The Lily Review » Lawrence’s Take

Bad Boy Meets Church Girl – Part 2

lawrence — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 06:00:45 +0000

Fourth Sunday was a prowling Sunday.

I have zero recollection of what the pastor shouted about on that day, and my wandering eye was met several times by frowns from other worshipers. Tim was helping with the search. Where was this girl?

Then I felt it. At the recesses of my manscience I felt it. She was nearby, close enough for me to see her, probably even touch her, but man I just couldn’t find her! I nudged Tim and told him to look closer, much closer.

Then I realized it. In my efforts at being a subtle hunter, I had totally forgotten to look right behind me. She had to be there. But how would I turn my head all the way round without my intentions being embarrassingly betrayed? I didn’t have to wait too long for an answer. The pastor currently proclaiming something or the other, while pacing back and forth on the podium, stopped on his tracks, and ordered all of us to stand up and greet our neighbors. I jumped up, probably a little too enthusiastically. To cover my tracks, I must have greeted at least seven people on my pew before I turned round to extend the blessings to my fellow Christians on the row behind. Brothers and Sisters I was right. She wasn’t ushering today. She was another worshipper just like me. A strikingly stunning, radiant and oh-Jesus-have-mercy sexy girl who seemed absolutely oblivious of the effect she had on the male universe.

It was time to invoke the lingering hand shake. This time she would have to notice my smile. This time she would look into my eyes and God save my soul if I did not manage get a response from her.

I didn’t.

Her smile was cordial, pretty much the same smile she was giving the rest of the congregation. She looked into my eyes but only for a split second before moving on to her next target. With no eye contact, a lingering hand shake would have been a tad awkward so I grudgingly let go. The old lady next to her, whose hand was fervently awaiting an exchange of blessings with me, would have to find another worshiper as I was done with greetings for the day.

I had to suffer the torment of utter impotence for the remainder of that service. Meanwhile I strategized and exchanged telepathic glances with Tim.

Tim: So what do you think bro?

Lawrence: Can’t do much in here. Have to wait until end of service.

Tim: And then what?

Lawrence: Not sure, but I will find a way.

Tim: You have great faith man. Pastor James would be proud.

Lawrence: When you live my life, faith, good looks and charm is all you have.

Tim: I feel you. All the best.

Lawrence: Thanks.

Two cruel hours followed and eventually the service was over. I remained sitted, deep in meditation on the risk I was just about to undertake. The nice old lady whose handshake I had just ignored was obviously someone very close to this girl. Judging from how frail she looked, my guess was that she was the girl’s grandmother. The sad fact was that the girl was happily holding the old lady’s hand, and it was clear she would not be letting go of that hand until they reached their destination.

I was not about to wait another week to officially meet this girl. It was time.

“Excuse me, uhm, I’m Sorry. I think Mum dropped this”

“Uh, I…I don’t think so. Mum is this yours?”

“What? No!”

“Oh, I found it right where you were sitted, I assumed it belonged to you”

“Sorry, it’s not ours but thanks”

Finally I got the smile I had been aching for!!

“It’s alright. Where do we take lost and found items? Uhm, I am new at the Church”

“Oh, welcome to our Church!” That was Granma.

“Thank you Mum. I feel blessed”

“Just go back in through the main door, on your left you will see a big basket, just drop it there”

“Thanks. I am sorry to disturb you Mum, have a blessed day”

“No problem Son. God bless you”

“You too. And thank you”

I looked at the girl when saying that last line; slowly, all I needed was three seconds of eye contact. And I got it.

“You are welcome”

And there was the smile again, and I could have sworn a slight blush too!!

The scarf belonged to Christine, Tim’s Wife. She wasn’t particularly amused by the thought of her scarf being brought into my Philandering ways, but then again she silently hopes that one day I meet a girl who will steal my heart, and put an end to the shenanigans. If the Scarf would help, she was in. Christine has a good heart.

In my line of work, we call that ‘an entrance’. Fifth Sunday would be ‘a foot in’.

Bad Boy meets Church Girl – Part 1

lawrence — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 06:00:53 +0000

In the beginning there was God, who without a doubt was fully clothed in majestic robes and clouds to cover any sections the robes couldn’t. Why he decided that his human creations would roam the earth in bare nakedness I will never understand. Thanks to the so called Original Sin, you and I can now adorn the latest in fashion wear. I guess everything happens for a reason.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I dared to rediscover the tenets of my spirituality which Ma had so ardently instilled into me. This was back in the day when my lower half seemed to dwell on the pre-original sin period, and thus preferred to go bare. Being a Roman Catholic did not seem to be yielding the desired results in my soul, and having watched a few of those high powered Protestant Sunday morning sessions on TV, I figured why not try out these folks? So I called Tim.

He and his wife (her name is Christine by the way) are now devout members of a nearby church named Church of the Living God. I will not dwell on the implication this name has on other churches and the gods they serve. Let me also add that I use the word devout very loosely considering Tim would not be caught dead in a church if it wasn’t for Christine. To sustain this new found obligation, he has grown a disturbing liking for Gospel Music. During the worst part of these services i.e. the sermon, he goes into a temporary trance and replays the songs in his head. Those two hours fly by like a kite. If Christine knew this she would flip.

Tim was ecstatic at my proposition to join them for the next Sunday’s service. The thought of having me sitting next to him in a Church was far too amusing. But I was serious. I was going to give Salvation a shot, get me a Saved girl, preferably one of those fine mamacitas who I see leading Praise and Worship on TV, take her home to Ma, get this marriage issue out of the family discussions, get a couple of little Lawrenzoninos and consider that chapter closed. What could possibly go wrong?

Two Sundays went by. Two Sundays in which I woke up earlier than my body is designed to, took shots of really strong coffee to postpone the hangover for 3 hours, and waited upon Tim and his beloved Christine to pick me up. Two Sundays in which I had to watch two Pastors subjecting their Voice boxes to inexplicable atrocities. If you have a microphone, why feel the need to shout your voice box hoarse?

Two Sundays in which I had to part with Six rounds worth of mulla thanks to the watchful eye of a prowling usher, and the accompaniment of some Junior Pastor proclaiming doom for those of us who did not dig deeper into our pockets. Two Sundays in which I watched the rest of humanity feeling things I could not feel, speaking languages I could not understand and ranting ‘Yes!’ and ‘Jesus!’ over and over so many times I can still hear them in my sleep. It was torture.

I have to admit though that the musical spin doctors in this Church can give the DJ at Kamau’s a serious run for his money. I also got to watch some popular local Gospel artists perform live which was quite a treat. On this note I made peace with my departed 6 rounds worth.

On the Third Sunday I said a silent prayer to God before heading out to meet Tim. The Bible says that Three is a symbol of perfection, completion and fulfillment. Something about the Holy Trinity being a three in one situation. Being the third Sunday, all I asked God to do was be a sport and show me the girl who would fulfill my life long search. And he did! Can I get an Amen?

Stella was an Usher. I think she still is.

In a vintage beige flowery dress, complete with black leggings and a pink scarf draped around a slender neck, with hair so dark, so rich and modestly brushed down without the slightest effort to style it up, this Girl was a sight to behold. The only out of place thing about this girl’s style was the ugly usher’s sash that hung over her shoulder.

Now folks, I have never picked up a girl at a church before. Tim said all I had to do was offer a warm smile. But my smile is the kind that says ‘Your mirror does not do justice to the true magnificence that is the beauty that I now gaze upon’. Stella did not seem to acknowledge this tacit complement, as she ambled on to the next pew without offering even the slightest hint that I had made any effect whatsoever.

It was so on.

2011 Chronicles – Musings of a lost Soul

lawrence — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 06:00:21 +0000

My Mother told me to marry a girl who is neither too beautiful that she bewitches, and not too ugly that she twitches. Wise words.

I am 27, single (yes, again) and of middle class financial standing. Life is not going according to plan. Back in my campus days, when I had my whole future staring at me (to quote a certain lecturer), I made a vow that I would make my first million at 25. In fact, it was a pact between my roommate and I. He isn’t a millionaire either, but Tim (remember him?) is newly married. He is one gigantic step ahead of me. Turns out boyish charm, a six pack and a ruthlessly handsome face are not enough to land you a Kawify.

Mr. Editor has asked me to try and summarize my 2011 in as few words as possible, in exchange for several rounds at Kamau’s, my favorite local. I owe it to my gut to earn those rounds, especially in as harsh a month as Januworry. This month is cursed.

Spirituality
I made a futile attempt at reconnecting with my Spiritual side. I called up my Spiritual Advisor from back back in the day (funny I still had his number) and we had a lengthy chat. He shared the same sentiments he had back back in the day about sacraments, frequent mass, chastity and of course marrying a Catholic girl.

I had a stint at Church of the Living God in search of a Christian girlfriend, and as it turns out, they are just as screwed up as the ones I meet in clubs at Westlands (I have a whole story to share on this one).

I also made forays into the world of Islam, and honestly I admired their Spirituality. My contact from the Muslim side took me through the intricacies of Mohammed, Mecca and the whole five prayers a day fiasco. If you think Catholics are too complicated, try Islam.

Two months of searching and, nothing. My life was still better off away from the temples, mosques and churches. So I chose to remain churchless.

Relationships
2011 was an exploration year as much as it was a hell of a year in the bedroom. If my bedroom walls could talk they would be speechless. Having lost a very special girl in 2010, I went through a near fatal rebound phase while the rest of humanity celebrated New years. On Tim’s advice, I decided to focus my energies on my work and stay away from girls. This became tricky when the hottest Editor on planet earth joined the company as a consultant. The girl had it all; brains, beauty and a body that defied logic.

The girl turned out to be engaged, which in my world means at least three months of working my way in before launching the fishing nets. It took four months and it cost me a fortune. Despite moves that would have brought Condoleezza Rice to her knees, all I got from Mary was a peck on the cheek one Starry night and a ‘Lawrence, you are a sweet guy, but I’m Sorry. This cannot happen’. There and then I knew that fairy tale was over.

During my run-ins with Mary I also met Kanji, a sweet girl. Kanji was exactly the kind of girl my Mom was talking about. But I was too preoccupied with Mary to give her much attention. She met a guy, dated him for six months and they are now engaged, due to be married later in the year.

Crystal finally called on 20^th October 2011 at 10.46 pm (if you knew this girl you would remember the date and time too). She had been around the world and back numerous times. This was expected, considering she works as an Air Hostess. We had an amazing November while she was on leave, easily the best month of 2011 for me. She finally cleared the air on the Smelly Affair, and made me promise that I wouldn’t tell a soul that story (this excludes Tim).

The year ended on a high note in this department.

Career
I have worked for the same Agency for three years now. I’m not quite sure what the future holds since I haven’t given it any thought.

Despite almost ruining the impending wedding of my Editor, we still did two more publications together and they were a resounding success. My job title now has the word senior before it, which means a private office and an almost extra zero on my paycheck (damn taxes). I was happy to share the good news with Kamau, the proud owner of my local and my ever amiable creditor. I could almost swear the slight rise in EABL stock share price that week is attributed to Kamau and I.

Towards the end of the year, I was approached by one of my clients on the prospect of joining his company as Marketing Manager. Crystal thinks I should go for it, while Tim says I should give it a year for my ‘Senior’ title to marinate.

Social Life
Other than being one of Tim’s Grooms men at his wedding (can you imagine the idiot didn’t give me the best man position?), I wouldn’t say I have had much else of a Social Life. Though if you count the escapades with people’s daughters in and around this beautiful country, then I have had a pretty good Social Life.

Tim attempted to get me into a ‘Chama’. That was two hours of my life I’m never getting back.

Financial Well-being
I am not broke. Far from it, well, except for this silly month that is January. Despite being the source of half of Kamau’s monthly revenue, I manage to retain just enough money to put into a few investments here and there. My land lady (Tim believes she is trying to Cougar me) has let me in on a few of her real estate ventures and last December I got my first real return from my investments, a mighty handsome Cheque. Crystal is the proud owner of a very exquisite Necklace thanks to that Cheque. That necklace could have paid school fees for a couple of orphans, but they will have to wait until my next Cheque comes.

Family
This is easily the thinnest page in my book. My wonderful relationship with my Mom went out the window the day I resolved never to step back into any holy ground. My Dad and I are way too similar to get along. I have two elder sisters with whom I maintain a cordial but distant relationship.

And that’s it for Family.

2012
I know Crystal and I have no future together, so this fantasy that we are living will most likely end this year. Tim’s wife is expectant. This time he has agreed to give me the God father title. Mary is getting married in February, and I am the designated person in charge of drinks at the reception. A Sacred task. Something tells me Kanji and that guy will not get married. They rushed into this. If she gives me a second chance believe me I will go for it. Tim agrees with me on this point.

Have a superb 2012! Kamau awaits me.

Photo credit: dcubillas, glanzerr & v_hujer

A kick in the balls!

lawrence — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 06:00:47 +0000

“You kicked him in the balls!!? Ouch!”

