7 Dec 2008

What blow jobs and pancakes have in common

Oh I just had to!

Stolen from The Goth Mom
Now playing: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Snow ((Hey Oh))
via FoxyTunes

5 Dec 2008

The Day I Answered to Stupid

The day I claim intelligence, remind me of this day.

There is this new phenomenon across the Us that makes Americans lazy, as if they were not lazy enough to begin with. It's called the Redbox. It does sound like something that should come with a parental advisory warning, but it's actually kind of harmless.

A Redbox is a free standing red box (duh!) that dispenses DVDs. It's got a 'stupid guide to renting / returning a DVD from / to a Redbox' which looks something like this:

Now how hard can that be, given that you also have these instructions on the DVD. All you need is a credit card.

It says - 'return to redbox with side facing you'. With a very big Insert and arrow sign

So JP, my very sweet host goes to return the DVD... obviously after my famous film watching methods. Hours later, he comes back with the film. I of course ask him all the basic questions - Was the DVD facing the right way, did you select 'Return A DVD' on the menu....You would think this is obvious. But no, with JP nothing is. I will dedicate another post just for him. Yeah, he requires a whole post entire about him. We are talking about a guy gets lost 1 minute after driving out of his house on the way to the grocery store, or who makes me walk around a whole complex because he cannot remember where he parked the car. And being man, he would not take directions. A story for another day. As I said - very sweet. He assures me he did, and adds that there were many others that could not return their discs too.

I, the all-knowing one, offer to return the DVD. He drives me to Wal*Mart, which is where we the redbox is located. I leave JP in the car as I go work my magic. Confidently as I can, I walk to the kiosk. I follow all the instructions, insert the DVD and wait. 5 seconds later it rejects it. I try again, and again, and again and for good measure, again.

I walk back to the car and between JP and I, we manage to convince ourselves that the box has a problem. We go through the day's motions, and just before dinner, we decide to give it one more shot. The thing with Redbox is, you pay a dollar for any
extra day you stay with the film after 9 pm. I get on my Blackberry and search for other Redbox locations. As luck would have it, I can access the webpage BUT i cannot do a search for the locations! We drive to Piggly Wiggly, Food Lion, name it. Finally, we pack outside the former and JP gets on phone to reach the customer service. We drive to McDonald’s, while he still on phone, because I remembered a mention about them being located at a McD's. I walk in to McD's and ask if they have a redbox. The look on the cashier's face is priceless. If I didn't already look ludicrous asking that question, I would have taken a picture of him. I spent a few minutes explaining what it is, and all through I’m thinking - if he does not recognize the name and the disc within the first glance, me spending 5 minutes explaining what it is will not help. Back to the packing lot, JP is still on phone, 20 minutes and counting.

Finally! He gets through. He explains that we rented the movie on Monday, tried to return it on Wednesday, and today, twice. She goes ahead to ask him the same questions i had asked him. That agitates him even more. She asks for the barcode number on the disc, I read it to him and she gives it to her. The lady on the other side asks if he is outside a redbox. He says no, we are about 5 miles away from the nearest one. And his voice is not the sweetest at that point. She patiently explains that he needs to be at the location so that she can manually program the box to accept the DVD. Does she have a direct line so that he does not need to wait 20 minutes again to get to her when he gets to a Wal*Mart? No, he has to call again. But, if he selects the Spanish option, he will get connected faster. Whatever. He hangs up and we drive to Wal*Mart. JP is seething. He goes on and on how he will never use a Redbox and how that company defrauds unsuspecting clients. I join him in working out how they are defrauding people using their cheap advertising of $1 a day movie rentals. I even work out how if they made it hard for people to return the movie, and they had about 50,000 people across the country fail to return by a day, and then they make $50,000 that day from credit cards. I'm such a genius, I think!

We get there, there is a guy at the machine, and he manages to rent a movie. That does not make sense. How can it keep dispensing if it cannot take back? I try once more. Nothing changes, still rejects. By now, JP has worked himself into a little ball of really really tight wool. Standing at the entrance of Wal*Mart is a little lady of about 80, complete with an employee tag. JP actually asks her for help. I try not to laugh as the little old lady ambles over. With her frail little hands, she tries her hand at what JP regards as the bane of his existence. JP is busy trying to tell her that we already tried everything we could think of, but she does not listen. Inwardly, I’m thinking, if it works for the little old lady, JP will surely shoot himself. But knowing his luck, he would probably miss. Luckily, it doesn't work. He leaves me at the kiosk and goes to look for customer service, guns blazing and all. As I stand there fiddling with the on-screen buttons, this 200-pound 13 year old kind walks over, talking on his cell phone about his new xbox.. I move over and let him return his. What do you know! His is accepted!

All along, I have been questioning what JP and I are doing. I have been thinking that we are doing something wrong, but cannot figure out what. We are following all the instructions...At the back of my mind, I'm thinking, If this machine has had a problem since yesterday, granted the number of people who use it, by now, it would either be closed, or we would have very irate customers lined up at the customer service desk. Given the hard economic times, tempers are running really high and patience wearing thin. And considering the fact that its $1 each day you keep the movie, that is money no one wants to waste.

The kid can obviously tell that I have been there a while. Without getting off the phone, he takes the DVD from me. He tells whoever is on the phone that he should consider ask for payment from Redbox, what with the many numbers of people he has been helping out. Apparently I'm not the first person that day he has helped!

So, he takes the disc from me, gives it a look over and shakes his head. Casually, he says 'The barcode should be facing the other side' and flips open the disc, turns it and shuts it again. Walks over to the machine, presses 'Return a Dvd' and voila! It is done.

JP and I have been returning the disc case facing the right way, but the disc inside facing the wrong way. It was being rejected because the machine could not read the barcode. Great. Now I have to go look for JP. I kinda don’t want to find him, because I feel really bad that I will have to tell him that it worked, yet I’m very sure he has been raising hell at the customer service. I meet him and the CS lady walking back to the box. He immediately sees that I don’t have the disc with me. The expression on his face goes from 'what the fuckety fuck did i just do' to ‘You gotta be kidding me' to ' oh, well'. He apologizes to the CS and we leave.

