Lol.) Technology was not invented for people over 50. If your folks have a better phone than you, they are either in denial about old age or you are... Stupid -couldn't find a smarter word.
As sure as Justin Beiber is gay, I do not make these stories up. I seat next to the most awkward of people on buses.
I just heard a phone go off with the 2go beep. Remember 2go?! Its more of 2went today seeing how long its been. Who goes on 2go anyway?! Its so old, the snake probably used it to trick Eve into eating that forbidden fruit. Haha. I made a joke. I am so funny! *slaps Kevin Hart.
So today I was thinking about death. I think I'll post bout it tomorrow. My stage is next.
Delete your browser history. You do not want people seeing that you read this nonesense.

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Monday, September 24, 2012

Safaricom 7s! IYAA! Whatever that means.

The 17th edition of Safaricom Sevens was a success. I'm not particularly too big on rugby but 7s is a must attend. The sights and sounds are simply unbelievable. If possible, I'd make the event one of the country's National symbols. Never before have I felt so... Kenyan. As a fan sitting in the stands and watching Kenya play while thousands of like minded fans help you cheer your country on... Its... Simply amazing. And that is from a fan's perspective. I can't even begin to imagine how it feels to actually be on that field and actually be the one being cheered on as you represent the country. Prodigious.

So today in the jav on my way home... I'm seated next to a mami that's feeding. Yes feeding. Not eating. People who eat have basic etiquette and know that it is uncultured to open up a bag of aromad food in a public service vehicle. Judging by how she's eating, she's having fries and chicken bones because all I can hear is the crushing of bones by teeth. I digress. But she's so annoying!!!!

I view 7s as more or less my New Years of sorts. Every year I go and assess how far I've come since last year's edution. Like last year I was broke... Now... Still broke. No progress on that flank. Plus all Saturday I hang out with my cousins who derailed me from going (that and my obvious lack of money and a poor phone network. You know its actually ironic that on Safaricom 7s there isn't any network...)

Is it legal to punch someone between the eyes coz of shitty feeding habits? No? Well I think you're stupid too.

What I found ironic though, was those people who went to the stadium just to watch the event on screen at the village. I don't understand it. You'd see a couple of dweebs seated on chairs looking at a screen showing a game thats being played not more than 100 metres away. Whats up with that?!
And lets not even get started on the main reason for Safaricom 7s or any rugby event for that matter. No. Not the rugby. You'd actually be an imp for thinking that people go for the love of the game. Well some do (raises hand) but the rest... Let just say they're out to have a good time. I came from my cousins' place in Nairobi West at midnight and the multitude of people outside... Gosh! You'd think that people were being given free stuff- seeing how us Kenyans love freebies or thats just me. Btw for all the lovers of mutura, Nairobi West is the place. Directly opposite Lazinos. I dont care what anyone says. That is the best African Sausage I've had in my life and trust, I've had alot of African Sausage. Pervert!!!
So yeah. I spent Saturday as an uninvited guest at my cousins', who I am sure wanted to chase me away seeing that I almost emptied the fridge. I just have a knack for fully stocked fridges... I love to empty them. It'll be a while before they let me back in there.
Spent the most part of Sunday doing the Mexican wave and the Kenyan Kayumbet or so I hear its called.
Kenyan rugby is a must watch sport. Like how American have the NFL and the Super Bowl... We have 7's and the Shemaji derby which if anyone saw the news, was packed like...ummmm... Sijui. It was just really full.
Next year I think I'll go with my girlfriend. Seeing as how we're in a long distance relationship with her living in the future and all.
And maybe... Just maybe, I'll have money. It is impossible to be broke three years straight. Right?! Right?!

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Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Text your intellect and other short stories

I have a problem with people that have poor texting habits.
This is a topic that's is long overdue and needs to be discussed. I usually don't care much for how people structure their text messages since I came to the realization that not everyone has the ability to text entire words like me; and I'd hate to impose my morals on the world. So, I'll let it alone.
There are two mamas in this hoppa who are shouting their lungs out you'd think they're five. I think they're in KSL since they be preaching some legal stuff but seem too old to be in campus. Clearly maturity and age aren't always synonymous. They have really good grammar though. I think I'll just listen to them talk about their boyfriends, lecturers and True Love the September edition which is apparently a good read. I digress.
So a friend of mine just sent me a text,
hw u
Yes. That was it. Keep in mind that this is a really good friend of mine not the random kind of friends that text only when they want money. I have not replied to this message becausr I dunno how to without seeming sarcastic. Several problems with this text.
1. Punctuation. Mami if you cannot afford to insert a Capital letter in your text or even in the least a question mark, don't bother texting. I don't want to seem like some sort of linguist or grammar teacher... Well I really do not care if I come out as either, but this could be the reason why you don't get a job what with your poor punctuation.
Us guys have stopped to refuel . Never seen a hoppa stop to refuel. I always think they use... Air for fuel. Hmmm. I digress.
2. That text does not make sense. Assuming it reads 'how you'... How you what?! Why did people go to school anyway?! You studied English as a subject for 12 years of your life so you could text that?! Clearly Jesus did not die on the cross for your kind. We (I) understand that SMS has 'Short' somewhere in it but surely how short or economical can you be?!
Remember the loud chics?! Yeah. So one of them sat on a wet seat. Now her pants are soaked and she's throwing tantrums like stones. She just said she'll change when she gets to school. I thought it ended with shoes but women actually have a change of clothes in their bags. I won't even ask. You'd think they're prepared to act out an episode from Lost. Wanawake... (-_\) I digress.
And isn't it funny how smileys can change the entire mood of a text. I know right. Like you'll be texting someone something sarcastic and slide in a smiley to make it all less insulting to their knowledge. Like 'Bitch you're fat ツ' and they'd be happy about it. What's up with that?!
It however must be remembered that typos in texts are mistakes and thus should not be judged. I see you looking at me saying that I make typos in my texts and blogs. Well Bitch you're fat ツ
Oh. Now I'm seated next to a priest. How cool is that?! Huh?!

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Monday, August 20, 2012

Law school.