“Yea I did! I don’t even know where I got the courage to but one moment he was grabbing me by the neck, next moment he was on the ground writhing in pain”

“Daaamn girl! That was something. If we had more girls like you there’d be a lot less mugging on our streets”

“Ha ha ha! Probably.”

This must have been our third or fourth date I’m not sure. Kanji is a conversationalist, and not the gibberish type, I’m talking quality conversation. The kind that leaves you feeling good about the two hours spent with her. Not to mention how fast time passes whenever I talk to her.

That’s not all. Kanji is one kick-in-the-crotch painfully focused girl. She is a part time model, is studying for her masters, has a full time job as a research analyst and takes private classes in Spanish. She plans to do her PhD in Barcelona, Spain.

Let me admit this; I’m a chauvinist. I have been kicked in the holy ground a couple of times for making demeaning remarks about the fairer gender. Other than my juniors at work, the only other people who serve the purpose of making me feel superior are my dating partners. In my dictionary, the word ‘Female’ is synonymous to ‘Blonde’.

Not Kanji. This Girl is smart. Why I’m still seeing her I don’t know.

Last week I was busy stalking my friends on Facebook when the chat box popped up, with a message from someone seeking to begin a conversation. I’m not one to start engaging in chats on Facebook, something my friends have grumbled about more than once. For some reason I find it cheap and pathetic. If you and I haven’t spoken in months, I’d hate it if the next point of contact between us is via a Facebook message or chat. In an age where 10 bob a day gets you unlimited sms, it would be preferable if your attempts at communication skewed more towards the personal kind a.k.a text messaging. But that’s just me.

Normally I would just close the chat box without a second thought and move on with the stalking, but this was different. It was Cathy.

I’m told that everyone has that one Ex whose memory is forever cast in our memory. He/She becomes the yardstick by which all future mates are measured against. When you are down, it’s the memory of him/her that lifts your spirits. When you feel lonely, he/she is the one person you would wish to be there for you at that precise moment. Well, that’s Cathy for me.

So you could understand why the conversation below ensued.

“Hi Cathy.”

“Howz u?”

“I’m good, you?”

“Ok I guess. Just life challenges you know”

“I know. That’s life.”

“Yeah, it’s just sometimes it gets really hard”

“Kwani Watsup?”

“Ah, just personal stuff, relationships etc. I’ll give you details when we meet”

“It’s been a while Cathy. I doubt we will be meeting soon.”

“I’ll come see you.”

This sounds like an ok conversation, except that Cathy and I haven’t seen eye to eye for 3 years, and she happens to be at least 700 kilometers away. When Cathy and I were still an item such crazy stunts were not uncommon. Once, we eloped for a week to Mombasa and somehow survived with 500 bob between us.

Anyway, she abruptly went offline and I haven’t heard from her since. I don’t have her number so following up isn’t an option. Frankly I don’t want to. She inspires certain feelings inside me which aren’t so healthy to my current relationships. We might seem to fit like a glove on a hand, but that’s the problem precisely. We fit too well that it always brings complications.

My MD decided to bring in a consultant to help out with our most recent project. It’s bigger than anything we’ve done before, we are all apt but rather inexperienced to handle such a daunting task, or so the Boss thinks. Now, given that I am the project manager on this particular one, you can imagine what the ‘consultant’ does to my ego.

Mary however isn’t just any consultant. She’s a respected professional in the industry; frankly I look up to her in many ways. She graces the covers of industry magazines, and has even been in the Top 40 Under 40 list on two occasions. She is my age mate. She is gorgeous. She is classy. Her dress code is decent but not conservative at all. For the next four weeks, she will be sitting right across from me.

I’m I intimidated? Of course! I’m I attracted to her? Please come slowly. There’s something about hot ambitious ladies that just freaks the devil’s crib out of me. I’m yet to figure out how to deal with these new entrants in my life.

But enough about me; how are you?

Photo credit: Sucker

The Rebound

lawrence — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 06:00:28 +0000

Oh, don’t we all just Love the rebound? The moment in Limbo between a wonderfully great romantic odyssey and the ‘moving on’, during which you simply let go and let loose. The marvelous blend of scum berg, complete a**hole, freaky dare devil, reckless nincompoop and awesomely funny potato head is something of a master piece.

You see, the rebound comes after three stages. It’s that one last stage before you finally recover from the grand breakup that got you down this road in the first place.

STAGE 1 – WHY, WHY, OOOOOH WHHHHHYYY!!!!
For me this lasted around one week. Yep, just a week. I realized I have an unbelievable capacity to recover from huge heart breaks. Plus the escalating stench from kicked around socks, unwashed dishes, overflowing dustbins and unchanged beddings hastened the process.

The Whys, oh the whys, I have never felt so pathetic. I learnt half the break up love songs in the universe. I vented the residue anger on my glassware and ended up with bandaged hands for my work.

Tim had to endure hours on the phone listening to me rambling over and over about the same point. All that idiot could offer me was a tired ‘It’s going to be fine dude’. Why I’m still friends with this guy I don’t know. But he was there. And he made it through the most bizarre of questions without losing his mind.

“Did you realize she was such a bitch?”

“I mean, how can someone look so perfect for you, yet be so wrong?”

“What would you do if Christine pulled a fast one on you?”

“Hey, could I have Christine for one night bro? For old time’s sake.” He actually said yes to this one, but insisted I’d have to ask Christine. We’ve laughed about this so many times since.

STAGE 2 – OK, I GET IT. SHE WASN’T THE ONE!
Here is what I like most about being a man; the tough talk. I hear that stage 2 for the ladies is the ‘HE WAS SUCH A PIG!’ stage where all the ugly words are used to express why the guy wasn’t worth it, in an effort to make the betrayed soul feel better about herself. It works for them. Men, real men, don’t know how to bitch.

Here is the problem though. Your close friends won’t come up and tell you the hard-to-swallow truth.

True story. We actually care about each other in a non-gay bro style.

The tough talk will always come from an external source. A friend of a friend of a friend, brought into the picture by the forces of nature when the time is right, at the price of all the hard drinks still left in your fridge.

“Listen man, imagine your Mac book. A sweet little machine, so perfectly designed to suit your needs. It feels right. Nothing could be better. At least that’s what you think. Until one day, you rise up from the sofa, and accidentally knock it over. It falls, gets damaged, and can’t get fixed because some core hardware got damaged. You could fix it. But it will cost you more than buying a new Mac book. As perfect as it was, or seemed to be, there are falls it can’t recover from. You pick up the pieces, curse yourself for being so clumsy, throw it into the junk box, and out you go to get another machine. You deal with it like a man! That’s the only way to get past it.”

STAGE 3 – ALRIGHT, LET’S HIT THE CLUBS!
I think this stage is overrated. But it’s essential. Here is the logic. If you truly want to get back at the enemy, find them at their most humiliating point. Point your finger at them, and laugh your head off til your lungs hurt. At this stage, my enemy wasn’t just Daisy (God I hate that girl!!), but the whole generation of females. I subconsciously needed to get back at them, feel superior and somehow revive my ego again.

So I hit the strip joints across several counties in Kenya and picked up random girls. During my brief absence from The Lily Review, I threw wild parties, got hopelessly drunk, went bungee jumping and rock climbing, did speed racing in remote areas I’d never heard of before (and had great fun scaring poor old women coming from their Shambas).

My friends and foes alike had a great time thanks to my hapless condition. That stage cost me a fortune.

It took one almost fatal accident for me to realize I was probably taking it too far. If you have never been in a car that went tumbling down a hill, don’t look forward to it.

Daisy visited me at the hospital. A bitch with some nerve is what that girl is. I told the nurse I didn’t want to see her but she somehow got into my room.

STAGE 4: THE REBOUND
Some people think stage three is the rebound. It’s not. A rebound is meant to spring you back up, give you a chance to sort of do it over again and hopefully get it right this time. If you get stuck in stage three in the ruse of a rebound, you never get a second chance. Life as you knew it is over.

“Will you be ok Lawrence?” Daisy asked.

“If I don’t ever see you again I will”

“I’ll stay away. But please let me know when you are discharged. I can’t sleep knowing you are here because of me”

“Don’t flatter yourself Daisy. You’ll hear of my discharge from the grapevine. Now go.”

“Ok.”

The One

lawrence — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 06:00:52 +0000

Kevin met Kate on Facebook. They exchanged inbox messages for a while before finally planning an actual date. Two years later, Andrew and Kate got married in a beautiful garden wedding in Naivasha. I attended that wedding.

Kiptum had met Wanjaa several times before but he didn’t really pay her much thought. At the time he was in a committed relationship with another girl from his church. Three years later, he met Wanjaa again at a camping trip that had been organized by one of his friends. He had just broken up with his Girlfriend of five years. He couldn’t remember where he had seen Wanjaa before, but he was sure they had met. She couldn’t remember ever meeting him before. They had a good time. Everyone at the camp could see that those two were really hitting it off. They are now engaged, due to be married in a few months.

I have more of these out-of-the-blues kind of encounters that culminate in that blessed eternal bond between two Love birds. Every time I think about it, it baffles me how random these stumble-upons are. I try desperately to find a pattern, any common ingredient among them that forms the recipe for a happy ending. All my efforts so far have been futile. There’s no pattern. They are as random as the first ‘ma-three’ that shows up when you go to the bus stage.

God is cruel; the master puppeteer who makes events happen as he wishes, leaving the subjects totally at the mercy of his will or whim if he has any. Do we have any control whatsoever on whom the person meant for us is? No! Do any of our actions, good or bad, influence his choice of the next random person who will become our better half?

We grow up forming this mental picture of who the person we want to spend our life with looks, acts or talks like. We all have an ever evolving blueprint that we hope he or she will fit into like a glove. Ask anyone who is married whether this is the case. It’s not.

So every time I meet someone (and as a single guy this happens quite frequently) and I think, huh, she looks like someone I would take home to mama, I try to hold back the excitement. But I’m a romantic; so again, my efforts at not trying to pin point THE ONE are also painfully futile.

If there was one request I’d make to God today, it would be that as my wedding day gift, he sends me a video tape of the first time I meet my soon to be wife. Wouldn’t that be something?

Yesterday, I met Kanji. I found it weird that she introduced herself as Kanji and as expected, my first reaction was, uhm, I thought Kanji is a man’s name. We had nearly bumped into each other as I got into the pizzeria where I was to meet some long lost friends. She was rushing out to receive a phone call, and I was rushing in to avoid being anything more than thirty minutes late. Back at the table, as I feigned huge remorse for my lateness, she walked up to our table and apologized once again for the little head on collision we just had at the door. I apologized in return and she retreated back to her girlfriends at a nearby table.

“That’s one pretty girl bro”

“And polite too! That’s rare in Nairobi!!”

“I know…So how have you guys been!? Long time!”

Of course I got her number later on. And as I wrote her this text message, I wondered if this is the story I’ll be telling over and over for the rest of my life…

“Sup Kanji. Twas nice bumpin (literally) into you today. Hope to see you again soon. Nite.”

Your romantic choices say a lot about who you truly are.

PS: It seems to be the enlightened opinion of most of my friends, and my readers that I should take a step back from relationships and focus on me for a while. To them, I only have this to say. If you want to know who you really are, look at the person you choose to call Special! Your romantic choices say a lot about who you truly are. Do you agree?

The search for Daisy’s replacement continues.

I’m Single Again!

lawrence — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 06:00:49 +0000

Aloha my dear readers. Allow me to apologize for my brief absence from this lovely blog. Did you miss me? I sure did miss sharing my life’s drama with strangers. Why I choose to put my private life into the public domain I still don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s my subconscious innate desire for screaming from the roof top, “F*@k My Love Life!!!” Well, I can’t do that. Not only would it rub off badly with my neighbors, but the after taste of making a fool of myself in public doesn’t sound alluring at all. I have shouted from the top of a roof before though. I was half drunk. Maybe three quarters drunk. It was the girls’ hostel in campus. Up to date, I still don’t know how I got on to that roof. They had to get a ladder to help me down.

My friends tell me that I took off my shirt (why do really drunk people like taking their shirts off?), and shouted for one Mary to come out and listen to what I had to say. No one had a clue who this Mary was.

Five minutes later, with no Mary in sight, I decided to speak out my mind all the same. According to my poor excuse of a friend a.k.a Tim, I announced how madly in Love I was with her, and how I had had many romantic fantasies of us doing all manner of sexual stunts in the most unconventional of places.

The crypt of the campus chapel, on a branch of that baobab tree at the field, in the T.V room (somehow without any passersby noticing it), the Vice chancellors office. Actually in the Vice Chancellor’s office, it was a threesome with that Sociology lecturer who made really sexist jokes. Tim was laughing half the time while reporting this so his version wasn’t very coherent.

I got quite an audience for my little 3 am speech. Luckily, it was a Saturday morning so half the campus had gone home or wherever they normally went to for the weekend. This however did not stop the news of my inexplicable display from spreading across campus like wildfire. It’s a wonder I didn’t apply for a transfer or deferment.

Here is the strange part though. I have no idea who Mary was.