I explain to him what happened, and what we were doing wrong. He tries to feebly explain to me that he did try that buy I can tell that those are a dying mans’ fight for air arguments. As we drive off to diner, all he can say is how stupid he must have looked going off on the poor CS lady and how they now have him on camera. He is now worried that Wal*Mart will send out a warning to all grocery stores about this crazy white guy who cannot follow simple instructions….

Now playing: Jack Johnson - Banana Pancakes
via FoxyTunes

19 Nov 2008

An Update

I have been very very busy. 

I have been travelling, loosing my bags, my credit cards not working, having frozen buns over here in Chicago....oh, ok. I trackback.

I am in Chicago, for while as I do my official US tour. I promise to update more...

8 Oct 2008

A Raw Deal

We have this lengthy debates, DVP and I as to what we should eat, where, e.t.c. This is mainly because i don't care much for food and well, he.. he does. The man likes his food.

Whether he has to go head to head with it, he will still eat it.

Our food debates should be something the Americans sits down to watch. I never finish the food on my plate. I think it is genetic flaw. Thus, anything i order, has to be something that DVP will want to eat, as he HAS to clear my plate. This, as much as it is a good thing (not wasting food and all that), reflects badly on my hard earned lady status, especially in the restaurants we frequent.

We have perfected the art of exchanging plates, the mafia could learn a trick or two while switching briefcases. And i should stop watching those horrible horrible films...Note to self.

Often, the waiter will come around our table and suddenly, the plate that was in front of me almost untouched is sparkling clean, and DVP's... well, almost still full. He will do a double take and give me that look. You what what look. I know not to worry as I am paying for the food, and where they indicate the time it takes to prepare on the menu does not indicate the length of time i should spend not that same food. Back to my story.

We decide to break our sushi virginity. And we pick Misono, famed to be the best in Sushi making, un-cooking, preparing... whatever they call wrapping raw fish. We drive into the restaurant's parking and the minute we approach the entrance to the restaurant, a Kenyan girl in a Kimono hits the gong. I'm halfway running back to the car when DVP announces that that is a welcome dong. Sounded to me like those they play just before the Master slices your head off with some chopstick. Again, the movies I watch!

We walk inside and suddenly hit by the sweetest aroma of some grilling thing. Definitely not rice. We are at crossroads. One side was the grilling centre, the other was eat your food before it realises its dead centre. A waiter stopped us half way. 'The grilled section is this way' He said.
Yeah, we looked like grilled food people. Maybe the can smell the type of food you eat when you walk into that Japanese restaurant. And all we gave out was auras of grill-ology.

We sit in the raw food section, and take the menu. None of the Yaki-s, taka-s, make any sense to us. The waiter has since abandoned us. I bet he left snickering... ' The fools, they want sushi? let them figure the menu out first! After a couple of minutes, i contended defeat and called for help. The waiter went through each item and after he was done, I had forgotten what was what. To be safe, we asked for the 'boat' which contained a little bit of all their food.

We sat back and waited. Now, forgive me for being deliberately obtuse, but it thought the food would take all of 2 minutes. I mean, how hard can it be to put a raw fish on a plate? You see, in my mind this is how a sushi kitchen looks like this :

Yes, an aquarium shop. I do not envision stoves, or chefs dressed in funny white hats and white coats sweating under the heat. nope. I only see this Japanese guy dipping his hand in and out of aquarium, snapping the heads of the fish, and sending the waiter off on his jolly way to my table. All variables remaining constant, i.e. no traffic situations between the kitchen and my table, i expected to have the food faster than I could say sukiyaki. I more than said sukiyaki, i learnt the whole Japanese alphabet, i also learnt that the Japanese anthem has the oldest lyrics/text from the ninth century, but the music is from 1880 and it is expressed in only 4 lines. After about an hour, i figured that maybe the fish were on strike and were fighting back or they they had ran out of aquariums and had to ask the neighbour (who happens to be the Sri Lankan ambassador) , if they could serve me his pet fish. Finally, the raw food that took forever to prepare, arrived. I was blown away...

In some eerie way, that boat gave me disturbing images. Of being out at sea, capsizing and the fish having a ball. And the food on the boat being me...and my sailor friends. hrumph! the shivers!

Then it hit me why the food took so long. The chef had to count the rice in each bundle and make sure it was exactly the same number!

I let that boat sail. Still almost full. It was a shame really. But it did smell funky. No offense. My brief flirt with raw fish ended there. Any food that looked like it was going to reform and rejoin like those bones in hte bible, and walk away from my plate...or slither in this case, was not something i wanted to eat. I sat there, waiting for it to walk, slither, flip away... it did not. After DVP and i established that fish dont play dead, we tried it. I wish it had grown wings and flown away. A perfect excuse, and also gets me out of paying. Do not get me wrong, i did like some but not a whole dinner out of it. Sushi, medarlings, is an acquired taste and a raw deal for that matter.

I think you can get sushi here though!

18 Sept 2008

What Nairobi Women are made of

Warning - Some images might be disturbing.

I know that I walk around some Nairobi streets clutching my handbag as if my heart is hooked to it. That when my phone rings, I stop, look around nervously then slowly take it out of the bag. I then turn myself in to an impenetrable ball of human flesh and weakly croak- 'Hello'.

Gets so bad at times, that I will keep checking if my ipod is still in my pocket, even when I'm still listening to it. You never know with Nairoberry thugs. They'd steal the ipod and somehow, leave me with the illusion that I'm still listening to music. I shudder at the thought.

So this one evening, walking in town, taking very good care of my bag, pushing through the crowds. I'm tiny.. and walking in crowds is really annoying. Everyone is like up there, breathing all the fresh air and I have to walk under there, my nose in line with their asses. Cosmic joke if you ask me. That would be me in the red circle.

I know you are wondering where my bag is... but trust me, this is the best way to be in a crowd in a Nairobi bus station. Ensures you are rob-free. Oh, others were wondering where my clothes are? Gee, don't you have better things to wonder about? Ignore the fact that the crowd is Asian.. It was Hug-an-Asian Day then, so they all came out.

