Monday Moods and Mad Men

August 22,2016.

TIME: 1336 HOURS

I have just come from lunch, where my stomach has involuntarily been subjected to burnt and undercooked ‘pilau’ and a labyrinthine mixture of french beans, carrots, peas and potatoes. It pains me to the core of my bone marrow, that I have had to pay the Mama from the land of chegets (jackets) and kuthogana, 200 shillings for that misdemeanor of a meal.

😒😒😒😒

While I would like very much to sulk over the fact that that money could have bought me about ten nice (much needed) tops at Gikomba, there is already a giant pile of things fueling my Monday mood swings, so I’d rather not. I simple decide that the sun will have to turn blue before I go back there to eat.

On my way back to the office I have to cross some road, and as I do, some man that must have come straight from the devil’s ass, resolves that his life will crumble if he doesn’t exercise his asininity on me.

Temptation, Snooping And Other (Un)Related Things

Sometimes, when I am having a crappy day, like today, I prepare myself a strong cup of lemon coffee(a delight a certain geek friend of mine called Will introduced me to, one time when I had consulted him in a bid to reduce my program coding dumbness and evade an F,the grade.) and I sit and think about some of my life decisions and choices.

*Like why I strangely enjoy staying without undies while indoors, Bae or no Bae. It’s just a thing I enjoy. I don’t even know why. Feel free to judge, you PERFECTLY untainted creation of God.

*Or why I leave my room sometimes without a bra, not on purpose of course. I just forget. See whilst others were endowed with jugs, the Man Above deigned it fit to bestow upon me some teeny-tiny Barbie doll cups, that like Miss Pepper’s, don’t even touch. So I guess it’s okay really,for me to walk around bra-less, because no one would notice anyways.

*Also, I think about how I sit or stand, depending on the meal, (Omena for instance, always has me standing. I don’t care what Nyanchwani says. Omena is the real deal) and lick my cooking pans clean, right before I get down to what I have served myself, which in most cases is enough to feed Shrek, together with all his ancestors and descendants.

I don’t even know where I am going with this, but what I do know, is that Satan is the shitiest person I know. I swear he tempts you in the craziest of ways and makes you question your sanity and everything you stand for. As I type this, he is currently frustrating every webpage reload and button click that I have tried to use to log out of Bae’s Facebook account on the next tab. I have been at it for about ten years and nothing seems to be working. Okay, it’s only been a couple of minutes but it’s taking so long it feels like years. I can picture him with his ugly horns and tail,and his stupid arrow going round my head saying,

“Come on…hit that inbox icon. You know you wanna…You know you wanna…”

 

And he’s right. I REALLY wanna. I wanna hit that inbox so bad, I’m beginning to sweat just trying to resist. It literally feels like the icon is calling me to it, seducing me like that Proverbs 7:10 woman. Like it will give me a year’s supply of Oreos just as long as I click on it. I am beginning to feel a tension fart boiling up somewhere in my rec. I’m in a tough situation for sure, because believe me when I say that Olivia Pope has nothing on me when it comes to Information Sourcing. Well, other people call it snooping but I am Luo. Everything about us is exotic, and that includes the words we use. But that’s besides the point.

The point is,

EASTER.The Death Of Christ…And Of Honesty Too

I walked into a KFC in town on Good Friday,expecting to have the time of my life slurping on their to-die for ice cream. Seriously, their ice cream is out of this world. Isn’t any ice cream? They say you can’t buy happiness but you can buy ice cream and that’s pretty much the same thing 🙂 Anyway,fuck the ice cream today. What, or rather, who i ran into was ten thousand times better.

I was going up the entry stairs, taste buds tingly and all, and the first face i saw was of this guy who a couple of days ago had professed his undying, unwavering, undiluted and totally unshakable love for me, typical The Notebook style. He actually spent an hour’s worth airtime (and wasted a whole hour of my very busy life. An hour equals an episode of Empire plus breaks to snack and to go pee.Yes people. I have found a new series to spoil my eyes with and waste my life on. Only because the latest episode of Scandal is yet to be released.) passionately explaining to me how his life would disintegrate World War Z style if I rejected his relationship proposal.