Disclaimer: If you're related to me by blood, don't read this.
Truth be told, there's something about doing a law degree that makes you feel special. Sure, a LLB isn't really what it used to be. With each up and coming institution of higher learning offering a law related course, but still...
So much so that I always feel like I hold a superior edge over my cousins who... don't do law. I come from a very competitive family, my dad's side that is. Its more of a latent feud but it definately is there. I'd want to believe that its not my family thats solely affected though. We all have those relatives who even though they don't say it, attempt to oust each other in terms of superiority. Who has the best model of car,the newest car, best clothes, designer shoes, coolest phone and the most recent platform of competition, who's kid is doing what in terms of school or work.  But that's family. Competition facilites our relationships. I digress.
So in my family, us guys have all sorts of professionals. Accountants, doctors, computer scientists, fashion designers, economists, teachers (and lecturers who seem to be the majority) business persons... but as you guessed, no lawyers. Infact, someone once said that we could start a hospital seeing that we had an effective workforce already; well with the obvious question of who would address the 'company's' legal issues. I would be lying if I said that my decision to have law as my undergrad wasn't partly influenced by this fact. Being the sole legal professional in a family like mine definately has its benefits. Yes I have a not so distant uncle who's a lawyer... but that is regardless of the point.
So, the biggest challenge that comes with a law degree is the good memory requirement. A lawyer should have everything (well almost everything) he learnt at school on his finger tips. Clients are likely to ask you questions based on very remote topics of law (and trust, law is wiiiide).
I have the worst memory ever. A goldfish has nothing on me as far as poor memory goes. Once heard of a woman who forgot her kid at Walmart. She didn't realize it up until two hours after she got home. That's me. I actually relate to her.
Another thing, lawyers are readers. There's a reason where they choose to cqll themselves 'learned friends' (other than a sarcastic and contemptuous remark of course). Think about it. The stereotype of a lawyer's office: never ending rows of shelves stacked with almost simillar looking books. They actually read those books. Most of the time, the simillar looking books are on previously decided cases that affect judgements issued by courts to date. You have to read those cases to somewhat study the personality of the court and the limits of its discretion. Sh¡t is serious. No joke. I can't count the number of sleepless nights I've had reading those big ass books borrowed from the library. It could probably be because I've never lacked sleep coz of school. I digress.
And boy are are those books expensive. Case in point. All England Law Reports. Vol 1-4 USD 19,457.80. This coming from a sufferer's viewpoint, is God Damn Expensive!
Thus every law student will at some point in undertaking their undergrad, question their ability to continue with school and proceed to ask numerous rhetoric questions as to why they are in law school. At this point, majority drop out. Us guys started off with three classes with approximately 200 students; fast forward two and a half years later and we only have a single class with less than 60 peoples, and its just third year. When you sit down and think about it, its actually scary, with some of us narrowly escaping axe. That is why when you think about it, most law schools are separate from the main Campus in many universities. *mind blown.
Somewhere in the middle of this post, I forgot what my main point for writing was.
Ummm... bye.

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Monday, July 30, 2012

To be young...

They say that we all have inside of us an inner child. Well I recently had a meet up with my inner child. Actually, over the last couple of days he's decided to manifest himself in my action and deed. Well its not exactly a problem. Infact, its all fun and games for a third year student of law to scale trees looking for wild fruits (actually ni mapera, I just say wild fruits to sound bad ass). To use the lid of a bucket as leisurous past time by strolling it around with a hanger wire. (I think this why I'm single. I don't think ladies find this attractive) For twenty year olds to play marbles like children and get 'down and dirty' while doing it.
Infact my neighbours have come up with a 'Things To Steal For No Reason At All Just Because We Are Bored And We Can Do It' list. Now I thought I had no purpose in life until I saw this list. Here's an excerpt...
1. A shopping trolley from Nakumatt ✔
2. A menu from java ✔
3. Those scissors they use to cut chicken at KFC 
4. A 'Fire Exit' sign from school (which I recently realized was glow in the dark) ✔
5. A metal decector. You know, the kind they use everywhere these days to check for bombs in ladies' purses and men's pockets which I personally think is a rubbish idea but hey...
6. A 'Kindly Do Not Sit On The Patient's Bed' sign from Karen Hospital. ✔
7. Cutlery from any commercial coffee house ✔
Yes. Dimwits I know. Just so you know, the items with ticks aganist them have already been acquired. We have the goods. I repeat. We have the goods.
I will however chose to exempt myself from this lastest track of robberies for obvious reasons. I've never been to eithe KFC or Java (don't look at me like that! I'm waiting! I want my first time to be perfect) and I'd really hate it if my first time is my last. My reasons are understandable. In as much as I want to be famous and shit (I say '...and shit in the middle of sentences to make them seem cool and shit) I dint think post juvinile delinquency is the way to go. I can see mugshots of my face posted on the doors of all branches of Java and KFC all around the world with a bolded 'MOST WANTED' sign below... No. Bad publicity. Plus I've been saving myself. (That paragraph right there is a dedication to all you perverts. Dont come to my blog anymore. Lol. I'm frigging hilarious. *slaps Eric Omondi. )
So a member of this renegade group owns a slingshot. You truly dunno the power that a slingshot possesses until you hold one. At that very moment I felt like Thor with his hammer or like I was lifting the sword of Excalibar. This must have been how David Killed Goliath with just a stone. Shit is real people! Like in movies how the past flashes before a charachter when he's about to die... Bingo. The birds I killed, the windows I broke, the eyes I almost popped out of people's heads, the spankings that followed after a bloddy snitch ratted me out to my folks... (I still think snitches will die an ugly death).
And on that note I think us guys had a lovely childhood. The 90's actually rocked. With the obvious exception of the stupid clothes we had to put on (I think I'll photoshop my kid pictures; throw in a pair of timbs, Gucci belt, and probably a shamballa just to give it a lil spice) we actually had fun. Too bad for kids these days though. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Call of Duty as muchas the next low life but you need to know how it feels to take a real hit. I'm just saying... *applause*.
Back to track. Yeah. So I haven't killed anything... YET! Its kinda hard to do anything when there's nothing to kill. Plus the owner took back his slingshot so no more sling for Georgie. :-(
So imagine my excitement when I'm walking the streets of NY (Nairobi Yetu) and I come along this woman selling slingshots for 100 bob. Tell me this is not a message from the universe!
Anyhow, In unrelated news, I am the proud owner of a slingshot. It doesn't look anything like the one above though. Why would anyone even get something like that?! Elephant hunting perhaps?! Smh.
I shall name my slingshot Cassilis the Soviet Assassin. Lol. I crack myself up. Whats that?! No?! Cassilis... Soviet Assassin? You dont get it?! Shish! Well you're a tough crowd! Yall need to watch movies. The Double would be a good start. Losers.

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Sunday, May 27, 2012

It does not pay to be small.

Its always tough coming back to this blog to publish a post after being away for sometime. Over the past few weeks I've drawn inspiration for great (or atleast I want to believe so) 'articles'. I say articles in reverence of this new lecturer I have that expects us to read about forty pages of notes (publications, journals, articles, periodicals, statute law, the works) prior to every class (yes EVERY FREAKING CLASS) failure of which will yeild a loss of marks meaning that us guys will be going into exam rooms with negative marks. Viva la Law School.

My inspiration however doesn't go as far as I'd want it to, but I'm here now aint I?! And Imma make this work. It will as boring and nonsensical as hell and thus as always, I pray that you cease and desist from further reading.

If she'd have her way, there are two 'professions' my mother would have done away with a really long time ago.

First is deejays. Her justification is basic; they don't 'finish' the songs they play. Lemmi put it into context. A really nice jam comes on telly or radio (and by nice I mean old song that I wouldn't listen to under normal circumstances), mumsie gets up and gets in the mood dancing all over the living room, strutting her stuff like she owns the place- which she technically does (in a manner that I'm particularly not proud of).

A minute into the song, she sees another one coming on; a more modern 'kinda not her thing' jam. Her reaction is priceless. First she thinks that there's a problem. She doesn't understand why any sane being would overlap a song over another- to her its noise. She stops dancing and just stares at the telly to see if this shit is for real. The song passes and enters the next jam. It especially doesn't help if the deejay in question prolongs the transition with his 'useless' scrathes. Lol. She then goes to the kitchen murmuring about how she doesn't understand how a person gets paid to 'disrupt' good music and reap from the benefits of someone elses work- because when you think about it, all a deejay does is play music made by other artists.

The best part is, its routine. It happens everytime. Don't believe me?! Pop in by my house at noon on Sundays when almost every tv station tries to get a spot on the Heaven Gatepass list by playing gospel music. I reiterate: priceless.