So here I was, minding my own business with this American dude who thinks it's awesome to be caught up in a Asian Hug galore. He spends his time fighting sofas in his house and making these and these music videos that might get US banned from the G8. I don't think he particularly cares about that anyway. Hi idea of fun is making co-corporate videos for airports who do not care about his work. No one has had the nerve to tell him that that is not a career. Yet.

Back to my story.

So we are walking in town - and there is this commotion, people shouting, blood somewhere... Being the American that he is, he said something like 'I'll be right back' or ' I got your back', but this is what i actually saw when i turned to look at him

I do believe that he was running to get the cops. Or showing me where to run to safety. Or he just got this urge to just run. Don't we all do that sometimes...

I moved nearer, camera in hand. First sight...

At first, i thought i had just walked into a movie set. With really good make-up but really bad crowd control. But when the young star reached out to me...

...I knew that he did really not want be in this low budget film. That no one had told him that he would be doing his own stunts. There were about 100 men (yes, males) standing around him... not participating. I wanted to know who was inflicting this on him. Then i saw her.

I wanted a better look. A woman, not more than 26 years old, was beating the crap (or the robbery) out of this man.

Look at her hand! What had the man done? snatched her phone. In normal circumstances, a woman would scream for help. Not this one. This woman ran after the boy, through traffic, and caught up with him.

I did not stick long enough to know what happened. Usually, such scenes end with this...I have seen one end like that and that is one thing i still wish i had never watched.

Off i went to look for the American...

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

3 Sept 2008

Wordless Wednesday

...well, not exactly.

I opened by blog and thought... I have nothing that has inspired me as a Wordless Wednesday post.

I went for lunch at Yaya, a mall near my office and came across this:

I guess when needs must..

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

Partying Gothic

In a couple of weeks, i turn a quarter of a century. It feels like just the other day, I was doing this

No, i was not drowning, I was trying to have a birthday party - by the pool. It did not occur to me that alcohol and pools do not mix, or if you really have to, then you need to make sure that your guests are natural floaters.

Yep, that is what I'm talking about. Buoyancy. Space for me to enjoy my party without having to jump into a pool now and then to save some stupid drunk. I suddenly think that Phelps
learnt his trade by attending pool parties. If he had pool parties like that one of mine, say 5 years in a row, that man had no choice but to be the best at it. I think that was his driving force. His Aphrodite. I'm tempted to think this was his mental image

I was tempted to have another pool party this year, with the exception of the water. That thought had a lifespan of about 10 seconds before i got this thought flash

Ok, not what i want to deal with. Would rather find this in my pool. Easier on the mind...though kinda harsh on the eye.

So I decided to have a Goth party. After all, i came into this world crying and shit. I'm talking about those people that think that "American Gothic" is a portrait . I figured that I'd have some Emo kids over, that way, they'd sit around, crying and hating life and not keep asking me where the drinks are. And if i get a power black-out like in my last party, I would not run around sourcing for generator. They are happy just embracing the darkness, being in their element.

I have learnt thought that my party is being referred to as a big 'Haunt'. This is the explanation i was given by Andrew Eldritch.

A Haunt is limited from one to four, because that's the number that can sit in an apartment room or middle sized dorm without crowding, or the number that can creepycrawl an abandoned building without startling the ghosts or arousing outside security (if they're careful), or the number of goths who you can call your best friends and who haunt your heart forever.

But that was corrected immediately after by Zac, who insisted that that would be Dearth. More than thirteen, more than you can count when your head is spinning from one too many Sampoerna Xtras and that last snakebite you had. Hope you're not on medication. Nightclubs always have a dearth of Goths. You should remember Zac from MmmBop. I heard that that was their fall from goth. That one song.

I think this is what i will get in my house on that day

..or not. I think these ones are called Scientologists. Or Joseph Smith-ers. Can never tell the diference really.

My biggest worry is that the kids I'm having over are so goth, they get hit on by necrophiliacs. I don't want those people in my house. Not really, not really, no. I mean this kids are so goth that nuns hate them for having garments that are blacker than theirs. I hear it's called 'Black Black' and they spend hours deciding what shade of that Black Black they should wear, then complain that those blacks don't match. These are people who did not cry for the soother when they were babies - they mourned. They only used black crayons, and their first words were 'death'.

Whichever the case, what could possible go wrong when hanging out with a bunch of kids of just want to die? Any disaster would be welcome relief for them. They will probably cry throughout the party at how much 'fun' is being had. After all, don't they dot their i's with frowny smileys and called a smiley smile an 'inverted smile'?

I do know that they are baking me this cake though.

By the way, i invited Phelps to the party, and told him the theme. Guy asked if he can show up dressed in this...

Told him no. He insisted it was black. Spent a couple of hours trying to explain the difference between gay and goth.

More goths are partying

2 Sept 2008


Being the liberal open-minded person that I am (claim to be), I set out to finding once and for all, whether I was all-the-way straight or half-bent… as that would be the opposite. Might as well before waking up one day, hubby, 2.5 kids, a dog and picket fence years down the line, only to discover that I love of the feminine body feel, apart from mine, of course. I do have my fights as to why one group that adheres to a certain sexual conduct is called straight. I mean straight, as an adjective, denotes perfect, upright, undiluted, neat, pure, and my personal least favorite, unadulterated. Which goes not so far as to imply that the other no-so-popular group of individuals have to contend with the antonyms of the above oh-so glorious titles. Anyway, that is a fight I'll pick one day…

Did I like it? Yes …and No.