Back to today’s topic. As you might well know, Daisy and I broke up a few months back; 3 months 14 days and 3 Hours to be precise. Actually, Daisy broke up with me. Top on her list of reasons was my incessant immaturity and inability to look deeper into her and see who she truly is. She also cited our unmatched life goals as another major reason. She claimed that in the last 2 months of our relationship, she had been either sad, heart broken or just darn angry 90% of the time. To her this was a sign that this river had run its course. The fact that in those same two months we had had amazing animal-like make-up sex counted for nothing. I couldn’t understand why.

I may not have said this enough times, but I loved that girl. I haven’t loved any female like that before. I could have gone on to my knees and begged her not to leave but I knew Daisy. This was it. So like a true gentleman, I told her that I disagreed with her. I told her that we were about to close one year and this was a just a Test. If she couldn’t last through it, then yeah, maybe she wasn’t the girl I thought she was. I left the house to give her time to pack and get her selfish ass out of my house. I used those two hours to shop around for an air freshener that would totally wipe out any Daisy related scent from my house. I also called Kui, my house help and proclaimed a major house cleaning day that coming Saturday.

That was it. 10 months of pure heaven, gone in 5 minutes. It took me 3 months to recover. Christmas 2010 was no doubt the worst in the history of Lawrencedom.

I’M SINGLE AGAIN. I hate being single!! Having someone to call at 2 am in the morning to share some weird midnight craving for chocolate cake, without running the risk of being called many regrettable names, is something of a necessity for me. I strongly believe that every human needs a soul mate. Be it that girl at the next desk in kindergarten who keeps tickling you, or the really beautiful teacher in class five for whom you have a crazy crush, and who always finds a reason to come over to your desk and help you out with math (in memory of Ms. Bella, God rest her soul) , or that high school sweet heart with whom you exchange highly vocabularised letters on a weekly basis, or the more familiar ground with Vicky from HR, with whom you do everything the company rules say you shouldn’t do within the premises, a soul mate completes you.

Many surveys unanimously conclude that people who are in relationships are generally happier that people who aren’t. If you don’t believe the numbers, then maybe my experience will change your mind. Whenever I’m single, I am generally uneasy, less focused in my work, easily infuriated, I curse more, I sleep for lesser hours, I rarely go out to have fun, and worst of all, I lose a KG or two. Whenever I’m in a relationship, it’s the complete opposite. True story.

I believe in relationships so much, that before I met Daisy, I always had at least three girls on the hook at a time. Don’t judge please. It was a defense mechanism. If it didn’t work out with girl number 1, I’d have girl number 2 as a buffer while searching for a replacement to girl number 1. If that didn’t work out before I found a replacement, I’d have girl number 3 to keep me going while I tried to replace the first two.

Thankfully, I never had a situation when I’d break up with girl number 3. This last girl was always that girl who truly didn’t consider herself to be my type so was bound to take my worst shit and feel honored for it. It was pathetic, but it was better than being single.

When I met Daisy, I was in a girl number 3 situation. I had just broken up with a girl named Sophie.

Reason, she wanted to become girl number 1. You know; make the relationship public, move in with me, get introduced to close friends etc. All those were sacred grounds which she really wasn’t cut out for. I mean, that girl could talk! I have nothing against talkative ladies; in fact I encourage the habit to a certain extent, but please, if you are going to open your mouth, say something intelligent! I’m not much of a scholar, but I can handle the average discussion on politics, religion, science, technology etc. Not Sophie. Sophie could conjure up a whole discussion based on her high heels. No no no, not how the shoe was designed by some Italian genius when on a cruise to God knows where, I mean a whole monologue on how it doesn’t fit, and how she would rather her feet were a tad bit smaller so she would fit into them, and how that bitch best friend of hers keeps saying she doesn’t look like wearing those heels…If it wasn’t for those two gigantic mountains on her chest, I swear I wouldn’t have lasted 10 minutes with that girl.

Anyway, as I was saying, I’m single again. After a whole ten months in a relationship, you would expect me to have learnt a lesson or two, and in addition be able to share the wisdom gained. I didn’t.

Daisy came, was, and left. It feels like waking up from a wonderful dream, and cursing the heavens for stopping it so soon. You simply go to the bathroom, wash your face and hope for a better day ahead. Sadly, once Daisy came into my life, I didn’t bother to fill the no.2 and no.3 spots. She was IT. So when I say I’m Single, I mean really SINGLE. A recent scan through the girls in my phone book did not reveal any notable prospects so you could almost call this starting from a blank slate.

Off to find me a Girl. I promise to keep you fully updated since truly I appreciate all the insights you share with me in the comments section.

All the best in 2011!

Photo Credit: YOdesigner & nosheep

My Smelly Princess [Part 3]

lawrence — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 05:00:58 +0000

Daisy is one insightful girl. It’s one of her most endearing qualities, and often times, her main source of headaches. How I forgot this little fact I still don’t know. Friday evenings would typically be either movie nights, game nights or a combination of both. It had always been an unfair arrangement since we would both retire at the wee hours of the morning yet I had to report to work on Saturdays, while she didn’t. I really didn’t mind it though.

For a whole week, I had been trying to figure out the best way to tell my girlfriend, who was mad at me half the time, that another girl, who happened to be a million times prettier than her, had come to my house, used our(my) shower, dressed up in her clothes, including that red top that she had asked about at least thrice so far, and now wanted me to meet up with her the next week to catch up, you know, like old friends. There was no easy way in sight, but I was determined to find it.

Come Friday, and there were, cuddled on the Sofa watching a movie whose title escapes my memory. “Sweetie, I need to ask you something” she announced in the middle of some romantic scene. She never entertained interruptions while a movie was on, a habit that happens to be a major weakness of mine.

“Yeah, of course babe” My nerves warned me that this wasn’t good.

“Are you cheating on me?” I almost choked on the peanut in my mouth.

“What!?”

“I asked, are you cheating on me?” she repeated calmly, making no effort to pull away. That peanut was now painfully finding its way down my esophagus.

“Uhm, I’m sorry but where is that coming from?” The romantic scene gave way to some boring dialogue, which I wasn’t listening to or watching anymore.

“It’s simple really. For almost a week, we haven’t had a fight, you have been unusually polite, you have been cleaning your dishes, and you just spent 45 minutes without interrupting the movie.”

I hated how calm she would become when we were about to start a fight. It always got me worked up even more. Today was different though. I had no strong case to support my stubbornness. Plus she was still in my arms, staring at the Television as if she had just made a passing comment.

I made an attempt at mock laughter.

“Have you thought that maybe I’m just trying to become a better boyfriend?” Even I wasn’t convinced by that. I threw in a peck on her neck to support my feeble defense.

“Yes I have. That’s not it, and you know it. So let me ask again…”

“I got it the first time Daisy. The answer is an offended No. I’m not cheating on you”

“Ok. So what is it then?” She hit pause on the remote, and disengaged herself from the confines of my arms. Now she was eyeing me straight on, awaiting her answer.

“Frankly, I don’t like the tone of your voice. And the fact that you would baselessly accuse me…” My pride was at work.

“Damn it Lawrence! I know you too well. You are hiding something from me”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think Sweetie. Maybe you are in one of your moods again and you just need someone to vent it out on. Maybe you are the one cheating on me and are now pulling some reverse psychology stunt!!”

“Excuse Me!!?” I could see that last statement hurt her. I cursed myself a little bit for it. Daisy would never cheat on me. But I wasn’t giving in to her condescension.

“I mean, we are peacefully watching T.V, and all of a sudden…”

“So you won’t tell me what it is?” She had switched to the firm tone. This fight was about to get ugly.

“Who the hell do you think you are Daisy? Pointing accusing fingers and issuing ultimatums…” As always, I stood up waving my arms in the air in mock frustration. She never stood up.

“Lawrence if I think something is wrong…”

“If you think something is wrong, find a more respectful way to raise it!!!!”

“And what did I do that was so disrespectful? I simply asked you a question…don’t be such a child Lawrence!”

That was it. She had crossed my path.

“Oh, so what are you now, my Mum?? ”

Fifteen minutes later, we were still at it. I was still standing, she was still sitting. The fight had spread its wings to cover topics I wouldn’t have thought of before. A battle of wits is what it had come down to. Until I announced my exit.

“F*** you Daisy?? F*** you and your self righteousness!!I’m out of here!”

“No!! Don’t bother, it’s your house sweetheart, I’ll go!” This was new, but I didn’t realize it at the heat of
the moment.

“Good! Finally we know who owns this house!”

She disappeared into the bedroom, came out ten seconds later with her hand bag and one of her fifty something pairs of shoes and slammed the door behind her.

That weekend passed without a single phone call between us. Come Sunday evening, and Tim calls me up.

“Dude, are you cheating on Daisy?” Apparently Daisy had called him to ask if he knew what was up with me, but I had kept him in the dark about Crystal as well, so he wasn’t of much help to her.

“Oh, so now the whole world has branded me a cheating moron?” I always retreat to sarcasm when I feel cornered.

“No, not the whole world dude. Just Daisy. And you need to fix this before it’s too late” Tim was somehow always right about stuff. He and Daisy had always made such a good team that I often wondered what she was doing with me. I decided to spill out the Crystal saga to him.

“Ha ha ha!! This is so hilarious man!” Tim can be such a punk sometimes.

“It’s not a laughing matter bro. Daisy would kill me if she found out about this.”

“Did you seriously give out her clothes? You are such an fala! Then you pick a fight with her??…”

“She started it! And you are not helping Tim!”

“Ok, here’s the deal bro. Call Daisy and apologize for being an idiot, and then tell her everything, except may be that part about giving out her clothes. Oh, then delete Crystal’s number and no meeting with her next week!”

“That sounds great, except for one thing Tim”

“A ha…”

“Do you remember Marie?”

There was a long pause before Tim finally whispered a stifled “Oh Yes!”

I don’t even know where to start about Marie. Tim often said that if he was about to die and he was granted one last wish, his wish would be to have one last glance at Marie. About a year back, on a boys’ weekend out in Mombasa, we stumbled upon sweet Marie as she strolled alone on the beach. Simply put, she revived my childhood beliefs about the existence of mermaids. Tim had never gotten over her but that’s a story for another day.

There was another long nostalgic hiatus before Tim finally said, “You better have a good reason for mentioning her name man!” I had touched a really soft spot.

“Crystal is like three Maries put together after a very refreshing swim.”

“Oh boy! And you never told me about her? Our friendship is hanging on thin ice bro. Tread carefully.”

“Chill man, I was confused and had tried to forget about Crystal until that night last week. And here is another problem.”

“Ehem”

“I just happen to be her knight in shining armor. It’s a straight pass bro!!”

“That’s the dream dude.”

“I know Tim. Well? Say something intelligent!”

“Ok, this is the point where you need to ask the million dollar question”

“How deep is my Love for Daisy?”

“Exactly.”

The last time Tim and I had this exchange was during the Marie fiasco. He came out alive and salvaged his relationship with Christine. It was now my turn.

“In two months time you’ll celebrate your one year anniversary with Daisy bro. You are so close. It pains me to say it, but you need to call Crystal and tell her you can’t meet her next week, or ever.”

“Damn you Tim! Alright, I’ll do it.”

I called Crystal. She took the news so well that I almost asked to meet her maybe one last time. Through
some miracle, I didn’t. Then I called Daisy, who calmly absorbed the tale like the angel she was.

After a heart wrenching ten-minute story telling on my part, and silence on her part, she finally said, “Wow. She must have been really pretty.”

“Well…” This was a trap. Tim had warned me about this many times. But this was Daisy. There was no
pretense with her.

“If you saw her, I swear sweetie you would strongly consider becoming a bi-sexual” I was getting carried
away.

“Would she be open to a threesome?”

“W-w-wha-what?????” All the saliva in my mouth instantly evaporated.

“Kidding! I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep pumpkin!” Click. She was gone. Daisy was a heartless witch that I was so madly in Love with.

Daisy and I broke up before we could get to celebrate our one year anniversary. It had nothing to do with Crystal though. Trust me when I say this. In my adult life, I don’t think anything has left me as distraught as that breakup did. She was beautiful, intelligent, strong willed and sly as a fox.

My Smelly Princess [Part 2]

lawrence — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 05:00:56 +0000

“You know what your problem is Lawrence!? You are too proud!!”

“Really!? Because the last time I checked you were a stubborn disrespectful bitch!!”

“What!!!? You have two seconds to get out of here or else I swear to Bazuzu!! One…Two..”

This was probably the tenth fight that Daisy and I were having in a span of just two months.

We were so close to clearing one year since we started going out (a first time feat for me). For some obscure reason, we were going through a very passionate phase of our relationship. The fights would start with something as petite as dirty dishes in the sink, escalate to how I treated her like a house maid, then to how I thought she needed to respect my house, and finally to my pride and her bitchiness. Then came the countdown, One…Two… and for fear of whoever Bazuzu was, I always walked out. I would spend some time with Masai the watchman, and two hours later take the stairs back to MY HOUSE, engage in a brief apology session, and some amazing make up action would ensue. I loved the make up, but I was worried that one day she would be the one walking out and I would have lost my Daisy forever. Tim (my ex roommate and close ill advisor) kept on about how we were about to cross over to the next Phase of our romance, and that we just needed to get past this.