The second condemned group of individuals is kanges and matatu drivers. Insane, stupid, dumb, pumpkins, cabbages... Practically every curse word that a Christian lady is allowed to use,they have been called. She hastily repents after that though. Once she said, 'If I wasn't a Christian...' I snickered all the way from here to... Timbuktu. Haha. Matatu drivers I can't defend. But kanges.... I think (thought) they're just out to make money in the best way I know how to. Right?! Wrong! No...wait. WRONG! These dumb pieces of horse shit are the worse product of the Kenyan society. Worthless than plankton! You differ?! Oh I see you looking at me in protest defending that kange who lets you travel without paying fare. You will pay my friend... Thou shalt pay in kind for these 'free favours'. Trust!

Let me show you where I'm coming from. I have Wednesdays as my free day so last week I decided to make a house call on a friend of mine, Sonnie ( I still donno why you ever read this blog btw).

Okay, So I panda the jav and sit almost next to the kange since I don't exactly know where I'm going and I have to work with hazy details (chics give the worst directions btw). Pay time. I give the kange guy 500 bob since it was the only cash I had on me. Don't judge me. Welcome to the life of a Campus Student. I'd thought of buying her cookies but went aganist my better judgment and didn't. She'd have to earn those cookies if you get my flow... *wink*

Anyway...paytime. I give him my 500 reds and he says he doesn't have change and that he'll give me my balance laterz.


He begins to look for change for five soc and goes ahead to give it to this mama seated next to me.

I'm chill. No pressure. Almost everyone shukas the jav and I'm left with some other mama in the mat since my stop is like the last one. Naturally, I ask for my money.

'Pesa gani?!'

At that very moment, I knew I was screwed. What ensued was this senseless discussion about how he's been working the jav for sijui a long time and how he's never messed up his math...and how I was lying to him. Now I have a very scrawny figure. I couldn't scare a mouse let alone this huge beast infront of me even if I tried. What to do...what to do.

I just shukad at my stop and cursed all the way. Thank Jesus for that two hundred bob that appeared in my coat pocket from heaven knows where (which conviniently shows itself now rather than when I was paying my fare) and I got home safe. So yes, I hate all kanges until I get my 450 back... With damages! Like a boss- a thin frail boss but A BOSS NONETHELESS!

No. I dont regret not buying her cookies.

P.S. All of them shall burn in the eternal fires of hell.


Except the one on the picture. She can stay. :-)

I was too lazy to look over this post so forgive all grammatical errors.


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Sunday, April 15, 2012

Give me what I want

Courtesy of Big Sis. Lotsa love!

I miss being courted like the old days in the old ways. Nowadays in the first 10 minutes a guy has already told you that he wants to sleep with you and what he will do to you in bed.

Before the date is over, he will have touched you inappropriately and kissed you. It doesn’t matter whether you kiss him back or not. I want to know that I can lie near a man and he will not touch me. He will cover me to shield me from the cold and not attempt to do funny things to/on me. I like the old school way where a guy actually wants to know you better before taking you to bed. He wants to know your values, what you like and what you don’t, what you are interested in and what will bore you to death. He will not attempt to touch you inappropriately or say words that would make our forefathers turn in their graves.

Most importantly, he will respect you and treat you like the lady you are, or should be.

However, that does not happen anymore. Very few people know how to value themselves and I guess that’s why society is changing too much. We women do not respect ourselves anymore thus very few men will respect us in return. That’s why a man will have two women in his lives because neither of the two respects themselves enough to let him know her stand.

I want to be courted like the women in the old school movies and stories I have watched and read. Where a man who is fit to be a fantasy in the current world comes and whisks the lady off her feet and they live happily ever after. I want to be sought after like Rachel of the bible, whose husband worked for 14 years in order to get her hand in marriage. I want to be fought for by my man, not two men fighting for me, no, one man doing all he can to have me, to keep me. I want love letters and poems, art and shady gifts like a green apple but I know I am asking for too much especially in this day and age where technology has taken the place of thinking men. I know, it is very unlikely to get such from the men of today who only think in materialistic terms and not what matters to the heart.

I want to randomly meet a man who will be the love of my life, a man who will know when I want to be alone and my fear of being lonely. A man who will let me be when need arises but will bug the intestines out of me to tell him what is wrong. A man who will take care of me with all that he has and who will live me with all he is. I want a man who is not afraid to be a man. A man who embraces his sexuality and has no issues with himself. A man who can cry and not feel like he is weak, rather knows that tears are a sign of strength, strength within (although that doesn’t mean he cries all the time! That we leave to the women.)

I believe that this man is out there, heck I have probably met him. I want this man to exist, not just for me but for all the ladies out there.

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Sunday, April 8, 2012

A letter to the less fair sex

The New Kenyan Constitution ensures that women and men will have the right to equal treatment and opportunities in political, economic, cultural and social spheres without discrimination. Article 27 (3). I am of the opinion that this blog qualifies as a social platform so, in accordance with the provisions of Article 27(3), Imma let my girl express her (heartfelt) views and opinions.

The views expressed in this post are solely those of the writer's and not necessarily those of The Blodwyn World management. Lol!

Seeing that there’s too much testosterone in here, I figured a female touch would be appreciated. *Draws curtains, new carpet, a few throw pillows over there* this feels just like home now .


Ok so maybe this is less of a letter than I have led you on to believe - closer to a bunch of musings put together. Because we all know when a woman says we need to talk it means we have something new to complain about. More recently I have been questioning my taste in men (a friend says I’m being too dramatic and chooses to define this as a slump) hence I am starting to think that I will get married to a less than pretty man because pretty men are just a lot of work. But this theory will be addressed at a later date if @Baiya_ lets me. So let’s get down to business because I get easily carried away and could possibly go on and on and on and on *Yup. You get the idea*.

DISCLAIMER: After consultation this has been proven to be the general opinion of the female community.

Dear prospective boyfriends, First and foremost NO MATTER what we say, Valentine’s day is a big deal. It might be too late for this but to avoid future mistakes it must be said.  This is coming from the young lady who on that particular day had lunch with a bunch of females who think that Valentine’s is a day set out for women to treat themselves. Not forgetting to mention the fact that this was all because the boyfriend was “busy”. This type of behavior shall not be entertained!! I do not expect the grand of the grandeur *I amaze myself* but make an effort.

Secondly I’d like to call this one ‘THE BOYS syndrome’ *I could write a book about this one*. Yes, yes I know ‘bros over hoes’ is how it goes. If you’re dating her and she’s yours. She cannot be a hoe. Let the line be drawn. Personally, I cannot even count the number of times I have been picked over the bros *yes he was a jerk*. Always give your woman her place in your life. Spend time with her, love on her and you’ll be amazed at what she would do for you.   This is where, as guys, in general you get it wrong. Your duty is to make sure you’re mami isn’t insecure. If she is, you’re doing something wrong. Women just don’t wake up paranoid. Lemmi say this now. If I am dating you I probably think you’re the most amazing person and at that point in time. By virtue of that, any woman is a threat and at this point I could turn into a crazy b*tch at any flip of a second. And for that I need to be flossed! That way I know you’ve made a statement it therefore gives me a sense of security.

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Saturday, April 7, 2012

The Three Day wait.

This post is inspired by His Awesomeness Barney Stinson. It was originally a note I wrote on Facebook but in the spirit of Easter, I am publishing it as a blog post. Have a blessed Sunday people.