Yes, I loved the exquisiteness and marvel of the female body. The susceptible dip below the jawbone; that tender spot between the collarbone and the shoulder blade… that yielding part that if you looked really hard at, you would see the rhythmical beating of the heart…the gentle rise of the breasts, the swell of their fullness topped by the leisurely hardening nipples, begging, craving for attention, beseeching the tongue to skim over the tops, if only to lick, or even to brush gently with the thumb…The persuasive way that the breasts mold up, defying the rest of the body, jutting forward to proudly declare that they need consideration. And then the deep sigh I elicit when my palms enclose their full mold, encompass them in my hand and gently fondle, caress, squeeze and stoke. As my hand plays havoc with the little of senses that the fabulous and exciting mold has left, if any, my tongue sucks, nibbles, blows, and flicks over the other one. The underside of the arms, those covert places that respond to that ever so slight feather touch. And then lower along her sides, by the ribs so lightly patterned. Then move lower to the stomach, to the ever so elusive but wondrous navel, to the side where the definition of femininity resides - the moderate curve of the hips. And as she bends her knees - probably to receive more, probably because she can't stay still, or probably because it is a conditioned reflex that is directly proportional to the amount of pleasure that she is getting – exposing that inside of the thigh that is hardly ever seen. That silky-smooth skin that is kept hidden and secret, that which only the fingers, and sometimes the tongue knows the feel of. And then to view comes the sleek triangle, the invitation to veiled pleasures lower below. And past the triangle, draws closer the tiny bundle of nerves that by now is so hard it is on the verge of exploding. The legs that were bent are no apart, the pink opening leading to the dark delightful enclave, inviting, tempting, daring like the little mould, enticing, beguiling, appealing, engaging, tantalizing, and ah! wanting…I have not even gone beyond to the those places behind the knees, the curve of the calves, the supple skin below the ankles, the soles, the heels, the toes…

No, I still missed the masculine feel, the sinew muscles as they flexed with each move he makes; the swell of his arms as he stretches them forth to all parts of my body, catching every single cell unaware yet deftly pleasuring. Then the taut impression of his chest, those firm hard nipples that tighten with every touch of my fingers… the feel of him as he moves atop of me, his breath on my skin, taunting my pores to open to reception. The roughness of his chin as it scrapes on my chest, nipples, my stomach and lower still. His washboard flat stomach, down under to the aching maleness…and finally, as he pries me open, and drives home…not even a thousand dildo's and all other invented toys come close to the sensation I get when he fillls me, as my muscles relax to accommodate the size of him alive inside me, then the contraction of the same muscles as he thrusts purposefully in and out of my warmth…

Have to go, will continue tomorrow...(you know i wont)


This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

Of Birwatching Grooms

Reposted...from Feb 2007

Haven't talked for a while… well, things been happening, and not really happening at the same time. I feel like I've been progressing, only to look back and feel like I've going under, and since I my eyes are still above the ground, I do not notice that my depth of field is getting smaller**

DVP (Danish Viking Prince) left for Uganda, for what is meant to be a month. Meant to be since he happened to mention in passing that he got himself 2 months visa. Now, I have no problem with the freedom he enjoys at being away (sounds like he is trying to get fresh air away from me… I swear it's not like that!!), but for a guy who is going to be gone from me for the next one and half or so years….

He loves the outdoors, no sweat, but Kenya is known for its great outdoor too!! And I'm always happy to relinquish the love-hold (mmmh) for my partner's hobbies and interest. I mean, he has threatened to leave me at the altar…. hold on, I'm jumping way ahead of myself here. Let me start well…

He is a birdwatcher. Not the 'Oh-look-what-a-cute-little-bird-that-is!' kind of birdwatcher. He is the 'That's-the –Seychelles-Magpie-Robin- (Copsychus sechellarum)-only-178-of-them-in-the-world-as-of-2005…' kind of birdwatcher. The kind that will leave bed at 5am to watch the birds, the kind that will be kissing you then whisper 'Beautiful' and I'll be smiling with all the adoration and he will say ' Not you, the Rose-breasted Grosbeak on that tree' and even 'oh' will be too much a word for me to say then. The kind that once told me a story of a birdwatcher who left his own wedding to go see a rare that rarer bird that had just been spotted. The said groom had to choose between being in his wedding read- risk loosing his future wife, and go see some f-ing (personal feeling) bird.

The fact that he could identify with the said groom's predicament made me shiver… down to my last nerve ending! He could what? See what a tough decision the man had to make? Mmmh. So that's here the altar leaving threat came in. And, being the woman that I am, the one who does not let anything – not even a double breasted cuckoo (if that's what's it's called) get in way of my happyness (tells you I've watched a movie recently). So I vowed, to him, that if ever we get married, No one in the wedding hall (or whatever we get married in) will have a cell phone. If I have to pay a bouncer to perform a body-search at the entrance and confiscate all cellphone..or any other type of communicating gadget, so be it! And if that is not enough, the wedding will be held in he remotest of islands where not even smoke signals, echos across hills or even drum beats work.. He got the picture alright. And to drive the point home, as we watched Apolcalypto, I thought, ' couldn't get a more perfect setting for my wedding…if I indeed end up with the DVP.

I realize that I have talked a lot about wedding… funny. Thing is, I don't even know if I want one.. with him or any one else. I mean, every time I see a wedding dress (and I'm not talking about those that make you look like you're about to defy gravity and use it as an air balloon for your honeymoon destination) and look like the tailor had nothing else to do with all the yards of laces in his shop), I want to be in one. Walk up the isle (I'm pretty sure brides walk up the isle and I'm ready to argue that out.). Other times, I just thing, what an effing cliche! The wedding doe not mean that you are going to keep your vows more seriously, love each other more...

Gotta go now.. stolen enough company time.. not that I feel guilty or anything- I mean, who bothers when I spend my lunch hours working?

**depth of field: the distance between the clearest and discern-able object and the eye. Used in filming. Basically.. how much can the eye see that is not blurred?.. that is your DOF (don't quote me though, I caught the teacher at the door when I was walking into that class.)

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

Memoirs of a Non-Danish Princess...

Everything has an end; especially those that you never want to. Like a nice long holiday in one of the world's most beautiful islands, or a candlelit dinner by the beach with the waves lapping gently on the reefs and the shores, like making love in the calmness of the ocean in the middle of the night, and seeing a shooting start just then…being so excited that you forget to wish on it.

I had promised a day to day update on what happened, and now as I think about it, it's flooding back as memories, and I'm tearing. Think lying snuggled in bed next to the love of your life, as the sun rays stream through the curtains and fill the room with tiny crisscrossing beams of light on the walls. And all you feel is magic. Your heart beating, beating for the love you feel then, that particular moment when nothing matters apart from the two of you on that bed. And you treasure each second because you know, one day, all that will be a memory.