Seeing as i had just realized that the guy I thought I had a serious thing with, was an idiotic scheming selfish imbecile of a tick, who only wanted me for tiny little errands that he had no time to do or was simply to proud to do, I had told dear Romeo that I just wasn’t ready to date, not just him, but any testosterone-bearing human.

The guy then went on a promising spree, swearing almost on the existence of the sun and the entire Milky Way that he didn’t care, and that he was in no rush to settle because I was the only one he wanted. Said he’d wait for me, and the only thing that would deter his wait would be the return of Jesus himself, and even then, he said he would hold my hand and walk through the Pearly gates of Heaven, or into the fiery furnace of hell, all depending on the way we had played out our lives. My efforts to tell him that it wasn’t necessary that he does so, were met with a grandeur speech, inclusive of statements like “I’ll wait for you Laura, I promise.” and “I ALWAYS keep my word” and “Please trust me.” LOL. Dude would have given Lupita a run for her Oscar.

Long story short, he was seated with some girl right at the table by the stairs, sipping his Krushers and fiddling playfully with her hair. He was also looking deep into her eyes, probably telling her that he does not need to look at the sky at night because the beautiful stars are right there in her eyes. Talking of eyes, mine and his met for a split second before I looked away and burst into a series of fits of laughter, almost tripping on the last stair.

Oh men. Most are all the same. All mouth and trousers and sometimes, not even trousers.

A Note To The Other Woman

He never leaves his Number One woman for the other woman. That, my friends, is the blunt truth. Forget Scandal and Mistresses. That shit only happens in movies.Normal men(and by normal I mean those who are not the President of the United States of America who can do whatever the heck he wants with whoever the heck he wants wherever the heck he wants and not have to give any heck of an explanation to anyone) would never abandon the woman who has stood by his side through thick and thin, sunshine and snow. Any sane man would never let go of a stable relationship/marriage that has stood the test of time for a new fling with lots of uncertainties that he is not really sure about. Consider it a practical application of the bird in hand is worth two in the bush theory.

The man will treat you (the other woman) right, say all the right things you’ve ever wanted to hear a man say to you. He will take you out on amazing dates and road trips but that will be just about it. You will never get to meet his parents or brothers or sisters or hang out with his inner circle of friends as his woman. Your meetings will always be in some far-away hideout or in some teeny-tiny motel or lodge in some hidden part of town. He will meet you, literally, and then be on his way. He will not want to cuddle or whisper sweet nothings in your ear after sex because he will be in a rush to get home to his number one woman. You will be darn lonely, and sad, most of the time. You will wish for and unfortunately,will not get more. See, the problem with being the other woman is that you are not special, not in any way. You are just a runner-up, you are second place. Or third. Or fourth. If he is a serial philanderer. And second place never won the prize honey. Who buys the cow if they can get the milk for free anyway?

Just know that he is never leaving her for you. He tells you he will, but only because he wants your mouth shut and your legs wide open. People will say just about anything as long as it gets them what( or who) they want. And on the day he gets caught you will probably receive a life threatening call from his woman giving you the ‘you-are-the-world’s-greatest-whore-and-you-deserve-nothing-short-of-hell-fire’ speech, and the man who swore he would never leave you even if the sky is falling down, will treat you like trash, wrap you in some filthy trash bag of excuses and dump you in the nearest available garbage can of oblivion, to be thrown away and forgotten.

There are exceptions, though, if you are as lucky and as half-blessed and gifted as Olivia Pope, or if the man is insane. Like Fitzgerald Grant (Google him for creep’s sake if you don’t know the man), who have probably gone off their rockers most probably because their bird has pooped in their hand long enough. I’m talking heavy shitty smelly poop here. Some are insane because they never really loved their number ones from the start, are insanely tired of living a lie and have fallen insanely in love with the other woman.

Such cases are very rare however, I’d measure the statistic as one in ten thousand. But who am I to tell you that you cannot be the lucky one among ten thousand? I’m just an ordinary girl with old boring thoughts and opinions. Nobody important really. So let me not rain on your parade. Go give it your best shot oh ye of greater divine luck,and keep your fingers crossed. It might take forever before he finally leaves her for you but don’t they teach us in school and everywhere else that patience pays? I mean it doesn’t really matter if the payment comes in form of bucket loads of tears and heartbreaks, yes? Let me not convince you otherwise therefore. YOLO, right?

Photo credit:www.mattlavery.com