Jesus waited three days to come back to life. It was perfect! If

he had only waited one day, a lot of people wouldn't have even

heard he died. They'd be all, "Hey Jesus, what up?" and Jesus

would probably be like, "What up? I died yesterday!" and they'd

be all, "Uh, you look pretty alive to me, dude..." and then Jesus

would have to explain how he was resurrected, and how it was a

miracle, and the dude'd be like "Uhh okay, whatever you say,

bro..." And he's not gonna come back on a Saturday.

Everybody's busy, doing chores, workin' the loom, trimmin' the

beard, NO. He waited the perfect number of days, three. Plus it's

Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there

like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back

door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI,

that's when he invented the high five. That's why we wait three

days to call a woman, because that's how long Jesus wants us to

wait.... True story. ”

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Friday, March 30, 2012


My defination of a sorority is a family of campus (or slightly aged) mamas whose only unifying factor is that they all possess the same sexual chachteristics. The Kenyan context of the word has a fairly wide departure from the American perspective. If 'Greek' the series is anything to go by, 'Obama's minions' (as Americans shall hereby be refered) have these houses where boys and girls are separated in campus. This is probably because unlike us they didn't go to same sex schools in high school for four long yet exciting years.

Okay. So they label these houses (fraternities for guys and sororities for chics) with greek letters; Alpha, Beta, Delta, Gamma and so on. So an example of a potential name would be 'Gamma Nu Theta'. Get it?! No?! Go to your movie guy and get a copy of Greek.

So in Kenya, *The Motherland* chics group themselves on the basis of simmilarities. Eg, same class, same church, same 'going out at night and engaging in immoral activity' yeah. You get the point. Now chics are nothing like guys. Guys will talk about football and beer and once in a while touch on the topic of women. Chics will talk about this guy or that guy 24/7,talk trash about other chics and once in a while touch on the topic of football and how much they hate it.

Now all the information hereinabove is based on fiction. Pure and simple. But this is what I am sure of. Just like every other species of vertebrates, there's always a leader in a clique- a queen if you will. And its not just animals. Think about it. Queen Bee, Queen Ant, Mother hornet. There is always a leader. Sometimes chics don't even realize it but she is there. Most times however, (Kindly make reference to Pretty Little Liars), the 'Queen B*tch' is very apparent. Exerting her control over everyone's activities in the group. Whether or not its something that affects everyone else. Frankly, it really is like watching a feature on National Geographic.

Men however don't have a leader. No. We'll be sitting at a bar catching pints and talking about every irrelevant thing you could think of. If one of us wants to go somewhere, he'll probably go alone or INVITE one of his mates along. Its not like 'we're going to another bar because this one's boring. You come with us or risk solitude.'

If Queen B likes your earrings she'll borrow them for a weekend and repossess them. If she likes the guy you like she'll bust a move long before you do. Sometimes she even dictates what clothes you will wear or the shoes you'll buy.

What is probably the worst part is that anyone who wants out, cant get out. Its simply impossible to attempt to oust the authority of Queen B. An attempt at futility if you will.

The consequences of rebellion are dire. She might....wait for it....notvtalk to you! Imagine that. For a whole month even. She may even go as far as making everyone else give you the silent treatment. Uuuuuu! Very nasty.

Its said that women are their own enemies. And the moment you will realize that you are not a circus act paid to work under a person's whims, is the moment you will grow a pair of *something that women grow to give them courage*!!!

My intention is not to break off friendships but to make you see that you are her b*tch. And its not something that's going to end anytime soon. You may not see it now, but trust me, its there.

And to all the Queen B's out there. Get a life woman.

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Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Break___up </3 -Sequel

6) Oh no she didn't.

If you opt for the stalk route, you will definately find what you were looking for even if it isn't there. Let me explain. To you, everything she posts will be (is) addressed directly or indirectly at you. For instance, she will post, 'Had a great day with my girls today. Love you guys.' In your head, she's just trying to show you how much she's having a good time without you. The bitch! Or for instance, she posts 'Happy Birthday baby brother!!'  To you- she din't even wish me a happy birthday! She's showing me how much of a 'good time' she's having without me around. Ha! She'll be back. She's nothing without me! However there are those exes that post direct messages at you without a care for modesty. Tweets like 'I now realize how happy I am without you in my life.' or 'Single life is so much more cooler' can never be interpreted to refer to anyone else but you. Or then again, they might opt for step #1 and flirt aimlessly with other guys, post almost naked photos of herself on facebook just to make you feel the pinch of what you 'lost'. Solution?! #

7) Return fire. *enter subaru*

Now for those of you who aren't avid tweeps or are unfamilliar with the phrase, to 'subaru' a person is to make direct utterances at them. Mostly of a negative nature. So the bitch thinks I'm gonna take this lying down?! Well you got another thing coming! If you are the kind to act on impulse, this step i definately a recurring one. It ranges from taking lyrics from songs to send a message through to posting the dirty linen of your relationship online. No particular song comes to mind right now  but you get the point. If you don't, break up with her and follow up on all these steps till this one. And I dunno why, but there's usually a scheme plotted by your radio, computer, phone and Ipod to cause you misery by just playing stupid lameass nostalgic music that makes you remember her. This may lead on to #

8) a) Friends?! Friends!

At some point, either you or her will suck up your egos and say a hi. This will probably be the most awkward of conversatios you will ever have in your life. Basic example. 'Hi?!' 'Hey?! Wassup?' 'Nothing much. You?!' 'Same old. Same old' The end. The life of this conversation is dependant on who is willing to suck up their ego down to their gut and open up. Something that rarely happens. At some point (maybe) one of you will want to be 'just friends' which can be both a good and bad idea. Good because you don't feel as lonesome as you did before and bad because more often than not you cannot stand to see her happy without you in her life. Thus leading on to #

8) b) Enemies?! No. Frenemies. Agreed!

Just as fast as you guys become friends, you stop talking to each other. Majorly because you have nil quorum. The both of you are hardly capable of maintaining a conversation without bringing up the past. And we dont want that now do we?! So it becomes an on and off thing. You talk today, skip a few days, say hello, MIA for a month, the story goes on and on and on...and as of now I really dont think it ever comes to an end.

9) #TeamForeveralone

Now this has two sides, you will either get into another relationship sooner or later or she will. Either can come first and I dare say that one is inspired by the other. If she gets in a relationship before you, my advice, sit back and watch. First they'll start posting sensless love messages to each other via social media professing their love for each other. 'Who's awesome?! You're awesome.' 'No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' No you're awesome.' Makes me sick. And the best/worst part is that the poor chap doesn't know he's being used. You'd tell him but just chill and see how far they're going to take this. *popcorn please*

10) All together now.

Now all above nine steps are to be repeated. Not in any particular order but yeah. From the rebounds, to the subarus, the reality that the other person actually exists. Sometimes you can add a pinch (or a truckload) of violence in there for flavour. But it always turns out ugly.

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Wednesday, March 21, 2012

The Break____up </3

I wouldn't exactly consider myself an expert but I believe I have had my fair share of experience as far as break ups go. Haven't we all. Nasty experiences they are. Very nasty. Especially if your ex is one of those uncooperative ones.

I dunno the smart ass that chose to refer to a previous 'lover' with just a letter: 'X'. Probably it was  meant to mean excommunicate or even exhume a previous 'love'. I quote the word love because an ex isn't always  going to be someone you loved. Maybe a result of massively misplaced infatuation or lust. But then would I know right?!