One that you know you will play back over and over in your head until you can't stand it anymore. One that you know, one day that is all you'll ever have to look into. And one day is now; it is this minute, this hour, today. It will be tomorrow, next week, and the next months to come. I'm clutching at memories, even the tiniest. Those that I never thought would count. Like looking up from a book and finding those gray pools of love staring at me, then those fabulously full lips break into a smile. That lasted about 2 seconds, I forgot all about it 3 seconds later. Now, days, months later, I have dug into the deepest crevice of my brain and retracted that episode. That is what is putting me to bed every night; what is making me get out of bed and face the day, knowing that in the evening, I will have to go back to that lonely cold bed. I have gone through all the time we spent together. And I mean all. Fighting, laughing, talking, joking, crying, almost-breaking up, saying goodbye very early in the morning to Uganda, picking him at the airport, picking him at the bus station, traveling to a tucked away ranch, cooking our first dinner there, sunbathing in the natural pool naked, making love in the open, taking pictures, him attacking a tree stump, him injured, me having to pull out splinters from his blood-flooding leg, him to hospital, cooking together at home, diners at an Ethiopian restaurant, coffee, snuggling on the couch, watching movies at the cinema, drinks at the pub, football matches, bus ride to Dar es salaam, forgotten passport, first night in hot hot hot hot Dar, sweating profusely on the bed as we fought for air, making love in the heat and gasping for breath afterwards.

I getting sea sick on the ferry, overrated restaurant that took forever to serve food, which was cold when it arrived, fans switched off at 1 am in a hotel min Zanzibar and having to switch hotels at 2 am after 1 hour argument with the caretaker (one I should actually forget), trudging through Stone Town with our backpacks and him sweating so much that you could wring the sweat from the shirt. I rejecting one hotel after the other, him holding on the last possible shreds of his patience, getting to a cozy hotel, overcharged since the owner saw the weariness in our faces –worth it though. Drinking Funky Monkeys that tasted like shit (not that I know how that tastes)Being overcharged at the car to the beach, making love in the beach hotel for the first night, fighting about something I cannot remember, making love some more, pregnancy scare, diner by the beach front, making love in the water at night and during the day, him lying on the hammock- tanning, him looking at me from across the table, then bending ever so slowly towards me, kissing me so softly, so tenderly.

And my heart skipping a beat…just then.

Switching hotels since we loved the beach so much and had run out of money, and had to look for one which takes credit cards. Our last day in Zanzibar beach and Stone Town, our last night in Dar, and our 24 hour journey from Dar to Nairobi! Me in hospital waiting for my biopsy, him looking down at me after my biopsy as I struggle to fight the anesthesia as he kisses me ever so sweetly.

The last night before he left, making love- feeling like a virgin after the biopsy… me folding his shirts to fit into his backpack, crying all the while, crying some more all the way to the airport in the morning, crying too much I have to leave. I walking away, pausing, turning back, him waving, last memory. One that is to last me till maybe, December.

Now blank.

With many more that I have not included, not that they were not worth remembering, but because I simply cannot state all of them.

He is my Danish Viking Prince. My Gentle Storm. My Boyfriend. My Lover. My Bestfriend.

I miss him.

I love him.

Blogged in April 2007.

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

28 Aug 2008

I want out

They say tears clean up your heart and its good to cry. It is good to cry when you choose to cry. but what about when you don't even want to? what about when they just flow?

What about when you have cried and cried and you have nothing left and still your heart pours out? The dryness of what it leaks is what drives you to the abyss of rage so deep you want to ran away? Where do you run to? How do you get away from yourself? How do you live with you if you are fed up with you? What about then the darkness in your heart is so great you need a solar system so show you round you feelings? What if those feelings are the ones that hurt most and you cannot kick them out as easy as they walked in?

What about when you are scared of your own mind? what if being there is what makes you want to tear out your gorge out your eyes?? What if every thought is a sharp knife that is continuously driven into you guts, twisted, turned, wrenched and driven back in again?

Where do you go if your mind is one place you'd rather not be? What do you do if the person you are, the one you are becoming is the one person you want to take out? What if the person who is being you, the person you are being - you cannot handle? Because that person will not listen to reason and you have no strength to talk to that person anymore?

What if you are loosing control of you?

What then?

27 Aug 2008

Hail to the Prince (Prt 1)

I got an email from an avid reader who happens not to have a blog (so cannot link him) who asked who this DVP I talk about is. I told him that DVP is the man in my life, the guy who makes this angel love being on earth and love the fact that she did fall in the first place. I thought of referring him to earlier posts, but decided to generous and share the story.

So here goes the fairy tale. All true.

Not a long time ago, not so much in the heart of Africa- more like in the arm of Africa - there fell petite angel of about 5 feet. Where she had come from, she had been a delight to everyone who met her and a constant source of laughter. Her cheekiness was known over the the clouds of heaven. Sadly, her trusting nature was abused within years of her falling. The inhabitants of her new dwellings were lying to her, being mean to her, and taking advantage of her really helpful, sweet and forgiving nature. slowly by slowly, the laughter in her eyes began to dwindle, the smile began to fade, and her playfulness subsided.

She grew very unhappy and wanted to go back to where she came from. Unfortunately, that was not possible. She had to stay on until her mortal being grew old, the iniquities of having fallen had been cleaned away and her soul had gone back to being the angel that fell about 2 decades ago. She learnt that it was up to her to make her stay here a happy one and even more so fulfilling. She hated it, threw a BF. She cursed, ranted and raved, no one cared. She met a human, who was different from her. Other humans like him were called 'boys'. She liked this particular one, but after a while she discovered he was not the one to make her life happier. However, she figured that another one of those 'boys' was destined to be the one that made her very happy. Humans called that boy 'the one'. In her Angel World, that boy was the other side of her. He was the part of her that not only kept her jolly, he took over when she was too tired, both mentally and physically. It dawned on her on after 2 decades that her other half had been dropped. What they had failed to tell her is that that is the sole reason she had been sent over - to look for her half. The process of being dropped caused one to lose earthly time and this could mean that her 'one' had arrived either before or after her. Dark Angel did her research, and found out that her 'one' could have fallen 10 or so earth years before her. She was 100% sure that he had no fallen after her. Her quest was set - to look for that 'boy' and start the path to going back home.

To be continued..