“It’s like baptism by fire. The first real test on how true you are to each other” He said.

Tim has been in a relationship with the same girl since I first met him which is longer than I care to remember. As you can imagine, I was inclined to acquiesce to his teachings.

On this particular night, Masai was not in his den (very unusual). In the loneliness of the dark feeble wooden structure, I sat staring out into oblivion, surprisingly not thinking about the fight I had just had.

As if in a state of hypnosis, I took out my phone and started scrolling through the phone book for no particular reason. Trying to put a face and a story to each name was turning out into a very enjoyable distraction. Of course there was the deleting of names whose faces I couldn’t place.

Before long I was deeply engrossed in this little game, until I came across a very odd name.

“Who is Crystal?” I wondered. I only knew of one place I could have picked such a name from, but it had been really long since I was there, and I had always been damn sure not to leave any traces of my presence there. I was just about to delete the entry when it hit me, slowly at first, then really drastically as the events of that eerie Monday around five months earlier came streaming back from the recesses of my memory.

“Crystal, Crystal….Wow!” I whispered rather loudly. A smile shot across my tired face.

“If you ever have the chance, call me. Maybe we can laugh about this then” She had said, a bewitching smile sweeping across her painfully pretty face.

This story had never gotten to Daisy thanks to a pact between me and Njeri, my house girl at the time. Njeri had since been replaced by a clueless new house girl (apparently Masai had done wonders to Njeri and she was now his fifth wife back in Samburu land, or so he claimed during one of our nightly exchanges).

Well, Crystal said call her when I had the chance, and here was her phone number, staring right back at me, reminding me of her mysterious demeanor and how radiant she looked after taking a shower right upstairs in my bathroom. Heck, she even wore my girlfriend’s clothes!

Ignoring the foreboding by every nerve in my body, I pressed the call button and held the phone to my ear. It was ringing.

“Hello?” That wasn’t her voice. That was a man on the other end. My hands were now trembling.

“H-h-hello, could I please speak to Crystal?”

“Who are you!? Why you call Crystal at crazy hours!!!? Are you other boyfriend!!? Eeeh!!?” That’s when it hit me, it was past midnight. The gentleman on the other side of the phone was obviously not a Kenyan brother and his attempt at English left a lot to be desired. With vintage Italian rage, he launched into a series of warnings, threats and really strong abusive rants. Whoever that was, he really didn’t appreciate men calling Crystal at crazy hours, probably even at normal hours.

It didn’t seem so rude to hang up on Edoardo or whatever his name was, so I hang up. It was time to go back upstairs.

Daisy was in bed, her apology speech already prepared, but I was so frazzled I had totally forgotten mine. I tried to salvage the situation by borrowing lines from previous fights to no avail. She didn’t take that very kindly, and for the first time ever, she slept as far away from me as possible, fully clothed.

The next day, right in the middle of a sales pitch to some potential clients, my phone rang. I always forgot to put my phone in silent mode when times demanded it, often to my boss’s vexation. I made a quick apology as I hurriedly took the phone out my pocket and turned it off. The caller id was the last one I expected to see at that time, and frankly it totally threw me off balance. The rest of that presentation was a total disaster. It’s a wonder we still got the account.

Calling Crystal had been a baaaad idea! In fact, still having her phone number in my phone was a bad idea. Flashes of my encounter with her five months ago and Edoardo’s rants on the phone the previous day kept coming back to me, causing me huge discomfort. I couldn’t wait for that day to end.

At the heart of the afternoon, as I tried to balance between the effects of the heavy lunch we had had with the clients and finishing my report, my phone rang again. It was Crystal.

“At least put it on silent if you won’t pick it Lawrence!” I don’t even remember who that was.

“Hello?” My voice was hoarse.

“Hello. Whoz this?”

It dawned on me that Crystal hadn’t taken down my phone number, and neither had I told her my name. All I had to do was come up with some wrong number story and put this behind me! This was my chance.

“Is this Crystal?” I knew it was Crystal. And what was wrong with my voice?

“Yes it is. I’m so sorry about yesterday…”

“No no, it’s ok, I should have checked the time before calling” My voice was coming back.

“Imagine I still can’t place your voice. Pleeeease remind me who you are!” Damn she sounded good! I wanted to see her again.

“Uhm, we met some months back, you used my bathroom to clean up after a certain episode?” This was followed by a soft mocking laughter on the other side of the line.

“You’ll have to be more specific” She said.

‘Really!!?’ I wondered.

“It was in a Mathree, you were, uhm, not smelling so good…”

“Oooooh my God!! I remember now!! I always wondered when you were going to call me! I didn’t even get the name of my Knight in shining armor!” A hearty laughter followed. She was killing me. I tried to laugh as well but a weird croak came out my throat so I gave up.

“I didn’t really tell you my name…”

“No you didn’t. Wow, you were so sweet!! You even gave me your girlfriend’s clothes! I have never forgotten you! You know what me and my friends call you?” Oh, she also had a title for me? This was getting very interesting.

“Nope, what?”

“We call you Mr X! The X is because we couldn’t find a sweet enough name for you. Can you imagine? God, I’m so happy you called me finally! We have to meet.”

Now I was sweating. Meet!? Are you frickin kidding me?

“I’m flattered. The name is Lawrence by the way. You can finally replace the X!” I announced like an absolute proud ass!

“Lawrence! I knew you had a magical name! So? When do I get to see you again?” If only she knew what damage she was causing to my systems.

“Uhm, I’m travelling out today, maybe next week after I come back?” I wasn’t travelling anywhere.

“Sure!! Please please call me. I can’t wait! My friends will be so happy to see you as well!” Boy wasn’t she excited.

“Ok! Enjoy the rest of your day then Crystal”

“You too Lawrence! And thanks for calling! Beeyyyyeee!!” Click, she was gone.

Smelly affairs in my house, angry Italians on my phone, happy reunions coming up, my relationship on the rocks, yeah, it was time to tell Daisy about this.

My Smelly Princess

lawrence — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 05:38:53 +0000

It was exactly 7:03 am. I remember clearly because the events that followed that random glance at my watch left quite an indelible mark on me. It was a Monday morning, the June weather as chilly as never before. I barricaded myself within the confines of my scarf, desperately trying to cover as much of my lanky frame as possible.

It wasn’t working.

That’s when I lifted my can’t-we-just-go gaze from the overly zealous conductor, to the area beyond my malfunctioned window. My eyes instantly landed on the first inspiring phenomenon I had seen that morning.

She ambled gracefully towards the ‘ma3’, swaying her curvaceous body from side to side, utterly oblivious of the trail of gazes she left behind her. I was transfixed, my shivering body suddenly warming up, my beloved scarf forgotten. As she edged closer to the ‘ma3’, I did a quick scan around my vicinity. If she boarded this vehicle, she would have one of two choices; either sit between those two rugged looking men in the row ahead, or sit next to me.

I had already subconsciously conjured up my opening statement, ready for the grand dispatch. She disappeared behind the ‘ma3’, and I could have sworn I saw her smile slightly at me, just a little bit. If she was a girl who knew what was good for her, then next to me is where she would sit.

After brushing her flowing hair to the side and holding it in place on her chest, she boarded, and slowly inched her way through. The conductor had totally forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

My heart was now racing at speeds that could only be described as breakneck. Not for one moment did my shameless eyes steer away from her. One of the rugged men in the front row swiftly turned to provide her with ample room to get in between.

“Nipishe Tafadhali”

Yes! Here was a girl who knew what she wanted, and she announced it in flawless Swahili! The poor rugged man grudgingly let her pass, and there she was, settling her made-for-goddesses-only behind right next to me.

Before I knew it, I was subtly gasping for air. For a moment it seemed like I couldn’t breath. Then I realized it. I didn’t want to breath. I was breathless. So was the old lady at the extreme end, and the rugged men in front of us.

It wasn’t the smell of stinking feet, or stale sweat, or fresh human waste. It was a very strong combination of all of the above. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my stubborn malfunctioned window was stuck shut.

Was it….? Noooooooooooooo!! It couldn’t be! But before she came in, it had been the usual smell of stale sweat that is characteristic of most PSVs. This wasn’t happening. So this is what it felt like just before a heart attack! My head was now spinning. Five more minutes and I was quite sure I would have fainted.

She sat there, staring straight ahead, once again seemingly oblivious of the disturbed stares around her.

“Msichana, kwani umeji……Mbona unanuka hivyo!!?” That was the old woman at the extreme end of my row. The rugged men in front, obviously without sufficient man balls to confront her, decided to direct their rants at the conductor.

“Wee, Boss!! Mbona unaingisha Mala… kwa gari? Hawa watu hawaogangi bwana!!”

“Ashuke ama sisi wote tushuke!! Juma tatu asubuhi kwani ametoka wapi!!?”

The weird looking lady at the front also had an opinion. “Tunajua kule ametoka!! That one has been kicked out baada ya kupeana”
“Haki hawa wasichana wa siku hizi!! Mi nimeshuka, I can’t bear that stench anymore!!”

One by one they got off, to the chagrin of the conductor and his aging driver. I was sort of imprisoned in my corner both by her and the haze of thoughts haunting my mind at the time. This was one of those times when I make a really short but passionate prayer to he who collects and services them.

‘Why God, Whhhhhhhyyyy!!!’

“Madam, tafadhali shuka. Unatuharibia Biashara”

It was now six minutes later and I hadn’t fainted yet. The only explanation was that all my smell glands were dead, probably permanently.
As casually as she had boarded, she eased her way out.

There I sat, mind totally blank now, staring at nothing in particular as the rest of the passengers re-boarded, hurling demeaning remarks at my smelly princess in the process.

“Madam, enda pale kwa petrol station uombe maji!”

“Na next time ukipatiana uliza kwanza kama iko maji na sabuni” This remark was followed by a hoard of mocking laughter.

“Na twende sasa, tunachelewa kazi!!” That was the old lady, now seated next to the driver.

The ‘ma3’ slowly started moving, the conductor trying to salvage one last disgruntled passenger before departing. I caught one last glimpse at her. If she had any idea how smelly she was, then she had opted to go into her happy place. That kind of embarrassment would have left me
fatally distraught. She wasn’t.

“Excuse me. Boss hebu simamisha gari”

“Nini mbaya tena!!?”

“Simamisha gari nishuke!”

“Aghrr! Weka weka! Hii ni kazi gani mnafanyisha mtu sasa!!”

I walked back towards her, not sure why I was doing this. She turned her face in my direction, and if she noticed my approach she didn’t show it at all.

All passers by had kept their distance from her, leaving her in her little smelly island in which she was obviously queen.

I inched as close as my nose could allow.

“Uhm, Hi!” Seriously, why was I doing this?

“Hi” She replied, turning towards me, as non-chalant as anyone could manage to be.

“Look, I don’t know what your story is… But I can tell this is not how you normally are. I live across the road, and if you want, I could let you use my shower. I have some of my girlfriend’s clothes there which you can change into”

She scanned me from head to toe, and all I could think was, ‘Are you sure you have the privilege of choice right now?’

“Ok.” She said feebly.

I walked on and as if reading my mind, she followed at a safe smell distance.

“Akikupatia kataa!! Hiyo ni Kifo! He he he!!” The things people say when in crowds.

Curious stares from the watchmen, Judging stares from the neighbors, and finally a confused facial expression from my house girl as she put her hand over her nose was just a few of the things I had to endure during the short walk home. I too had obviously gone into my happy place.
Without giving much thought to it, I picked the first top, trouser and under garment that I laid my eyes on in the Wardrobe.

She was still standing at the door, awaiting her next instructions. My house girl had vanished into the kitchen maybe.

“That’s the bathroom; towel and soap are in there. You can change into these” I placed them on one the sofas and moved aside. Without saying a word, she moved closer, picked the top and the trouser, leaving the undergarment. Into the bathroom she went while I launched into a frantic effort of opening all possible air outlets.

After about 15 minutes, during which I paced around the sitting room, my thoughts ranging from the excuse I would give my boss for being late, to how I would handle the resulting gossip around our notoriously gossipy estate, to how Daisy would take this piece of news, she emerged back into my life.

“I’m done”

I turned around and paused midway. My mouth was agape as I beheld the renewed sight in front me. Suddenly life was beautiful again. I felt weak.

She broke into a slight smile and muttered a relieved Thank you.

“You are welcome. And don’t worry about the clothes; my girlfriend won’t even notice they are gone.”

“She is lucky to have you”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend”

“Oh, it’s actually the other way round”

She moved closer, looking straight into my eyes, held up my hand and took my phone. I stared blankly as she dialed something into it, and handed it back to me.

“If you ever have the chance, call me. Maybe we can laugh about this then” The smile was now more radiant as she moved towards the door.

“Uhm, what did you save your name as?”

“Crystal”

“Ok…just before you go, I need to know. Are you…?”

“No, I’m not. It’s just a huge misunderstanding. When you call me I’ll tell you all about it” And out she went.