I do not want to dwell into the details of how or why peeps break up. Sometimes it's just a bad joke that goes too far; or coz of a bad rumour that spreads all over the place like an STI in campus. The actualization of a break thats something. When you actually have to break up with the other person. Most peeps will just go with it and live out the rest of their lives in peace. These are the crazy kind. You are not supposed to be 'cool' after a break up. Its taboo and immoral. Unless ofcourse you never actually were in a relationship to begin with.

Okay. As I was saying; the breaking of the news. It takes guts to break up with someone. No lie. Sometimes you want to do it but you just cant get it out your mouth *thats why some of us need tequilla shots* and you end up deviating from the topic entirely.

However when you finally do grow a pair, there are some uncooperative ones who will need a reason; an explanation as to 'why you are doing this to me'. And this is where it gets interesting ladies and gents. Out comes the corniness. The most clichè of lines; its not you, its me; I need to concentrate on my studies/job/religion/AOB; I'm not ready to do this right now; Yo a great person but *enter stupid clichè excuse*. The thing I have learnt over the years however is that more often than not,  these lines are some sort of vague reflection of the truth. When a person says that its them that has a problem and not you...maybe....just maybe he is telling the truth.  But moving along...

Below are some 10 *and possibly more* easy to learn steps that come with break ups. I'd have titled this post as The Post Break up Syndrome but after all I've just said, I thot Post is a little too far off. It however should be noted that this is a guy's perspective. Okay okay onto #

1).  Acceptance. Haha! Lol! JK! As if!

So you just broke up. If it was an argument you will feel like a load's been lifted off and yo practically flying. Kinda like taking  long drag of helium. Weightless. Freedom! At last. You want to hit on everything in a skirt *excluding immediate female family members- which does not include second cousins; You can bang her*. You wanna test the waters and see how the game has changed since the last time you were single.  Hitting on random women left right centre, taking a shot with all those women who 'wanted' you when you were hooked up. Wooohooo! But along comes #

2) Prodigal Son phase A.

Reality is a bitch (and probably hangs in your ex'es clique). The fun is shortlived. Loneliness sets in. You remember the things she used to do. How she used to laugh. Then you begin to compare her with other mamas until you realize that there isn't another one like her. If there are many fish in the sea she probably is the white rhino of the fishes. Maybe breaking up wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I should apologize. I have been  prick to her. Some breakups are ammended at this point. Apologies are made. Treaties are created and a status quo is established. However for those with inflated Egos, thus my darlings is just the begining sp* *Villan laugh and multiple striking of lightning in the background*

3) My ex?! What ex?!

At this point you realize that the chances that the both of you will get back together are slimer than the possibility that stones won't be thrown in a Gor vs AFC derby *its actually sad*. Forget them. I dont need her! And sometimes it actually works. It has been said that if you convice yourself tht something it true, it may actually turn out as so; well atleast to you. So for a while you forget them. Your life ceases to revolve around them and for sometime i.e. 2-4 weeks, you get a hold of your life again until Bam! #

4) Smack in the face.

You are minding your own business,tweeting, checking your facebook, blogging or whatever until you see them there right infront of your face. At this point, a small part of you dies. Nostalgia sets in and has no immediate intention of leaving. So you could either

5) a) Block! Delete! Backspace! Esc! Ctrl+F4!

Lol. The ex factor comes in and you excommunicate them. A move that I personally find to be stupid. Its not like they cease to exist just because you blocked them. Its irrational. Or,

b) Stalk! Stalk! Stalk!

So what has the bitch been upto these last couple of weeks?! You want to know everything she has posted, blogged or twaat *pause* (I crack myself up! You get it it?! Tweet?! Twaat?! No?! Party pooper) *unpause* since you broke up. So whats the bitch been saying about me?! Then along comes #

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Sunday, March 11, 2012

Five more minutes. Just five. Cont.

Taking off from where I left last time. Now where was I? Oh
6) Reverse Withdrawal Symptoms After lunch I get to the office and hand everyone their food (Kinda like Santa Claus but I don't do it in the dark nor get paid in 'milk and cookies'). Now I think I have a problem. My stomach seems to imitate the mannerisms of an 'almost' black hole or an 'almost' bottomless pit. I say almost because I will fill it up till I can take in no more food and that will be the end of lunch. Right?! Wrong!! That's just Phase one. The different phases of my eating process shall be discussed at a later scheduled date to be advised. See its like cards. My belly will play a card and if I fail to call its bluff, it wins and I have to restock it. I kid you not. This stomach can hold a truckload of food given the chance. So I dish out food in the office and wait in vulturelike expectation to scavange for anything they leave me. Don't judge me. Its my guilty pleasure. 7) Back to Square One. Now I am faced with the most impossible feat that only few have managed to ever successfully accomplish. Sleeping and not getting caught. In High School it was easy: go to the back of the class, position thyself stategically away from le teacher's glare and presto! Happy sleeping. Or like this one friend I had who would open his desk and sleep inside it with the top on his head. Good times. *dubs tear from corner of right eye* Btw I always wondered: what do you call the top of a desk? A door? A lid? A cover? A wooden piece of...uuuhhh...wood used to cover a desk? Don't try Googling it. I think its the only thing Lord Google doesn't know. Oh. So now I have to struggle with half open-eyelids in a failed attempt to keep awake. 8)Come again? Pardon? I didn't quite catch what you said there. Now if you can run me by that last part it'd be great. Soon the hypersomnolence passes and now I have to deal with people who have no other purpose in life other than to pester me: clients. I probably didn't mention this earlier but I work in Kiambu, and although I am Kikuyu to the marrow, I am always at a loss when it comes to speech. This basically isn't a big deal up until everyone who comes in the door converses in the local dialect. Yes there I can understand what they're saying perfectly, but its dialogue meaning I have to respond to them. Darn you Communication Skills lecturer with your notes on feedback! Now I am quite narcist, believing most of the things I do to be the best. But my Kikuyu...Heavens!Pathetic does not nearly compare to the adjective I'd use to describe it. Even I know. And believe me, I have tried. My uncle once bought me and my sister Books in Kikuyu Literature. Like your 'Read and Write' or 'Hallo Children' book...In Kikuyu. #Majorfail. To make Matters worse, 'Good Guy' is Kamba but speaks fluent Kikuyu. So what I do...I refer everyone to him. Doesn't matter if you want directions to the loo. If you no understand my Swahili or Githugu, I shall point you to the direction of help. 9) Infringement of the Ninth Commandment. Now its almost closing time (Home time) and before we close shop we have to do an audit of sorts. We calculate all the money that we got that day, all that we used and check if the amount of cash we have is in consonance with the figures we tabulate. Now a law firm is a business; and just like any other business, there are good days and bad days- at least that's what I want to believe. So I find it stupid and totally childlike for The Boss to insult us by calling us theives of his Money when we have a bad day. The most I've gone as far as 'stealing' goes is accept cash from a satisfied customer (that could understand English) for a job well done. At first it was deragatory. But I figured, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones / But words will never hurt me'. It bacame routine. Everytime we have a bad day the three of us play rock paper scissors and the loser gets the esteemed honour of telling The Boss how much we have that day. Its the most efficient method seeing that I always win. Rock always wins. At least that's what I made them believe. *villan laugh with a tremendous clap of thunder in the background*. 10) The End...or is it?! Tum Tum Tum Tum!!! Enter 5 pm, Exit the intern. I am not so much into routine so after jobo I'm up for anything and everything as long as it's morally upright and Christian #Pokerface. Then begins the long and fulfilling night. Cool some steam before the reality checks in that i have to do all this again the next day.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Bobbing Head