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

Crown jewels chopped

Not those ones. The Brits can go back to bed. Those are still standing. intact. working. and doing whatever crown jewels do when they are not on the head. or giving head.

Other crown jewels.More important ones. Royal in their own special way. Unique some might even say. But 'some' say a lot of things.

I agree it's a rite of passage, and maybe the men need to go through at least some kind of a painful experience, maybe to equate it to something close to childbirth. Though this point is redundant for those who undergo it during birth, which I think is a mothers freudian way of getting back at the boy on behalf of all the women's lives his willy is going to mess up.

So what happens when this well intentioned rite of passage becomes a horror of passage? I know the men right now have stopped scrolling and are holding them goods tightly. The knife slipped, and the tip cut off by mistake...they said. It's hard and brave enough to let anything sharp come close your bag o' goodies... and then it slips? Not good. Mistake. Never a good word to use. An even worse word to use is 'might not work'...

Daddy dearest, one who took his boy to this ceremony (wonder if they still look at it as that), said that he had 'Learnt a bitter lesson'. You think, daddy?? It's the effing boy's manhood that was 'accidentally' cut and 'might not work' whe he finally needs it and you think you leanrt a bitter lesson? Pray, do tell. which? Yours is still intact!!! So he might be able to pee. Thank heavens for small mercies. Really small since now they have been chopped off.

Oh, and he is not suing! His boy, at 16 has just been rendered useless (not saying that men don't have other uses... I'm just having a hard time listing them) and he is not suing??

I'd be suing over here

14 Aug 2008

IgNobel awards for useless research

Scientists at St Andrews University hit the headlines after announcing a study into the reasons why people blush.

Experiments will include asking volunteers to suck a baby's bottle, and to sing the national anthem in front of friends or strangers.

But if that sounds weird, it's nothing compared with some of the more outlandish studies academics around the world have dreamed up to pass the time.

Some of the most unusual have even picked up prizes for their wackiness. The Ig Nobel Awards are given to those which "make people laugh and then think".

Here's 10 other studies which left the rest of us scratching our heads for all the wrong reasons.


New York-based food psychologist Dr Brian Wansink is known for his quirky research methods into our eating habits, but this was his high point.

By feeding people tomato soup from bowls with hidden tubes that kept them filled, he found people would eat 73 per cent more than they would otherwise, but they wouldn't feel any more full.


After realising that very little research had been carried out into sword-swallowing, radiologist Dr BrianWhitcombe set about interviewing nearly 50 practitioners of the art.

He concluded injuries were rare and a sore throat was only likely when learning, repeating performances frequently or using odd-shaped or multiple swords.


We've all been there. You take your hamster on holiday only to find the poor creature is jet-lagged when you arrive.

Now scientists from Argentina have an answer - stick some Viagara in its water. They found one dose of the impotence drug helped the animals recover from jet-lag twice as fast. The research might sound comical, but it does raise the question of whether Viagara could have the same effect on humans.


Chances are you've never wondered why a piece of dry spaghetti will break into three rather than two pieces.

But it was keeping some scientists in Paris awake at night, so they started conducting experiments using a high-speed camera and plenty of pasta.

They concluded the initial break created shock waves leading to more breaks.


We all know a woodpecker without a beak is called a headbanger but, for some boffins at the University of California, the more important question was why the birds never got a headache.

So they set about examining the creature's cranium, and found that it works like a perfect shock absorber, with muscles contracting a millisecond before every strike to cushion the impact.


It's only in our more questionable dreams that we would think about doing this. It would also be natural to assume that the goo would make swimming harder.

But two researchers at the University of Wisconsin weren't so sure, so they filled a pool with a food-thickening agent and timed swimmers to see how they got on.

The goo didn't make the swimmers any slower as they could push harder against it. That could be worth remembering the next time you're being pursued through a vat of syrup.


Picture the scene. You're a handsome Aussie sheep-shearer who has to move your stubborn ewe to the right spot so you can get at that wool. What do you do?

Thankfully, a team of Antipodean researchers have the answer. They looked at everything from wood to plastic to wire mesh, and eventually concluded that dragging a sheep across a sloping wooden floor with the boards running parallel to the direction of the drag required the least force.


Neuroscientists in Barcelona found rats can't understand Dutch or Japanese sentences played to them backwards.

The startling revelation came after 64 rats were trained to press a lever when they heard either of the languages played forwards. When played backwards, the rats had no idea what was going on.

The study was to explore the way in which languages are acquired by the brain.


There's nothing worse than a flat pint, but how long can you leave beer before the froth disappears?

That was the question answered by German physicist Arnd Leike, who proved that beer froth follows the mathematical law of exponential decay.

He used three different beers, measuring the amount of froth 15 times over a period of six minutes.

Leike claimed the experiment was aimed at helping his students understand how to test their theories, although he admitted to drinking the beer afterwards.


It's difficult to tell when a clam is depressed. They don't have trouble sleeping, they don't get emotional and they don't have a short temper.

So you wouldn't imagine that giving them Prozac would have much of an effect. But US scientist Peter Fong had other ideas.

He fed the anti-depressant to fingernail clams and zebra mussels, and, while he never found out if they cheered up, he did manage to jump-start their reproductive behaviour.

A while back, I did post this on Australian Scientists....enjoy!

stolen from Daily Record UK.

Where do there scientists hang out?

A dose of my favourite stand-up comedian

10) "Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream." —LaCrosse, Wis., Oct. 18, 2000

9) "I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family." —Greater Nashua, N.H., Jan. 27, 2000

8) "I hear there's rumors on the Internets that we're going to have a draft." —second presidential debate, St. Louis, Mo., Oct. 8, 2004

7) "I know the human being and fish can coexist peacefully." —Saginaw, Mich., Sept. 29, 2000

6) "You work three jobs? … Uniquely American, isn't it? I mean, that is fantastic that you're doing that." —to a divorced mother of three, Omaha, Nebraska, Feb. 4, 2005

5) "Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country." —Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004

4) "They misunderestimated me." —Bentonville, Ark., Nov. 6, 2000

3) "Rarely is the questioned asked: Is our children learning?" —Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000

2) "Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we." —Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004

More stand-up comedians target="_blank">here

13 Aug 2008

Cartoon sex

Other artists hang out here

If I Were A Sport...