Whether this had been just a weird dream or it actually happened I didn’t know. Seven minutes later I regained my composure, and for the second time that morning, I walked out of my house just like I did every other weekday morning.

“Swity, have you seen my red top!!?” That was Daisy, around two months later.

Of Men vs Women [Part 4]

lawrence — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 07:40:45 +0000

Its one of those Wednesdays.

Shirley is busy packing her numerous belongings into her hand bag while bidding her colleagues good evening. She often thinks of quitting this Bank Teller job, but some days stand out more than most. Like today for instance. It takes 4 days for a cheque to mature! Simple and Clear. So why would a grown up man, bring his ugly face to the bank two days later!? As if that’s not enough, claim that the bank is too slow, and try to debate bank policy with her, a mere bank Teller!?

Anyway, thank God the day is over. Hopefully Becky will have some juicy stories to cheer her up with when they meet up in 15 minutes. “Oops!” she exclaims, glancing at her watch. She’s already late. She bends down to trace her high heels. She finds one, squeezes her right foot into it while scanning her booth for the other. It’s nowhere to be found, again! She knows who the culprit is.

She limps into James’s booth and there it is. “Not funny Jaymo!” She hisses, while painfully putting it on. Seriously, is her left foot bigger than her right? She wonders for the hundredth time. No way, it must be these damn shoes. Why can’t Jaymo just grow a pair and ask her out instead of playing these stupid games?

It’s been a crazy Wednesday!

A day out of the office is more than just a treat for Stan. Meeting his favorite client, spending almost half the day with Lindsey trying to understand their family business has been a ball. She might be in her late thirties but God knows that woman is beautiful.

He has until 8:30 tomorrow morning to submit his branding proposal. Cruel as he always is, Mike the art director decides to take half the afternoon debating a bloody logo. With only two hours left in the day, Stan knows he will be working late. It’s 4:30 pm, only two slide shows done and more research to be done. “Oops!” he exclaims, noticing the time on his Mac. He won’t be able to meet up with Dee. He should have called her earlier but what the hell. He can’t deal with her whining now so a simple text should do.

“Hey Dee. Tied up @ the ofis, crazy client. Wil make it up 2 u, prmise. Lv u ”

Its 8:30 pm. Shirley bids Becky farewell at the bus stage with a fond hug, promises to call her tomorrow about the weekend movie plot, and boards the bus.

Oh damn! Its almost full. Shirley likes it when she’s one of the first people on a bus. That way she gets to choose her spot. Now all the good window seats are taken. Only one available and she knows why. It’s just above the rear tires, which means a bumpy ride. She just had fries so God help her stomach. She settles in, and gets out her phone to call Becky and see if she managed to get a ‘mathree’ home. That
girl will have to move out of Eastlands some day.

Laptop bag hoisted on his shoulder, Stan briskly walks out of the office, hoping to get the last bus home just this once. It’s going to be a long night spent not sleeping. Hopefully the two litre coke he bought yesterday is still intact, if Tom his roommate didn’t have another ‘visitor’ that is. That dude will have to get himself a job soon coz this is just getting out of hand. A little reserve with the fridge items would be welcome when Stan is the one purchasing everything in there! Anyway…

He takes out his phone and dials Mike’s number.

Thank God Becky got herself a ‘mathree’. Actually thank that ‘Kange’ who is obviously hoping for some form of reward for helping Becky jump to the front of the line. Cheeky Smile.

“Life’s great. Couldn’t be doing better!”

Yeah right! Just last week he was telling her how miserable he was without her. Cliff is just pathetic. What had she seen in this guy? Becky has to see this.

“Sup swty, hebu chk tht idiot’s stts updt on fbk!”

Phewx! One more minute and he would have missed this last seat.

“Yeah, I get it Mike. But right now I seriously need that template otherwise MD will slice my throat open tomorrow….. Please dude, even if you have to find a cyber café….ok, try your neighbor then….just find a way to send it to me tonight please!….Ok. Thank You!”

Ugh! Mike sucks! Sigh.

“OMG!! Becky! U wnt bliv who jst sat nxt 2 me!”

To be continued…

Other articles in this series
Of Men vs Women [Part 1]
Of Men vs Women [Part 2]
Of Men vs Women [Part 3]
Of Men vs Women [Part 4]

Is it just me?

lawrence — Thu, 06 May 2010 06:04:35 +0000

I am not one to kiss and tell, so if anyone, especially Daisy, ever asks if we had this conversation, IT DIDN’T HAPPEN. I will deny and swear by my Great great grandfather’s grave that it wasn’t me.

Sigmund Freud

I have heard far too often that there is nothing like ‘deep friendship’ between boys and girls, men and women, males and females …you can finish off the list. Reason being very simple, as my good old friend Sigmund Freud says without flinching a muscle, it’s all about sex. If she is not my sister or first cousin, then yeah, trust Freud, it’s all about sex.

Males and Females, human and animal alike, are drawn to each other by purely sensual bonds, supported by a deeply rooted but also hugely tacit hope that at one point in the near future, the so called ‘friendship’ will culminate in sexual gratification. Yes he is your boy from the hood, yes you have known him since he was wetting his pants, yes you even saw him naked once, yes you two have been through too much together to even consider that option, yes even your mother thinks of him as her son, yes he says sometimes he even forgets that you are a girl. Deep inside, deep deep inside, like really deep inside, he hopes you two will one day do it, if you haven’t done it already. Oh, and here’s the best part, you too share the same sentiments. Hard to believe until you end up in my kind of quandary then you stop hating on Freud.

You see, I always thought Freud was a deeply disturbed person who in his time could have benefited greatly from psychiatric help. I have friends, girls, whom I have known as we like to put it, ‘like since forever’. We played ‘Kati’ and ‘Cha mama’ and other games whose names escape my lazy mind for now. We splashed mud on each other on our way from nursery school, made fun of each other all through primary school, and wrote hilarious letters to each other through out high school.

One such girl was Kate. A sweet girl around her parents, a naughty girl around her friends and extremely notorious in high school. She must have had at least 3 suspensions during her spell in some obscurely named school in the back of nowhere. Her parents knew nothing about these suspensions thanks to jobless middle aged men and women in a nearby town, who performed marvelously in posing as the summoned angry parents during these episodes.

Anyway, Kate mysteriously scored good enough grades to be posted to one of the local universities, unfortunately in the opposite end of the country. We lost touch for the four years that followed.

This was Kate anyway. A random call every once in a blue moon would suffice for keeping in touch and life moved on. This was until Facebook notified me that I had a friend request.

Like many other females I know, Kate had named her profile some queer name, probably from a movie she once watched. As nonchalantly as I always accepted requests from such strangely named ‘friends’, I accepted this one as well. Then her profile picture caught my eye.

Click click and I was viewing a slide show of her other equally eye catching profile pictures. I could not remember her hair being that long and that black. I could not remember seeing her in a top that was barely supported by her now full-grown bosom. And I definitely could not remember that Tattoo on her arm. The Kate (a.k.a Janice Pops) that I knew always wore wide rimmed glasses that gave her a geeky look. She didn’t have them on in these pictures, and yes, those naughty crystal eyes definitely caught my attention.

My boss’s abrupt entrance into the office prompted my fingers to do their thing with keyboard shortcuts, but I definitely did not forget Janice Pops.

Fast forward to several days later, and I’m briskly walking across the City centre, only to see the very familiar face of Kate, with her glasses on and hair held back just like she used to before Facebook. I grab her hand, a moment of fright before she recognizes my face, a tight hug ensues and I immediately forget where I was headed. Nairobi is indeed a very small town!

Oh yeah, I was headed for a friend’s birthday party across town. Kate didn’t have any big plans for the evening and of course we had a lot to catch up on. Daisy had oh so conveniently refused to accompany me on the grounds of feminine issues. I wasn’t particularly upbeat about this until I met Kate.

Fast forward to the Party, where the company was great, the food delicious and the ‘Viño Veritas a.k.a Akoho a.k.a the root of all evil’ was flowing freely. Oh yeah, and Kate decided to let her hair go, got rid of the spectacles and freed herself from the sweater she had been imprisoned in earlier. The comfort with which she would let herself into my arms on the sofa, or gyrate her behind in the environs of my groin on the dance floor left my defenses very feeble.

Late into the night, tired from the dancing, with my mind compromised by a concoction that had acquired a special name that night, Kate and I were directed to our sleeping area, strategically tucked away from the roving sober eye.

I vaguely remember the events thereafter up to a certain point, after which I choose not to poke my memory any further for fear of the painful truth. Daisy would not be happy if she knew about this, and neither would my mum, nor her mum, nor the rest of the clan.

So now I have crossed over to the Freudian side, and I urge you my dear reader to do yourself a favor and do the same. There is nothing like ‘just friends’ between boys and girls. When the moment is right, shock on you, it will happen like you never imagined.

If you feel me say Amen!

Of Men vs Women [Part 3]

lawrence — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 04:53:11 +0000

“This is just moving too fast! I mean, don’t get me wrong…I am glad I met you Lawrence…you are amazing…you have all these great qualities that I always wanted to have in my man…we have a lot of fun together…but…can we just take this a little slower?…”

Then she pulls one of those girlish ‘woiiishee’ smiles that she knows drives me crazy.

I’m not sure what to say to her. So I just sit there, feign an its-ok smile, tell her I understand, and keep stroking her stubborn hair strand.

Truth is, I don’t understand a thing!

We had been seeing each other quite regularly for almost 2 months. Lunch/Coffee/Juice Dates, Ice Cream Marathons (we both loved those) and lots of evening walks across the city (its beautiful at night in Nairobi).

In vintage Lawrence style I had pulled a couple of surprises on her that simply blew her friends’ minds off. She also loved them, told me no guy had ever done those to her before. She called me crazy a number of times, and I told her she inspired madness in me because of how I felt about her.

As far as I was concerned, I was simply doing what any man who truly was attracted to a girl that he didn’t encounter on a daily basis would do, in an attempt to get her into the proverbial box.

Daisy was and still is everything I would ever want in a wife-material Girlfriend. Simple, down-to-earth, really funny, beautifully weird and a practicing Roman Catholic (I am too). Her soft chocolate skin, a bewitching smile and a mysteriously shapely figure despite her obsession with anything sugary, were all huge contributing factors to my infatuation with her.

It seemed totally natural for me to tell her how I felt and treat her like the queen I believed she was. Nothing would make me happier than to be her Man, and I made this quite clear to her.

“Have I done anything to pressure you? Coz I really didn’t intend to do that…”

“No no no, you have been incredible Lawrence. It’s just that…oh God…aronnooo…I’m really scared I guess”

Let me get this clear. I have been great. Something about God. She doesn’t know. She guesses that she is scared.

Could it get any clearer than that? Probably not. So I try to maintain my its-ok smile.

“I mean…” Oh she has noticed how lost I am (did I mention she is also quite intelligent?)

“Aaaaa…I really cherish my heart Lawrence…and before I give it to someone…uhm…I have to be really sure…It’s harder in your case because…coz…I have a feeling this will be really big for me…and that scares me”

I see.

I am faced with two options here. Either launch into a speech about how I will never break her heart, how she is my one and only, how I want to spend the rest of my life with her blah blah blah. But I am certainly sure she has heard this same tale before.

So I go for option two.

“I’m guessing you’ve had your heart broken before huh?”

“Yea.” Oh boy, there goes the smile again.

“Hmmm. How long had you guys been going out?”

“Around two years.”

Now my mind is racing. Two Years!!? I have never been committed to anything (human or otherwise) for longer than six months. Two Years????!!! What could that bastard possibly have done to mess her heart up like that? Something tells me I shouldn’t ask that question.

“Look Daisy, I have never before, ever, let anyone get this close to my heart. For me relationships have always been a social hobby where I get in, have my fun, and if at one point it doesn’t work out, well, I walk out.”

“I don’t know much about heart breaks, but I have seen my friends going through them and it freaks the s#$& out of me to even think of me in such a situation.”

“But you, I don’t know how or why, but you have made me throw all caution to the wind. If this doesn’t work out, then trust me, you are going to have a very virgin heart to crush”

She gives me this intense look, then breaks into a smile, and blushes like I have never seen her do before.

“Oh God Lawrence!” She whispers, but audibly enough.

“But hey, if you need time, I will do my best to give you that. I also promise to slow down the best way I can.”

“Thanks.” And there goes the smile again. I smile back.

All I am thinking at that point is, ‘One of my girl friends had better know what this god dammed slowing down business is all about’. Or better yet, if you know what “slowing down” means do share in the comments.

Other articles in this series
Of Men vs Women [Part 1]
Of Men vs Women [Part 2]
Of Men vs Women [Part 3]
Of Men vs Women [Part 4]

When we stare [Part 2]

lawrence — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 07:57:46 +0000

Christine was…well…different. As I discovered later, she wasn’t really in what you would consider the top cream of her class – if by class you meant from an academic perspective. She derived her reputation from ‘leading men astray’ as my priest would put it. I found her particularly skinny but she spared no efforts at squeezing her body into the skimpiest of school skirts, often to the administration’s chagrin.