To begin to talk about music would be an impossible feat. Owing probably to the fact that music is too broad and deep a topic to even think of covering. A good song draws origin from true inspiration. It is the ability of an artist to reproduce the raw nature of that inspiration into an potential song. I once had the not so grand opportunity of sitting in a music production class at some dark point in my life; and the experience was...well lets just say it was better than nothing. Under a certain topic , we discussed (basically the lecturer talked and I just tweeted) the various components of sound. Five they were in number; pitch, tone...and the rest as I previously mentioned were tweeted. To the average audience (read you and me) all this is inappropriate. All we need to do is listen to a particular jam and judge whether for ourselves if its a good or not so great tune. Hit or miss if you will. The beauty that is human, is that we are all different. It is these differences that make us all similar ( I have absolutely no idea what that means but it sounded right in my head). Take a very good example of music. If we all had the same taste in music, there probably would be only one genre of music. It probably would be classic music some other one of the more decrepit genres. Let me put it into context...all radio stations would play the same kind of music...we'd probably still be listening to Mozart and Beethoven or worse still, the smashing and breaking of things: a form of expression that early man considered to be literally 'music to his ears'. Worse still, you couldn't go aganist the orthodox systems of old. How could you? You would stand the risk of being laballed insane. Or then you just could succesfully pull off a Rosa Parks and refuse to own your seat (opinion) and stick to (by) it. Away from hypothetical scenarios. As previously indicated herein, it is the ability of an artist to replicate inspiration into rhythm that makes or destroys a song. If well pulled off, an audience is able to relate to the song (sometimes) as it is...real. From Hip hop to Rock and roll and even jazz, it is impossible not to notice the attachment an artist has to a particular song especially in its output.
Emotions run high as some musicians may even cry or destroy instruments in vile rage. This emotion is then transfered to the listener. It is therefore for this reason that we set a favorite song on repeat till the monotony demands change. I was Listening to this song earlier today Woza by Jaziel Brothers its a Zulu (I think) song. I can hear only two sentences in that song. The rest is basically giberish to me. Regardless, I played that song over and over and over again. I still am. It really does not matter whether you understand the language a song is sung in. Yes lyrics do play a crucial role in a song. This however should not serve as as an impedement to the type or genre of song we listen to. Music can does serve as therapy in otherwise emotional circumstances. The irrevocable picture we (I) have of that young Bri'ish teenager that listens to loud metal music on his (her) headphones when he (she) is stressed says it all. Reference should be made to the chic in the Closer to the Edge - 30 Seconds to Mars video who says 'Some people believe in God.....I believe in music...... You know.... when some people pray.....I turn up the radio...' So play that song 100 times over until the neighbours come knocking with an alternative Music cd for you to listen to. Let song be your nurse.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Five more minutes. Just five!

In recent times sleep has become a luxury I dont always get to enjoy. I'd say I always sneak a minute or two during a busy day to catch a snooze but that is an opportunity that rarely avails itself. Basic outlook of my day in ten easy to learn steps.

1. Argjhyguuyyiooouyth. The Morning stretch.

This is part one. It actually is the long long long process that is waking up- and here I mean actually getting out of bed. I choose not to include the different stages that are involved. The numerous 'Hit snooze' reflexes, the the different sleeping  positions that ultimately lead to getting out of bed, the absurdly relieving stretch, the  blind groping for a towel and walking to the bathroom without daring to open my eyes. The HEAVENLY morning pee that is venued either at the shower or loo, depending on how lazy a morning it is and so on.

2. That 'Like a Boss' moment when...

Fast forward an hour later and I'm all fresh and pleasantly  and late for work. Fashionably late I call it. The actual boss rarely comes in before 10 am so I stroll in like, as earlier described, a boss. I'm of the opinion that being a goody-two-shoes is boring. Bad boys are no good and good boys are no fun they say. Not saying I'm badass or nothin' but I actually think I bring some flare into that room. The one with all the razmataz. Whats that? Yes. My ego is kinda hard to miss.

3. Caffine. Oh so sweet caffine.

Its 10. I'm hungry. What?! I'm young. I have an excuse to feed. I need to grow my bones and some sh*t. So I make myself scarce and go for my 'cuppa joe'. I am convinced that coffee is the solution to ANY problem. Operative word: ANY. The aroma just gives hope and expectation to what would otherwise be a caliginous day. Dont get me started on the taste. Bliss. I want to talk to my coffee. Hold my coffee. Feel it on my tongue. Feel the warmth slither down my throat and lose itself within me. It then hits me that I need to go back to the office. Same time tommorrow, oh so sweet caffine?! Its a date.

4. B*tch mode.

The Big Kahuna has probably made his way to the office by now. My work officially begins. All the clients that had been waiting want to see him now. And I have to deal with the implusive pressure of searching for files, making copies of documents, drafting contracts, certifying copies of original documents dealing to semi-literate clients who insist on conversing in the local dialect, of which I am not an avid fan of...running up and down the building getting documents from here to there. Running errands of both formal and informal orientation. Kinda makes you wanna go 'Argjhyguuyyiooouyth'.

5. Lunch!! Food!

Now us guys dont have lunch breaks. Ours is a departure from the traditional 1-2 lunch break time. It comes with working for a Kikuyu I guess. You gotta love 'em.(Enter Bri'ish accent) I just saw a feature on telly (exit) where this Kikuyu guy possibly from the caves of Mt. Kenya made this song about Thika Rd. The bloody road isn't even complete and we already have jams about it. What happens when the Chinese seal the deal,  pack and head home?! Heaven knows. Therefore boys and girls,  we go in turns or better yet send one on us(read me) for a soda (with an American accent) or some other hunger relieving substance. What I have for lunch?! You kinda get tired of eating potatoes everyday unless ofcourse, you are me. I need my carbs to gain dome weight. Apparently I am the only one that hasn't read the 'All You Need To Know Catalogue On Weight Gain' So far, no considerable changes...yet. Note the emphasis made on the word yet. Any suggestions as to how I can add weight are 'cordially invited.' Burp!!!


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Saturday, January 28, 2012

I am Intern, The Intern.

After my constant nagging of wanting a job, the opportunity finally availed itself and like hell I ran for it. Two days in and I don't want to work no more. Its exhausting. I'm perfectly okay with the entire hullabaloo that comes with working in an office. The drama, gossip, personal relationships between workers. Not too bad. It actually gives some sort of pep and vim to what would otherwise be a reiterative schedule. However...(first time)

Getting home exhausted is, well, exahusting. First thing you want to do is assault your bed and kick off your shoes (in no particular order). I actually miss the boredom that came with staying at home for hours on end, thinking up a good excuse to catch a ride to town once in a while in the hope of meeting up with random familliar faces. Yeah. I was (am) a low life. However...(again) I get to call myself 'The Intern'. Dunno why hollywood hasn't made a film on that one yet. Oh. I think I'll patent it. Put that on my bucket list. I even made myself a name tag with 'The Intern' written on it. Note: we don't use nametags 'at work'. With two workmates, they're kinda unimportant. But mine gets to hang from my neck on a Sponge Bob hangy thingy. I think I'll type that shit out. Put that on my bucket list.