You Are Boxing

You are assertive, strong, and downright aggressive.

You have the power to demolish your opponent...

And you have the endurance to make sure the job is finished.

Stole the idea from Amy

This Angel would have fallen worse had she been here

Wordless Wednesday #3 - A Zimbwabe Cheque

More cheques coming your way

What Happens...

Life is what you wish you had but you don't. It is what you see from a far and yearn for, or in some cases, actually pursue it diligently, if only to have a taste of what you think other out there might be enjoying. Life wheezes pass you like that cab that won't stop when you hail, but will not hesitate to splash muddy waters on you on the pavement. And as you watch it speed away, you realize that you have just been dealt a very bad hand, and lady luck has retired, not for the night, but for the decade. Every morning on my way to work, I'm forced to stare outside the car window for long (long is used loosely as this could stand for 2 – 5 minutes) and sometimes, I do actually pay attention. Sometime last week, I observed, really observed. I become aware of a small pickup truck that I meet with at around the same time every day. It's a very nondescript car, and you are likely to ignore it. What made me notice it were the chickens in the back. The owners have constructed a mesh cage and horizontally divided in into two, thus making a double storied kind of cage. They pack chickens – hybrid broilers / or old layers on their way to the slaughters house – that is my assumption – in these two stories. The chickens sit quietly, almost demurely, as if cognizant of what awaits them.

Is this any different from my journey to work? Do the chickens also look at me and feel that fore boarding sense of worry and pity towards me? Do they look at me with their tiny beady eyes and wonder whether I know what awaits me, what the day that the night worked behind the veil of darkness to so deftly craft hold for me? Douglas Adams almost convinced me that mice do run earth. In one of these traffic snarls, my house mate and I got into a conversation, well more of a speculation about Mice and Cockroaches. I will give them first Caps as this will somehow recognize their yet-to-be-proved dominance. Cockroaches will be the only surviving living things on the planet when we finally fry ourselves up with UV rays and other cosmic rays and their off springs, radioisotopes. And we wondered, is there a scientific research, maybe in the USA, or Russia or even Japan, to make a replica of the cockroaches shell for humans to wear protectively, when we can no longer make higher SPF's? And Mice actually do run the universe; that every little thing we do, no matter how ingenious is orchestrated by Mice. Which is what got me wondering to my housemate in the car, what of the mice that scientists conduct research on? He thought that those were the prisoners or pariahs of the Mice kingdom, and being subjects of us lowly brained beings is their punishment. I thought he had a point. Imagine the lowest animal you can think of on earth, actually, expand your thinking, in the universe. Now imagine you being condemned to be the subject of its meaningless research.

What I fail to understand is why you would allow yourself to be one of the dirtiest animals on earth, especially if you controlled Earth. I mean, look at all the advancement we have thereof. Even in my pea sized brain (I'm looking at my brain from a Mice Point of view); I would surely want to be a greater animal. It's like God choosing to send Jesus as a pig to rescue the human race. I would call that very bad mathematics. Anyway, he had a point, if far fetched at that! We could be controlled by the lowest form of life without our knowledge. Apparently even dolphins had a revelation of what the world was headed into (notice I said what not where), and have been trying to tell us for years. Can't blame me, and other human forms for not listening. Their language is harder than Danish. And take it from me, Danish is not a language, it's a advanced form of galactic medley of confusion (Sorry Hunny, you can kill me later, you know how best)

Happens that religion can explain most things and hence rest our troubled minds as to why we exist. Science can also do that. Big Bang is where the two meets. They fight to differ, and to me, the harder they fight the more similar they get. Like an old married couple. Think about it, if an old married couple to us is along the lines of 10 years to 60years (life expectancy limits the bracket), what about centuries, and still forced to co-habit in the same house (read Earth), deal with the same kids (read Humans) century after century? I'm not a fan of religion. I was born into one. And somewhere along the way I felt like a groupie on some really confused rock band. I got the concept of what religion tried to do, but I saw it fail. Then I wondered why I was in the religion I professed to be in. I got one answer; because I was born into it.

When I really thought about it, I decided to get off the bandwagon and watch from the sidelines. I think this is when I should confess that my not so favourite pastime is thinking, and worrying. About things like; are there homeless children in Alaska, whether the ant that I stepped on accidentally this morning knew that it was going to die today, and if so, it say a proper goodbye to its family, (I worry about that with humans too) whether my pal knew her mother would be dead this time last year, and if so, what would she have done differently, whether I will celebrate my 30th birthday...anyway, that was not the line of thought I was going to follow in this blog.

You believe in the religion you believe in because you (your soul, your nature) cannot accept that death is finality. There has to be something more, otherwise, why do we bother living, why not kill ourselves and get over with. Well, I think suicide bombers have got that covered. That is why we go through the motions of life, because we have given ourselves reasons to, because we humans need justifications, reasons and answers in to Why, which when married to How , breeds very naughty children, namely, When, Where, and the twins, What and Who. We then devote our lives to finding answers, fighting about it, and proving the dominant faith and downplaying the rest.

Are the dolphins really that cleaver they might actually have something to say that if we do not heed to, will lead us to dire straits? If we stopped cutting into Mice and just observed them, would we learn something valuable and hence settle the Ultimate Question? I bet if I were to choose an animal, I would pick Ants. Sorry I know they are not animals... for animals I would pick the pig, for its celebrated orgasmic capabilities. But then, I figured that the only thing I have to worry about in this life is living to the ultimate satisfaction in everything I do, as I don't know what awaits me ahead, and if I spent too much time worrying, fighting and arguing about it, I'll lose on the best things.

Busy as I may claim to be enjoying the best of things, I do worry though; I'm still human, no matter how hard I fight it. Do I worry about religion? Yes. Why? Because it was ingrained in me from the day I learnt the difference between the beauty of fire from a far and the beauty of fire on my fingers. And just when I convince myself that I have safely crossed to the other side without the proverbial troll riding and digging deep into my back, it sinks it claws, from whatever end of my body it was hanging on to. But then I have that special innate ability to be stubborn, even unto myself. Don't' forget that other special gift of not being able to concentrate on anything for more than the time my brain will allow. It selective on what it really wants to concentrate on and there is nothing I can do about that, in this case, thankfully!