I briskly followed Jack who appeared to be in a peculiar hurry to get things over with. Our short trip led us to a darker section of the block corridor where Christine’s slim image was partially hidden from the teacher on duty’s roving eye. Jack made quick introductions and even before I acknowledged Christine’s presence, he was gone.

So there I stood, heart pounding, feet barely supporting my lanky frame and on the verge of a massive sweating attack. Christine, in stark contrast, seemed perfectly composed, and at ease with this whole eerie situation.

“So, you are the famous Lawrence, huh?” she asked, eying me head to toe as if evaluating a new army recruit.

“Uhm, I’m not r-r-really famous as such” I replied, still wondering why I was doing this.

“Oooh, how humble of you. That’s so sweet!” and finally she offered an inviting smile.

This awkward exchange continued for a while. Christine was no novice at all, and in no time had managed to make me feel totally at home in that dark corner.

Our little introductory meeting was not to last long though before we heard the TOD’s (Teacher on Duty) lazy footsteps approaching from the only exit out of that hideout. In a quick swift move that still baffles me to date, Christine got hold of my arm, pulled me close to her and gestured me to keep it still and quiet.

The footsteps approached, closer, and closer, slowing down with each step. Christine held me tighter, murmuring what I presumed to be ‘don’t even twitch!’. The footsteps finally came to a halt, and all was silent for what felt like an eternity. The thoughts of what my dad would do to me if I ended up suspended due to this stupidity was enough to get me really close to peeing my pants. My sweat attack finally caught up with me and if anything would have given us away, it would have been my throbbing heart beat. But something else, a deep silent voice in the deep recesses of my mind, kept reminding me that I had my body pressed really close to Christine’s. This was new. This was different from the hugs my mum gave me whenever she visited. This was close to what Jack had been trying too hard to explain to me, only really uncomfortable and increasingly painful.

“I think he is gone!” she hissed as she eased her grip on my now numb mid section.

Quick peck on my cheek, an ill-see-you-soon mumbled into my ear, and off she was gone, leaving me still trying to reconstruct the events of the past ten or so minutes. The TOD’s voice bellowing in the distance brought me back to reality and I quickly dashed back to class, just in time to avoid having to face my dad about this prohibited escapade.

“So how was it?” Jack couldn’t contain his excitement.

“Hey, let me catch up on class work first, then we can talk afterwards”.

“Come on big man! Share the juice!” One of Jack’s cronies chipped in.

“I said afterwards!!” The recently crowned big man had spoken.

They finally gave up on me. For two hours I stared at the same page on my Biology book, not really making any significant progress. With no TOD standing two meters away from me, I could finally rewind my mental clock and appreciate what it really felt like to be in Christine’s arms like that. It felt good, and I couldn’t wait to meet her again.

It took a while before Jack was able to plan logistics for another meeting, thanks to the arrival of our new omnipresent deputy head teacher. My staring got worse, this time more informed thanks to Christine. How would it feel like to be held by that one? No, the one next to her is bigger, it should be more comfortable with her. Oh, look at that other one, now that is a good one…

Months passed by, I met Christine several more times before I realized that I wasn’t getting a very fair deal. My confidence levels went up, I learnt a few tricks and soon I was able to go after my own Christines. With every new conquest, new challenges presented themselves, my standards rose and once a while even Jack would pick up a thing or two from my experiences, while proclaiming that he had taught me well.
One valuable lesson I learnt from Jack was that staring was not an end in itself but a means to an end.

The art of staring is derived from the power of observation which has been the source of all the greatest inventions of mankind and the resultant scientific and technological developments. The intrinsic elements of staring, including what to look at, how to not get caught, how to judge response when caught and how to interpret the findings from a staring activity were all imparted into me in excruciating detail by my erstwhile mentor. I still think Jack would have made a great lecturer if only he had lasted through High School.

Over the years I have learnt to put the skills I acquired to much better use. How to stare beyond a lady’s physical attributes, to include her demeanor and chivalry for instance has proven quite helpful in my recent exploits at romance. My beloved Daisy is a fruit of this age old art.

So what’s the moral of my story? Well, next time you catch a semi-skilled brother staring, please cut him some slack and try to support his efforts. He could be your next Romeo trying to get his Juliet.

PS: Staring is different from Ogling. If he is ogling, you have every right to kick him where you think it hurts most

When we stare [Part 1]

When we stare… A true story [Part 1]

lawrence — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 06:15:59 +0000

If you had the option of choosing what precise moment you prefer to die, what would your choice be? Most of us would probably say just after going for confession. Let’s face it; none of us likes the idea of paying for our sins, right? Sins by definition are everything your mama and your pastor or priest have told you not to do, but which for some obscure reason appear infinitely more appealing than the good deeds. But what to do? It is what it is, right? Ok, enough of that.

One of the Sins I was repeatedly admonished against as I grew up was ‘Girls’. I’m serious. My list of the top ten sins to avoid had ‘Girls’ leading at first position by a colossal margin. Precisely put, I remember such assertions as ‘Achana na hawa wasichana’, ‘Wasichana watakuharibia maisha’, and my favourite one, frantically delivered just before I left for campus, ‘Ukiwaona, toka mbio!’.

It came as a complete surprise to me when my Paps raised this issue for the first time, during one of our scant-but-still-scary father-son bonding sessions. Turns out ‘Girls’ wasn’t a sin; and that’s how ‘Girls’ lost the singles quotes. “Girls are good”, he said. “But not now”, he concluded with finality. According to Paps, I had to finish my schooling first before I earned any rights to Girls. Girls would distract me from achieving his dream of fathering the first ‘A’ material in our village. Nothing was going to come between me and his social bragging rights, nothing!!

In the face of this maze of declarations regarding this mysterious opposite sex, who would blame me for being increasingly curious? Thus I began staring.

At first it was an innocent question of why not? What made them so evil? Why was I to stay away from them? Were my sisters different from them? If so, how? The only tangible difference between us was that they wore dresses (that was long ago) and didn’t seem to break their voices while ours rapidly did. They seemed perfectly harmless to me. I sincerely couldn’t place my deeply-Christian-teenage finger around it.

This was of course before I had ‘the Talk’ with Jack.

Jack was the mister-know-it-all giant of our class. Every new term, he would show up with a new wave of disturbing intelligence, gathered during the holidays from unverified sources at his uncle’s local pub. Oh, you should have attended one of his ‘Sermons’. They were deeply compelling in the least, and most of us innocent underlings hang onto his every word. He was Jack after all. If only he had applied his out-of-class studiousness in class, where it actually mattered, I’m sure he’d be way better off now.

The editor allowing, I will share with you some of Jack’s theories in another article.

So one day Jack caught me staring.

Actually, at that time I wasn’t staring at a Girl, not at all. I vividly remember that my thoughts lingered around our new Biology teacher, who seemed determined to lure me to sleep every time she opened her orifice to teach. Painfully boring doesn’t begin to explain her teaching methods. I was simply worried about my grades, and while staring at oblivion, I wondered how I would make it through her classes and grasp something, anything.

“You like her?” asked Jack, patting me hard on my feeble back.

“What!?” I asked, startled out of my one person silent crisis meeting.

“Christine!” he barked back.

“Who’s Christine?”

“The Girl you were staring at Silly!” this guy had little if any courtesy in his veins.

“I wasn’t staring at any girl!” I protested.

“Yeah right!! I saw the way you were looking at her melons” he barked again amid mock laughter.

“Melons!?” I genuinely didn’t know what that meant.

To this day I still think that conversation went on for longer than it should have, with the absolute wrong person.

Jack gave me the first real biology lesson of my life, and promised me a practical session at a later date, when he felt I was ready. I couldn’t look at Girls the same way again after that conversation. The next day, madam sleepy-slipperson taught us about the reproductive system and it felt like revision to me.

Jack changed my life. From that day onwards, the staring moved to a whole new level. It wasn’t about why not any more. According to Jack, behind those innocent curtains lay the single best gift a man could ever receive. This realization made me feel different every time I stared. And I liked the feeling. So I kept staring, day in day out, wondering when I would finally behold this mysterious jewel that the Girls oh so hid from us.

I got caught many times thereafter, often by the object of my stare. Some gave me a sneering look and walked away; some smiled shyly and still walked away; and some simply scanned me from head to toe, probably decided I held no detriment, and continued minding their business. So I kept staring.

Eventually, Jack, who by now was a close ill-advisor of mine, had found me the perfect specimen for our first practical session. He, and his cohorts who were also closely monitoring my progress, showed up in class one day and whisked me out of my religiously strict study session. I didn’t take that kindly. He told me it was worth it, and once again, against my better judgment, I acquiesced to Jack’s lessons of life.

That’s when I met Christine, in person. And that’s when Girls lost the capital G.

To be continued…

Scratch Mine, I’ll Scratch Yours

lawrence — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 06:20:40 +0000

The season of giving is finally here! Well, at least for me. A time to sow what I shall hopefully reap before Christmas comes around. Boy, do I dread Valentine’s Day.

I’m not much of a genius when it comes to relationships and romance. This probably explains why I have never in my dating life, celebrated two consecutive Valentines with the same love bird. Of course when my friends inquire about this statistic, I proudly declare that there are too many bird species in the wild for me to hold on to one for too long. I then boastfully add that if not for the stringent rules governing the Guinness book of World Records, I should have already broken some record related to the most number of women dated in a year. Then I order another round of drinks to that effect.

Truth is, I sincerely would want to last a couple of years in one relationship, if only to quell the curiosity that has built up inside me over the years. How is it? How do they handle the fights? How to they deal with the boredom? Don’t they run out of stories to tell? After the initial excitement run’s out, how do they keep the fire burning? If only there was a manual for this romance thing.

Daisy and I, we are doing great. It’s been six months, so as you can imagine, my fingers are really crossed right now.

Last year, I started off with a resolution to be truthful, sincere and natural. I know that’s mostly repetition but I really was committed to the cause. One of my girl friends had fed me some garbage about how being sincere was the key to lasting relationships. I trusted her.

So on Valentine’s day, sitting under the moonlight at a weekend getaway with my special one at the time, cuddling while admiring the stars, she brought up this crazy idea about us telling each other one thing about the other, that we had never mentioned before. Sincerity Lawrence, I reminded myself.

Well, she went first of course, saying something about my never staring at her chest region even when she has put some extra effort at parading her goodies. I couldn’t help but laugh heartily at her sheepish sincerity. I then told her that unlike many in my species, I had mastered the art of ogling without being caught, which is true.

Then it was my turn.

Since my potential future lover is probably reading this, I will not display my utter stupidity before I even meet her. So sorry to disappoint you. All I can share with you dear reader is that, looking at it in retrospect, I should never have listened to that girl friend of mine’s gibberish about being truthful in a relationship. I got dumped for a sincere comment.

This year, my resolution was to only sustain relationships, romantic or otherwise, that are mutually beneficial. Another girl friend of mine told me that a better way to a lasting relationship is if both parties realize that romance is a two way street. You scratch mine, I scratch yours, she said. I decided to give it a go.

Frankly, I like it so far. A give and take relationship, with no obligation to sincerity. Daisy says she has a surprise for me this Valentine’s. I told her I have a surprise too, but I still have no clue what to do or get for her. Should it be simple? Should it be a Grand gesture of Love? What if she gets me something awesome and all I have is something nice? What if I get her something totally stupid? And get my a** dumped again on Valentine’s? Seriously, is there a manual out there for this romance thing? I’ll give anything for it, even half my kingdom.

I wish all men all the luck this Valentine’s day.

Of Men vs Women [Part 2]

lawrence — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 06:00:02 +0000

Kamau is attracted to a woman named Diana. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they’re driving home, a thought occurs to Diana, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: “Do you realize that, as of tonight, we’ve been seeing each other for exactly six months?”

“Really!?” exclaims Kamau.

And then there is silence in the car. To Diana, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: “I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he thinks I’m trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he isn’t ready for, or isn’t sure of yet.”

And Kamau is thinking: “Gosh. Six months!”

And Diana is thinking: “But, hey, I’m not so sure what kind of relationship this is, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I’d have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know Kamau that well?”

And Kamau is thinking: . . . “so that means it was . . . let’s see . …February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer’s, which means . . . let me check the odometer . . .Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here!”

And Diana is thinking: “He’s upset. I can see it on his face. Hold on, maybe I’m reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed — even before I sensed it — that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that’s it. That’s why he’s so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He’s afraid of being rejected.”

And Kamau is thinking: “And I’ll have them look at the transmission again. I don’t care what those morons say, it’s still not changing gear right. And they better not try to blame it on the rains this time. What rain? This thing is changing like a damn rubbish truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves 40,000 bob!”

And Diana is thinking: “He’s angry. And I don’t blame him. I’d be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him on the spot like this, but I can’t help the way I feel. I’m just not sure.”

And Kamau is thinking: “They’ll probably say it’s only a 90-day warranty. That’s exactly what they’ll say, the scum balls!!”