However...(again) being a 'freshman' at work comes with its problems too: mine being being the klutz- if that makes sense. I really get paranoid around clients especially the high paying ones. Random example, yesterday, client transacts with 'The Boss' and I'm supposed to write him a receipt after he pays for 'services offered'. Halfway in, I rembember that I forgot to use carbon paper in making a duplicate of the original receipt- for the purposes of keeping records ofcourse.

Damage control! I end up inserting the carbon paper and retracing my handwritting over previously inscribed words. Client pulls a facepalm stunt followed by a SMH and calls me an amatuer. By now I'm shaking my handwritting appears to be a sketch in abstract art (it always does but that is besides the point).

Today I get to 'work' (yes 'I work' Saturdays as well. Whats that?! Ofcourse with pay, stupid. Do I seem like a Non-profit generating organization to you?! Yeah. Thought so.) shortly before 'Nice guy'- as one of my workmates will hereby be refered. He gives me the keys to the office as he runs a few errands. So I casually walk up the stairs listening to Good feeling- Florida and humming along while at it. I choose a small key and turn it in the lock and turn. It snaps. Two equal pieces. One of which is now lodged in the key hole and the other in my hand. Now I'm screwed. Totally screwed. I can even see the headlines, the tabloids: 'Self proclaimed intern ends his short reign'. I'm thinking I run. Home. Fast. No. Its a law firm stupid! The law will catch up with you. Dang! What to do what to do. I decide to call 'Loise Laine'- my other workmate- for 'Nice guy's' number. Speak of the devil.Enter 'Nice guy'. I explain myself amid hysteria...I wasn't my fault. Honest. It wasn't. It was Flo rida's. Bitch gave me superhuman strength. High on that illuminati shit. However...(again) 'Nice guy' being, well, a nice guy, just smiles, and says its okay, performs some sort of burgle trick on the lock and Presto! we have access. Kinda makes me think of the practicality of his name.

I could go on an on, however (again), I'll spare you the boredom and ask you to take your pococurantism elsewhere.

On to a not so important fact.  Black dress has been defined as a must have in every ladies closet. Majorly because it can (and does) go with anything. In my thinking, the male blackdress is a white shirt, two days of 'work' has taught me that with a white shirt is a must have in a dude's closet. So ladies...*clears throat*.

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Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Feel my pain.

Up until a few hours ago, I thought advocacy was a limniable proffession. Now? Not so much.

So I woke up this morning with a 'song in my heart and a spring in my step'. Fast forward 12 hours later and I don't feel so bubbly. (and listening to this fake Tinie Tempah Bri'ish accent on radio isn't making anything better)

I will make no attempt to sugar coat this. As is a well known fact, to graduate with a bachelor of laws degree (and I am sure as is the case with most undergraduate programs), one needs to undergo an attachment program for a certain period on time. Attachment, internship, pupilage, call it as you will, I really dont care right now. This is basically intended to expose students to an out of class environment that is somewhat more practicable and relevant to their chosen profession. Unless of course you would want to be a lecturer. LQTM. An attachment, to the best of my understanding, is more or less like a job. You go to work from 8-5, lunch breaks: the works. The differences as as notable if not more profound. Most often than not, you get no pay. You basically work for free; a KYM (kazi ya mikono) if you will. I have heard of cases where you pay your employer for an opportunity to work for him. Funny.

When I take my application to a law firm, I go expecting one of two results; an acceptance or a decline which is followed by some clichè excuse which tends to be a lie. The dismay that comes with a refusal, I can handle. After all, its your firm: your choices and your staff. Cool. My problem however is the 'we'll get back to you' shibboleth.

I mean, really?! I want to believe that time and age have prepared me to deal with most dissapointments that may come my way. It has been scientifically proved that the average person will incur more failures than accomplishments in their life. So when I 'seek an opportunity to work under the leadership of a proffesional with impecable advocacy skills which I aim at emulating someday' as is exactly indicated in my application letter, I expect in the worst, a no. Let me know you don't want me instead of letting my person hold on to a virtual strand of hope that is, as has been said, non-existent.

I have no use for pity or sweet nothings from unconfident individuals who cannot master up the courage to tell me that they are not willing to hire.

I personally think its a bargain. Working for free! Heck. I wouldn't pass off that opportunity for anything. Even though I have lost all hope in becoming a lawyer anymore.

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Friday, January 20, 2012

Please read this. Pretty please!

Now that I have your attention (or atleast I think I do), I would wish to engage you dear viewer in todays topic. Pfffft. Loooool.

The title tell the whole story basically. Its beggers oriented. Everytime I think beggars and poor people Oliver Twist comes to mind. The phrase 'Can I have some more porridge?' *insert Bri'ish accent* has been idolized in my head. However I dont think anyone with a British accent would sell the beggar brand in Kenya. So on to the stereotypical rough looking and puppy-eyed clichès that have taken a liking to the murky streets of Nairobi.

Now dont get me wrong. I have nothing aganist beggars. I will go as far as saying that I actually pity them (well atleast some of them). Like this guy who enters the bus. He presents himself as deaf. He has the entire enchilada; a clipboard with papers (yes with an 's')  highlighting his plea to desire to join a certain deaf people's school in the country that I actually didnt know existed up until I read that form thingy, a pen, a clipboard, the puppy dog eyes, pitiful face and a relatively snapy suit. A notable waiver from your typical 'nisaidie' beggar.

As this guy continues to sell (or rather beg) himself to peoples on the bus, the conductor guy comes in and shouts him out. Keep in mind, our guy is as deaf as a doorpost so his assumed refusal to heed to the conductor's instruction is received as ignorance and he is consequently 'manhandled' out.

The kange states his defence as 'knowing' our beggar friend not to be as he says he is. I call him friend because I also got to give him some spare change and sign his fancy form. Apparently -according to the kange, friend has hearing better than...ummmm something that can hear really well.

Dude, whats your problem?! If he hears or not it doesnt really concern you does it?! I dont blame the guy. If he manages to convince guys he's deaf or not, if he actually uses the money he gets for the intended cause or not, hell! I dont care. With this economy...hell! He sure went to alot of trouble to convince us though. If you don't wanna give, then dont. Noone's really making you do it. Same goes to you.

Have a hustle free day.

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Sunday, January 15, 2012

I really dont care but hey...

So KCPE 2011 results tolelezead little over a fortnight ago. Personally, what you get doesn't really matter. The only major purpose good results serve is that helping ex candidates go to good high schools.

Now 'good' in this context is relative. In a reasonable man's view; which is deemed to be the most appropriate parameter in determining most issues, a national school is the best practicable school you'd want your kid to go to. Some of us who went to mediocre high schools still made it through. And we felt content with the system...somewhat.

The process of form 1 selection has been revolutionized with reference to current times. Its been (almost)  completely technologized with computers doing most of the work. The old system where folks would go to principals (read blood thirsty leaches) of different schools and convince them to let their children join 'their' institutions.

But there are those well off blokes who can afford to pay millions in the name of education for their deliquents in private schools. Lucky bastards!

Back to the main issue. So KCPE has literally  become an actual life and death issue for candidates these days; seeing the number of students that committed suicide after they got poor results. Pity. That a 14 year old would kill themselves because they thought they were failures.

Folks take their kids to private schools because they want them to yield the best possible results as opposed to the crowded and poorly funded public schools. Its not that they have that much money to waste on those overly expensive schools. No. If the standard of education in public schools would slightly appreciate, private schools would lose business faster than you can say 'Nyakemincha'. LQTM.