Making excuses is not my specialty. But I do like listening to them and wondering how best I would have put it, were it left to me. And by gawd, I would have an excuse for everything in the universe, and to me, everything interconnects. By some cosmic power of pulling elements towards the centre of the earth, all things hurtle towards each other, like the Bermuda Triangle, only at a slower pace. Religion, politics, relationships, business, war... all of it. It's all to satisfying so sort of deficient.

A quest by the human race to prove something to each other, to themselves. Unexplainable does not mean inexplicable. Just because something is unexplainable does not mean that paranormal forces must have been involved, only that we haven't found the explanation for it yet. I could start a whole school of thought and argument with true and untrue theories in accordance with that statement, but I'm not that inspired today. Take it as it is, mull over it in your sleep.

Living without knowing what you are here for, what your purpose in life is, where you are headed is frustrating. Which is why we have higher stress levels that any other living organism. That elevated stress level of animals, say a chimp will be to find it's tree cut down, or it's favorite spot occupied by a pride of lions. Why don't you try for a change, just not think about anything? Live today like you don't have another day like this. Actually, you don't. Today is never a continuation of yesterday, and neither will it ever be a prelude to tomorrow. Different entities, like you and your parents or siblings. You are related, but you are not the extension of any of your family, not even your twin. Think of the days septets, their mother being the week they fall in, their father the month. In the end you will have a father that has 4 wives, and each has 7 kids. Now take 11 more families like that and you have a clan called Year. The only relationship they have? Association by marriage, birth, nothing more.

This blog was not about religion, life, etc. It was about nothing really. It was my weird way of trying to prove something. Now as you were busy reading this, you failed to notice that the first words of every paragraph formed a sentence: Life Is What Happens When You Are Busy Making A Living. Get my drift?

Orignally posted on http://blog.myspace.com/darkangelme on Nov, 6th 2007.

Wordless Wednesday #2

Bottle opener gifts I don't want for Christmas

Though you can get me something from here here

Wordless Wednesday #1

I'm inspired

And more inspiration here

Why I'm not sending my son to Boy Scout

Boy Scouts Letter to Mom & Dad --

Dear Mom and Dad,

Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw
the flood on TV and are worried. We are okay. Only one of our
tents and two sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us
got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for
Adam when it happened.

Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay. He
can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the
search and rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found
Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.

Scoutmaster Keith got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone
without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was
during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know
that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up?

The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some
of our clothes. Jimmie is going to look weird until his hair
grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Keith gets the bus
fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked
okay when we left. Scoutmaster Keith said that with a bus that
old you have to expect something to break down; that's probably
why he can't get insurance.

We think it's a neat bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty and
if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the fenders. It gets
pretty hot with 45 people in a bus made for 24. He let us take
turns riding in the trailer until the highway patrol man stopped
and talked to us.

Scoutmaster Keith is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good
driver. In fact, he is teaching Jessie how to drive on the
mountain roads where there isn't any cops. All we ever see up
there are logging trucks.

This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and
swimming out to the rapids. Scoutmaster Keith wouldn't let me
because I can't swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because
of his cast, it's concrete because we didn't have any plaster,
so he let us take the canoe out. It was great. You can still see
some of the trees under the water from the flood.

Scoutmaster Keith isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't
even get mad about the life jackets. He has to spend a lot of
time working on the bus so we are trying not to cause him any

Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When
Andrew dived into the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a
tourniquet works.

Steven and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Keith said it probably
was just food poisoning from the leftover chicken. He said they
got sick that way with food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he
got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out
how to get things done better while he was doing his time. By
the way, what is a pedal-file?

I have to go now. We are going to town to mail our letters and
buy some more beer and ammo. Don't worry about anything. We are
fine and tonight it's my turn to sleep in the Scoutmaster's tent.



Scoutmaster Keith spends his nights here

8 Aug 2008

What I Want

Such a thing as you is heat that sends my wanting, and me with barely a taste, but to imagine a touch of the divine warmth. One word, less a talk of attraction and it's prevailing want is flown in me. The thought of being wrapped in you quickens me…pulls all my attentions to that end. To the illusions of you pressed and pushing, a flooding of two, too close, and trying for more…the heat pours and pulses, pushes quickens.

You say burnt out? Only, perhaps, momentarily in the afterglow of you laid out…and…with patient touch…felt, freely…tasted…teased, and then…the headfirst tip into that fires slow burn. Intertwined the delights dance with anticipations flicker. Then…worked for…pushed and pounded at, realized by the fanning breath of feeling expectation realized…explodes into now. Hearts opened, the desires wet realization soothing the flames want-full heat, for…perhaps…a moment. Before the pull of that friction starts to turn with the promise of that cleansing and consuming flame.

I want you to leave me breathless. And not even be aware that I had been holding my breath. Then in my mind’s eye I will see it, I will see you but I dare not and will will myself to not see... us. And my heartbeat will quicken, so much so that I will fear that others will hear it, start to notice that my chest is rising and falling, not ever-so-gently, but with movements that could only come from excitement deep within places untold.

I will feel a spark ignite, falter, unsure at first, holding back… yet I will feel its warmth, willing to be let out, wishing to explore, wanting, needing. Then fell the warmth develop to a bigger ember, deep within my stomach and spreading...fast. Wonder whether I should fight it, or let it stretch, let it become a wildfire, that would be unstoppable, that would consume everything on its way that would leave me quenched, fulfilled and satiated. But the strength to fight it is what will elude me, or maybe I just won't want to.

All I will want is to keep this need to feel, to have, to know. I will dare not look at the aftermath, dare not think what comes next. I will want to bask in that heat that you speak of…the heat that I feel, the heat that burns the deepest parts of me, the heats that leaves me wanting, craving, writhing in want to be filled, to be possessed, deep, over and over again, and then left dizzy and spinning. I will want not know where it ends and where it begins, where chocolate meets vanilla and only want to know of when all is visible is one; one that moves in unison, giving, taking, receiving, filling, pleasing, pleasuring immensely, incomprehensibly.