And Diana is thinking: “Maybe I’m just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I’m sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. “

And Kamau is thinking: “Warranty? They want a warranty? I’ll give them a damn warranty. I’ll take their warranty and stick it right up their……”

“Kamau, Kama, …..Kamau!” Diana says aloud after several attempts.

“What!? Sorry, I was uhm…” says Kamau, startled.

“Please don’t torture yourself. Im sorry I said that.” she says, her eyes vaguely misty. “Maybe I should never have … Oh God, I feel so ….” She sighs, on the verge of sobbing.

“What?” says Kamau, utterly confused.

“I’m such a fool,” Diana says. “I mean, I don’t expect you to be a knight … I know there’s no knight. I really know that. It’s silly. There’s no knight, and there’s no horse, right?”

“There’s no horse!?” says Kamau, now more lost than ever.

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” Diana says.

“No!” says Kamau, glad to finally know the correct answer.

“It’s just that . . . It’s that I . . . I need some time,” Diana says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Kamau, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

“Yes,” he says.

(Diana, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

“Oh, Kama, do you really feel that way?” she says.

“What way?” asks Kamau.

“That way about time,” says Diana.

“Oh,” says Kamau. “Yes.”

(Diana turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

“Thank you dear,” she says.

“Uhm…You are welcome” says Kamau.

Then he drops her home.

She lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, whereas when Kamau gets back to his place, he opens a bag of chips, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply engrossed in a late night thriller movie.

A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he doesn’t understand what, and so he figures it’s better if he doesn’t think about it.

The next day Diana will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Kamau, while in the Gym one day with a mutual friend of his and Diana’s, will pause just before lifting his dumbbells, frown, and say: “Peter, did Diana ever own a horse?’

Happy 2010!

Other articles in this series
Of Men vs Women [Part 1]
Of Men vs Women [Part 2]
Of Men vs Women [Part 3]
Of Men vs Women [Part 4]

Why I hate Christmas!

lawrence — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 06:00:19 +0000

A cynical friend of mine, whose company I have to endure every once in a while due to social obligations, bears strong convictions against the whole assortment of religious beliefs, and most notably Christian beliefs. In his self proclaimed wisdom, humans have an insatiable need to feel important and wanted. He says this explains every human act, much like the Freudian theory about human behavior and sex, but that’s a story for another day.

You see, my cynical friend has concocted a conspiracy theory, in which he claims that a very brilliant mind realized at one point in history, that the key to universal dominion wasn’t in amassing weapons, arming hundreds of thousands of country boys and heading out to conquer one kingdom after another. That had already been tried and proven to be a futile endeavor by the Romans et al.

No, he realized that what drove even the Romans to try conquering the world was the search for meaning, for a purpose, for a reason to live. The only way to gain true supremacy was to fill this void, or at least provide a shadow that would act as a symbol of destiny, and if he could somehow get the whole world to chase this shadow, then only one thing would be left to complete the puzzle. He would present himself as the key, the answer to this question of destiny. Of course no one can ever catch a shadow, but in our earnest desire for attaining the unknown, we have been blinded to this reality. Thus we keep chasing and chasing, and this brilliant composer of the symphony of faith becomes more and more powerful as generation after generation passes, all in search of the same false ideal. Or so my cynical friend claims.

Do I believe him? Frankly, No. Mostly because this is not the only twisted harangue he has conjured up after one or two beers. I have to admit however, that sometimes, as rare as it happens, I come really close to thinking that maybe, just maybe, he might be remotely right. This happens mostly during the Christmas Season.

When I was growing up, one of the events I looked forward to most was the Christmas festivities. For years, this excitement was fueled by the thought of seeing my extended family, hanging out with my favorite uncle, listening to my grandma’s folk tales and getting lost in their huge maize plantation. Of course the Goat slaughtering norm was not to be missed, though the only help we could offer was to stay out of everyone’s way.

This changed dramatically one particular year in my pre-adolescent stages when an unusual pack of visitors arrived at my Grandma’s farm. They had been invited to be our Guests for Christmas, which I totally could not fathom since Christmas had always been family time for us. Before we knew it, previously unnoticed but cherished activities like football in the front yard, and eating from the cooking pot were prohibited. Walking around shirtless turned out to be insanely uncouth, and the worst of it all, we had to shower every day!

Then there was Anne!

Anne was one of the twin daughters of one of our Visitors, and she was the most annoying girl I had ever met. Problem was, she had this new shiny bicycle, and boy did I yearn for a ride. I couldn’t understand her relentless insistence on holding hands with me and following me everywhere I went. Unfortunately, if I didn’t agree to the tag along, I didn’t get the bicycle, so at times I had to acquiesce, just to get that one ride.

Eventually, I had to share my frustrations with my favorite uncle. As it turned out, according to my favorite uncle, Anne had an eye for me. Suddenly, everything fell into place. The rides, the holding of hands, the sitting together at all family gatherings… it all made sense now. This revelation changed my life from then on. Christmas was never complete unless I saw her and shared my experiences from the past year with her.

For years this became my new Christmas tradition. Visiting Grandma, and seeing Anne. Then one fateful year, she was no more. Her father had been transferred to a School in the opposite side of the country as a headmaster, and he took his whole family with him.

Anne was gone.

That must have been the closest I ever got to being depressed. Christmas made sense no more. Family gatherings were no longer a treat. My Grandma’s folk tales had become boring and monotonous. My favorite uncle had gotten married and moved to live with his wife and new born baby. Christmas was gone.

I remember one of my Mum’s attempts at initiating a re-birth of the Christmas spirit in me was to trick me into joining our local church Altar boys group. Over and over she told me that Christmas wasn’t about going to Grandma’s and eating Meat, or meeting that Anne girl. It was about the birth of Christ, and what it meant for our lives. And after years of patience on my mum’s part, I was healed. Christmas treat for me became preparing the crib for baby Jesus and assisting our local priest during Christmas day celebrations at Church. Years would go by before I went back to visit my Grandma, and that would only be for an overnight stay before I went back home to attend to my Church obligations. Christ was being born, and that was no Joke for me.

This would be a great way to end this article, but as it turns out, life plays incredibly cruel jokes with our minds, and beliefs. Growing up exposes you to a lot more than just nagging girls, and bicycles and Altar boys groups. If you my dear reader have hit the inevitable ceiling of adulthood, then most likely at one point or the other your faith and life purpose has been tested, shaken, turned inside out, at times leaving you totally devoid of hope. The details of these ‘baptisms by fire’ are mostly better kept under wraps.

Some people, like my cynical friend, choose to put their hearts at ease by totally refusing to acknowledge any manner of religious inclination, while some, like my erstwhile mentor, choose to live and die by their religious beliefs. I belong to the group which I consider to be the vast majority, those of us who are still pursuing that life purpose.

That’s why I hate Christmas, because it reminds me of Anne, and this lifelong search for the Unknown.

Enjoy your Holidays.

The Perfect Lady [Part 2]

lawrence — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 06:21:14 +0000

Yasmin wasn’t short as I had imagined, but surprisingly her height lingered just shy of being top model material. I mean, if she took two steps closer, pressed her body close to mine, and tilted her head slightly upwards, we would undoubtedly engage in the most passionate of French kisses without either of us straining to maintain contact. As I eased forward for a handshake, my gentleman character feeblyhanging in the balance, her face lit up to pave way for a playful girlish chuckle. The fact that her lower lip curved just enough to give a glimpse of her snowy white teeth was more than I could bear. And her hair, oh her hair (it wasn’t a weave; I verified this many times thereafter), long, rich, and dark enough to complement her fair spotless chocolate skin. Did I mention that she wore a tight fitting trouser suit whose coat left sufficient room for subtle flirtation with her perfectly held together bosom? Thank God for bras! I couldn’t help but wonder how many client accounts she had won by merely bending to pick a pen she had ‘accidentally’ dropped.

“Yasmin? I wish!” She sighed, obviously amused, as she walked past me, an inviting perfume scent trailing her, and placed my coffee on the table. Even in this eerie moment, the man in me noticed that she looked just as amazing from behind.

“Uhm, excuse me?” I asked, barely choking on my words.

If she had poured the hot coffee on me, stepped on my toes with her high heels and drove a sharp knife right through my chest, the surge of pain that had just shot through me would still have carried the day.

“My name is Anne, Yasmin’s PA. Enjoy your coffee.”

True to her word, her voice was nowhere close to the one I had heard the previous evening, and explicitly devoid of the confidence and authority that had caught my attention. I stood transfixed to the spot, my mind utterly blank, lips instantly dried up and awfully disoriented.

‘Well, not to worry’, I told myself. So she wasn’t Yasmin, damn it!

‘This is the preview’, I thought to myself in faint hope. This was certainly the curtain raiser for the breathtaking show that was to follow. For Yasmin to allow such a gorgeous work of divine art to be her personal assistant, she had to be way too comfortable with her own incredible beauty, right? I mean, the voice I heard the previous night…

“Morning Lawrence! Anne, the brief, in my office, now! Please take a seat Lawrence.”

I made a zombie-like ‘u’ turn to face the object of all my fantasies in the past 16 hours as I eased back into my seat.

“Anne! I don’t have all morning! Now Lawrence, we are about to get into a critical partnership with Zen Consulting, the regional media giant. Its going to be…”

As she launched into her brief, my professional registers captured each word while all my other registers collided dangerously into each other trying to get back into focus.

“Your job is to help us re-create our corporate image…”

Anne rushed into the office with the printed brief, her radiant beauty vaguely masked by the fright of almost disappointing her boss. Even in a circumstance such as this I couldn’t help but steal a quick glance and thank God for all his blessings.

“Here you go”, said Yasmin as she handed me a copy of the brief.

“That brief summarizes everything I have told you so you can refer any time. Now time is of essence here Lawrence…”

Ten minutes later I still hadn’t regained my complete composure, but I had enough blood rushing through my system again to process the recent turn of events and come to terms with it.

I quickly managed to piece together three facts:
Fact 1: The Woman sitting on other side of the desk, oozing with authority and speaking nothing but business, was Yasmin.

Fact 2: Hers was obviously the voice I had heard the previous night, and fallen in love with. And as I listened to it now, accompanied by the personality of its owner, I still marveled at it.

Fact 3: Anne was not Yasmin, but she was an almost perfect replica of the woman whom I went to bed fantasizing about the previous night.

For the first time in my romantic life, my voice recognition faculties had failed me. Yet not completely, because just as I expected, I had seen my perfect woman, almost as I had pictured her. The only complication was that she was two different people, and not one. A two-in-one if you may.

In a perfect world, this would have been an easy choice for me. Simply acknowledge that my powers of voice picturisation were not perfect and proceed to try my luck with Anne.

Unfortunately, this in no perfect world, and Yasmin was no ordinary woman.

The Perfect Lady [Part 1]

lawrence — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 06:05:18 +0000

It was a dull Thursday evening, the day had been one painfully long dull stretch, the weather was bleak, the trees were not swaying gracefully as always, the birds seemed to have gone on a chirping strike. It was basically one of those days when even the slightest of disappointments makes you want to kill yourself. And I told myself that if nothing exciting were to happen before I retired to bed that night, I would permanently erase this day from my calendar, my year would be 364 and a quarter days, and I would celebrate New Year on 31st of December in protest.

Little did I know that out of this dreary day, the best, yet most tragic love story of my life so far would emanate. It all started as an innocent phone call on my cell from an unfamiliar number. I picked, murmured a languid hello wondering which despicable creature would think of calling me after work hours.

“Hello, is this Lawrence?”

I have heard many female voices in my short life, but the one echoing through my head at this particular moment was possibly the sweetest of them all. Soft but firm, sweet yet alert, sexy and confident with a trace of shyness in a very sophisticated combination that I doubt I will ever encounter again. In a split second my mind was alert, my heart switched gears to the throbbing reverse equivalent, my eyes remained transfixed on the electric pole I had been pondering about and to make matters worse, my throat went dry.

“Hello?”

‘Say something, stupid!!’ My ever alert inner self was at work again, thank God for that invincible idiot.

“Uhm, hi, yes this is Lawrence”

“My name is Yasmin, im calling you from XYZ Ltd, my boss, Mr. Alpha, says you can help us with the redesign of our corporate profile”

“Yes, I can”

“Well, we need this done ASAP, do you think you could come to our office first thing in the morning?”

“Uhm, that will be tricky, I have…”

“Lawrence, we are in the middle of a very critical partnership deal and I need to know if or not you can do this tomorrow, or I try someone else!”

“Ok, please relax…” Why do I have this annoying habit of telling people to relax??

“Excuse me!? Lawrence, please save us both some time. Can you do this tomorrow or not? Money is not an issue here”

The fact that she kept uttering my name in every sentence was not helping my situation at all. While she went on explaining things I vaguely remember, I had formed a perfect mental picture of what she looked like. Long flowing hair, a sweet and well kept face, lips that curved a little when she smiled, a perfect set of white teeth and a perfect figure with a fashion sense that kept all her assets well but decently pronounced. I had taken her on our first date and we were laughing at this first conversation which by now I had totally drifted away from…

“Lawrence!”