This is why I think the PS of education this Ole Kiya-what his face chap should be taken to court for favouring pupils from public schools at the expense of those who hail from private schools with regard to selection of form ones.

I am no math guru but here are the figures...I went to a provincial school in the heart of Central province and now specifically Kiambu County that admitted 180 form 1 students annually. Now the government recently promoted 30 provincial schools to a national level bringing the total number of national secondary schools to 48. Now assuming that the standards of national schools are by far higher than those of provincial schools (now refered to as county schools), they will obviously take more form ones. For the purposes of easier calculation lets assume 200 as our starting point.


48x200 is 9600.

Meaning atleast 9600 students will go to national schools. Got it?! No?! Start all over again stupid.

Now according to statistics given by the Ministry (feeling all Harry Potter and sh*t), 5806 children got 400 marks and above. Meaning that all these should go to national schools plus a residue of 3794 tois.

So you understand my frustration when a kid with 410 marks from a private school goes to a county school and another one with 383 marks from a public school goes to a national.

Unfair doesn't even begin to explain it. The government should up their game rather than dissapoint efforts of kids from private institutions.

But I really don't care.

Blessed Sunday.

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Wednesday, January 4, 2012


He makes decisions he may not always be proud of. He does it on impluse. Maximizing on present emotion without due regard for consequences that may stem from his actions. One would expect that this is a phenomenon that he has gotten uses to by this point in his life; what, with all the poor appreciation of fact and the exclusion he has evoked from his friends. However in actuality this assumption is dissentient from actual truth.

He pushes those closest to him to the far end of the room and goes further to give no thought or consideration to their feelings. This is who he is. Noone else matters but him. He is left standing at the centre of the room crowded with solitude. The worst part is, he is not in the slightest, remorseful for his deeds. His rationale?! Que sera sera as the relic Spanish melody goes, whatever will be will be. Once it is done it is done. Noone, not even him can change the past and there is definately no use crying over spilt milk.

It is only those decisions that he makes in the present that count. The decisions that he can carefully assess. Critically think about. He however does not realize this and he goes back to a status quo. Covering past solecism with decisions aganist his better judgement (that is if he knows of anything of the sort).

His problem is one that it quite apparent to him. But what options does he have?! He can't stop (or atleast that is what he thinks). His attempt to rectify his misfortune are futile and will more often than not lead to more harm than good.

So where does it stop?! When does this whole frenzy come to an end?! Does he just sit and wait for something to go completely and irreversably wrong? A decision that will bring a stop to everything?! How many hearts have to be broken before its over?! How many tears should be shed for him that have not been shed already?! How many more souls have to undergo sleepless nights just for his sake?! How many must he take down before the curtain is drawn?!

Whoa. Dude! I think you've had enough beer for tonight bro. STFU!

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Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Got ink? o_O

Er...hello. Its me again; and yes I'm bored. Too jobless if you ask me. There has to be some law againist this kind of laziness. I have to warn you though. If you are not articulate or fluent in nonsense, please stop here. Its not going to get any more intresting than it already is. Thank you. And don't come back either.

Ok. On to today's not so random topic... Tattoos. Beautiful expressions of body art...or are they?! I once saw the defination of a tattoo as 'dermatological graffitti'. Lemmi break it down for yall. The tattoo artist has this pen looking thingamajig with a needle sharp tip, that he uses to draw or rather 'express his artistic prowess' just beneath the skin of the subject i.e. the idiot gettin the tattoo. Needless to say its a beautifully painful experience. Key word. Painful. If you however don't have the stomach for it, don't. Please don't. Or else you'll find yourself wincing in pain in a darkly decorated room with demonic pictures furnishing the walls like yours truly. Hint *not pretty especially if you're a guy with a chic watchin*

They range between 1500 and infinity Ksh depending on the size and detail required. A waste of hard earned cash if you ask me.

Well although the tattoo may be greviously painful, it does not remotely compare with the torment that comes with its removal. Those of you with relatively creative imaginations may make reference to the above displayed portrait. Yeah. Its that bad. The rest...what are you still doing reading this post?!

My opinion is that tattoos are 'graffitized' (told you twas stupid) on three kinds of peoples as discussed below;

1) Peeps with strong emotional imbalances. These are the kind that find solace in consoling their emotions (most oftenly anger) with some form of pain. Where the average human will curse their mouths dry, these lot will sit there and feel the pain (and probably curse as well) to feel better. A SMH wouldn't be enough for these ones. A palm meets face...maybe.

2) The ordinary bloke who sees everyone else inked up and wonders what it would feel like to get one. To you I say, ignore all my advice about the pain. Heck! Go get a tattoo!! After all, everybody's doing it! Whats the worst that can happen right?! You won't'll probably get killed but who knows you might get to be wiser in your next life.

3) These is the second offenders category. Inspired to get their first tattoo because of the first two reasons but have come back for more. Reasons,

a) They came back for an 'adjustment' of their current tattoo. Relevant examples are engraved names of ex-lovers (WTF were you thinking).

b)Peeps may also come back because they just love the pain. Reference for this section shall be made to all painted hiphop rappers and Vybz Kartel.

c) Or you're just a darn right retard. Hang in there maen. Jesus loves you. But you're still going to hell.

Yup. Thats basically it. I'm not going to detail the kind of tattoos that peeps have these days. Crazy times we live in. You'd be shocked.

So if you're a spoilt brat with loads of money to blow, go get an eternal expression of art on your skin. At least you did something with your life.

Just incase yall is wondering, yes I do know the guy that owns that contraption in the picture. Name's Bill. Really nice guy.

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Sunday, January 1, 2012

Two days too late.

☆☆☆Not so Happy New year★★★

I'd like to start off by saying that blogging never really was my fortè. It is among one of the items on my bucket list- a craving if you will. Why? For no apparent reason. Two posts into my first blog and I was quite exhilarated about my new venture. However optimisim can only take you so far if you have no subject matter to talk about. So I decided on a subject matter that would always give me content for my blog. And what better subject matter than me?! Or rather the person that was Blodwyn Byar. Thus this blog was created. (Though I'm thinking about starting a photo blog really soon)

Generally the posts revolve on his personal life; girlfriends, daily occurences and what not. Whether these will continue to form the basis of future posts only time will tell. Although I'm shifting to more nonsensical and meaningless topics-just to confuse my enemies. LQTM.

Okay. So its a New Year which means new expectations, which consequently conjure fresh dissapointments. Now I am a pessimist, and unlike other pessimists who think the worst of every situation, I see all the positive outcomes but choose to expect the worst. That is majorly why I have a problem with today's up and coming religious institutions. This year is your year of prosperity; *enter new year* will be a year of Finacial Breakthrough; these songs sung every new year have become quite the clichè. Don't get me wrong, I am the staunch Christian (more in word than in deed- which is regardless of the point) but I can't sit and take in the bullshit that quack religious leaders push down our throats.

2011 was one of the toughest years I have lived through. Prices of every single commodity shot up, confectionary included. By the end of the year, things were looking to take a positive turn with petroleum prices minimally going back down. To say that the new year is to be an improvement from the last would be a fraudulent misrepresentation.

Which is why my 2012 is going to be the worst year yet. Sure I'll hope for the best. But you can only go so far with hope.

My advice; have a not so happy new year. You can never go wrong with no faith.

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