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

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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

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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?

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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

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My sexy self

Get Your Sexy Name

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Me

I am a woman, a film producer, a sister, a daughter, and a girlfriend.

I tell myself that I can write, and the world seems to agree with me- the part of the world that read me anyway. I write my thoughts, some of which might note make sense. Scratch that. Most of which.

I live with the most incredible man; the best thing that has ever happened to me is having him in my life. We have two suicidal cats, Biggie and Blackie. Suicidal as they are always jumping off the window of our 3rd floor apartment. Biggie likes to remind us how much we love him by running away to the same house...we always find him.

I am obsessed with House MD and think Hustle is the most creative show.

I listen to anything that calls itself music.

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