“Oh, Sorry, uhm, I think I can make time tomorrow morning, how about…”

“Eight Sharp, please don’t be late. Nice evening” Beep.

Wow!

Sweet shy voiced ladies, obviously short (I have a great gift of forming nearly accurate mental pictures of ladies based on voice alone, try me!), would not normally be giving me ultimatums, but rather laughing heartily at my jokes, and blushing helplessly at my master flattery. This was new, and I couldn’t wait to meet her.

Next morning I was 10 minutes early, a personal record. I had on my lucky shirt (lots of success stories with this shirt) and my favorite jeans trouser which is just tight enough but also loose enough to complete the mystery-man-you-wish-you-had look.
Mr. Alpha was there, early bird as always. He welcomed me and asked me to wait for Yasmin in her office.

They say you can judge a person by the nature of his/her office. The lady of my dreams was not about to disappoint me. A unique scent welcomed you into her well laid out office with a velvet carpet and perfectly organized mahogany desk. The sky blue curtains, still drawn, ushered in the morning sun’s rays, filtering in streaks of light that did magic to the already exquisite ambience of this office. The only
missing link was the lack of any personal item that would help me complete the picture in my head. No picture of mum, or child or a boyfriend on her desk. No flower vases, or wall hangings to tell a little about her personality. Her wall was lined with several cabinets bearing glass doors that gave a peak at the high profile client accounts she handled for Mr. Alpha. This was one powerful woman. I felt helplessly smitten by the lady I was yet to meet.

“She furnished this office herself” offered Mr. Alpha as he disappeared back to his office. Obviously he was also intrigued by her. I sat on one of her comfortable guest seats, wallowing in the rich and obviously expensive scent, enjoying the sun’s rays as they stroked my face and cherishing this one rare moment of being in a spotlessly clean environment. It was heaven.

“Morning Lawrence!”

Startled out of our romantic voyage to one of the islands of Seychelles, I nearly jerked to my feet and turned around in one simultaneous movement that hurt a muscle or two. Standing there, a radiant contrast to the voice on my cell the previous evening, coffee at hand ready to serve her non-deserving guest, was Yasmin, or at least I hoped so with all my heart. I swear it took every volt of energy in my veins to utter these next words.

“Morning Yasmin. You look Lovely”

…to be continued…

Women are like…

lawrence — Thu, 03 Sep 2009 09:57:27 +0000

For decades men have tried to understand women, and find a fitting way to describe all their strange and crude tendencies to no avail. Eventually, I guess we decided to resort to similes to help in this futile attempt. I picked up the 20 best ‘women are like…’s from the many drunken discussions I have had with my fellow men and decided to share them with you. Enjoy.

1. Women are like silent men. You think they’re listening. Surprise!! They are not!!
2. Women are like elephants to me. I like to look at them, but I wouldn’t want to own one.
3. Women are like wealth, if they didn’t exist, all the money in the world would have no meaning.
4. Women are like cars, men really prefer them reasonably attractive; they go after the sensational ones to impress other men.
5. Women are like toddlers, they are never stronger than when they arm themselves with their weakness.
6. Women are like pets, they begin by resisting a man’s advances and end by blocking his retreat.
7. Women are like bosses, who gives a damn if they are late?
8. Women are like old cars, no matter how good she looks, some other guy is sick and tired of putting up with her crap.
9. Women are like fantasies, they are better off as an illusion, not a reality.
10. Women are like dogs really, they love a little too insistently.
11. Women are like apples on trees, the best ones are on the top of the tree. Most men don’t want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and don’t want to get hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground, that aren’t so good but easy to pick with no risk of falling and getting hurt.
12. Women are like money, you know you have a lot of them when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.
13. Women are like the stock market. They’re irrational and can bankrupt you if you’re not careful.
14. Women are like computers. They take too long to warm up and a better model always comes along once you’ve already got one. And of course, even your smallest mistakes are stored in long-term memory for later retrieval.
15. Women are like country songs. They’re annoying, they all sound alike, and if you really listen to them you’ll get depressed and drink a lot.
16. Women are like in-laws. You try your hardest to make a good impression. You act in ways you think they will like and you tell them what you think they want to hear. But somehow, even your best efforts backfire.
17. Women are like casinos. They always leave you broke. You always swear you are done with them. But somehow, you always go back to them again.
18. Women are like the safaricom help line. You always call them. They might promise to call you back, but they never do.
19. Women are like a treadmill. They make you sweat but you never get anywhere with them!
20. Women are like a mobile phone. Press the right buttons and they might get the message.

I’m hoping to come up with a list of ‘Men are Like…’ but ill need the ladies help here, your comments are welcome.

The Feminine Vocabulary

lawrence — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 06:16:05 +0000

I was surprised to find out that someone had actually figured out what some words in the feminine vocabulary mean. Ladies, please confirm the descriptions below in the comments.

Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this is half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given 5 more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means “something” and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with ‘”Nothing” usually end in “Fine.”
Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don’t do it!
Loud Sigh: This is not actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A Loud Sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over “Nothing.”
That’s Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. “That’s
Okay means that she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
Thanks: A woman is thanking you. Do not question it or faint. Just say you’re welcome.
Whatever: It’s a woman’s way of saying #@*! YOU!

We aint dogs, we are just men!

lawrence — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 06:05:30 +0000

Allow me to repeat this admonition, we are not DOGS! I have read many articles, heard many talk shows, listened to my female counterparts yap their voices hoarse, even heard the tirades of women who just walked in on their knights mounting stray horses. The passion and determination with which such women brand men as dogs is appalling in the least.

I personally hold great contempt at the mere thought of being compared to a third rate creature that poops with little regard for location, yells in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, drools shamelessly at the sight of fatty meat and is doomed for eternity to hold the position of servant to whoever can provide it with the requisite meals each day. I am actually yet to reconcile the sexual orientation of dogs and those men who have erred in their ways and hence earned us this demeaning title. Why dogs? Why not cheetahs, or lions, or leopards? As far as my knowledge of biology goes, all these cats have similar mating patterns. So, seriously, why dogs!!?

I took the liberty to consult with a few of my more liberal members of the fairer sex and got a number of interesting comparisons. Apparently, men will gape and drool at almost every passing half exposed bosom and every gyrating behind (read dogs and fatty meat!), if men feel that they are not getting their fill from their homes, they will venture out into the next available shelter that offers to fulfill their needs (apparently dogs do the same), men do not fathom commitment, love and perseverance; like the proverbial horse, the only way to keep them in the race is to hold the red cloth suspended in front of their noses (curiously, a similar phenomenon applies to dogs!), and finally, just like dogs, if they are hungry, the identity of the person offering the meat is of little if any concern, all they care about is the meat!

Suffice to say that by the time my liberal friends were done demystifying this mystery to me, the looks on their faces suggested that I was better of leaving since, writer or not, at that point I was just that, a dog. I wish to state that I think the ladies are horribly mistaken in this notion, and on behalf of all men, I beg to differ and consequently convince you otherwise.

First of all, we are not dogs, we are just men. Let me elaborate. Basic history will tell you that in virtually all ancient African societies, men were not only allowed, but expected to manage a household composed of at least several wives. A man’s status in society was for the greater part dictated by how many females answered to his call for conjugal duty in the affirmative. Dig a little further and you will realize that such ills as adultery and fornication that ail the world we live in currently were for the most part unheard of. A man had no reason to be unfaithful since, if his connubial needs were not being met
by the women currently in his homestead, all he had to do was scout the neighborhood for a fresh face and after paying the required dowry, get himself a ‘gachungwa’ with all the blessings of the gods!

Then the 20th century arrived with a vengeance, hit us repeatedly straight in the groin with such tools as the clawed affirmative action hammer and the round headed gender equality mallet. Before we knew it,our basic rights were slowly degenerating from frowned upon actions, to questionable behavior and eventually outright sinful misdemeanors. Progress and modernization became to men what the allies were to Germany in the Second World War, a negative force to be reckoned with. I have to hail the women at this point. Your valiant, conniving efforts are now bearing fruits. You now occupy high offices, you now somehow manage to get some men (no, not me! Never!) to kiss your feet, you have even come to the point where you can ask your selves, do we really need these men!?

This is where you went wrong. In your quest for freedom, you forgot one basic principle. Men will always be men. The same hombre who a century ago would have adequately satisfied a hundred women’s needs, now has to content himself with doing the same for one woman, ONE!! That’s like telling Microsoft to stop supplying windows to the rest of the world and concentrate on Kenya only! Not only is it unthinkable, it’s the ultimate show of retrogression!! We have not changed, and we won’t ever change, not in a million years. To men, women will always be objects of physical pleasure and bringing forth the next generation, regardless of their social standing, level of education or even number of honors received. We might change our tactics to include showing concern, love, respect, support and whatever other soap opera stunt you expect us to pull. The goal will however always be the same, to fulfill our conjugal rights, which sadly, we now have to break a few rules to achieve.

Am I advocating for cheating husbands and philandering bachelors? Not in the least. All I am saying is that you have launched into a series of fights with the societal status quo with little regard for whether you will eventually win the war, a one sided war in which your adversary (the men) sits comfortably and laughs with scorn at your every move, confident that its all a futile attempt. Maybe, just maybe, if you all took a moment to consider what we want as men, what we need as men, then you wouldn’t have to resort to branding us titles that are in the least, insults.

***

In a review of this article I wrote a while back about things never to say to a man, my reviewer here questioned whether a couple can’t be at that point in their relationship where they can ask or tell each other anything, including those in my list. To her, I only have one thing to say. Show me a couple who have no problem discussing each other’s sexual exploits with an ex and I will show you a couple of shameless pretenders!

Lawrence’s List Of Things Never To Say To A Man

lawrence — Mon, 25 May 2009 14:38:58 +0000

Let’s start with the things you say. I have been with my fair share of women, probably other people’s fair share as well thanks to a few God given gifts. One of the biggest problems I have had are the things that come out of your vocal chords when either at the heat of the moment, in the face of competition, when your girlfriends insinuate that he doesn’t love you anymore and in many other such situations. So here is a simple list which any blonde should be able to grasp at a moment’s glance. It is important for you to realize that just as you interpret the things we say in a bizarrely differing ways, so do we. And its not intentional, or vengeance for all the trauma you’ve caused us, its simply the male psychology.

So where is this going?
If we haven’t asked you out, there is only one possible explanation, we are not ready yet. As for your question, it was heading somewhere until you said these 5 killer words. We are slow by nature, we don’t like to be rushed, and we really hate it when you try to take control of the situation. Just let us do it our way. And if you are tired of waiting, well, move on! Who’s holding
you back?

Where did you learn that?
This question is fine if I just cooked you a delicious dinner, or repaired your computer, or did your hair, or pulled a dance move or any other innocent action for that matter. But if we were under the sheets, what kind of answer are you expecting? Ok, if you really have to know, I learnt it from an XXX-rated magazine. Happy?

I have had a crash on you like since…
Trust me dear, we know! And all my friends know, and all your friends know, and some of them told me like ages ago, even before it struck me. Truth is you ladies are not very good at hiding it when you have a crush on us. Unfortunately, it kills the thrill and mystery of the chase. Imagine if all of a sudden gold lost all its value and glamour. That’s what happens when we know you already like us. Please don’t tell us, and tell your friends to shut up about it, and try your level best to hide it. Ok, who am I kidding, we both know you can’t do it!

Of all my boyfriends, you are the best
Oh reaaaallly!! Have you read my previous article about men and pride? If you haven’t, go read it then come back. Let me break it down for you; men love challenge, we live for it. If I’m already the best, what more do I have to prove? Should I move on and find another girl to conquer? Keep me on my toes, just because you said yes doesn’t make me Superman. How about this, ‘Lawrence, I have to say, you blow my mind. Im just curious what else you can pull’. A simple way to spice up your relationship that many of you forget so easily.

My ex and i…Once my Ex…My Ex used to say…My Ex
WHO CARES!!! Ok, you wanna play this game? My Ex and I once did it in the Principal’s office. My Ex, whose bust was twice yours by the way, had this see through top she wore at home that would just kill me whenever I spent at her place, My Ex used to take yoga classes (know what that means?), My Ex and I once spent a romantic weekend at Maasai Mara, it was wild in every possible way!! Feel me?

We need to talk
These four words shut off a man’s brain faster than long division. When men hear you say that they immediately go into flight mode. You see, we use these 4 words only once in our relationship’s life, that’s when we want to break up with you. So when you use them, we feel like the tables have suddenly turned on us and we will run so fast in the opposite direction you will wonder if you hooked up with a cheetah. Find other subtle ways of having serious conversation and we will listen.

Nothing’s wrong
You don’t pick up my call for 2 weeks, you don’t respond to my texts, when I pass by your office you act all busy arranging your boss’s desk and the look on your face doesn’t say you love me more than ever before, and you tell me Nothing’s wrong? If you are older than 20, you should have known by now that we’re not mind readers, so please talk! And don’t make us guess because—believe me—you won’t like what we come up with.

I don’t know (More precisely, aronnoooo!)
So which shoe do you like? Aronnoooo! Can we hook up for lunch tomorrow? Aronnoooo! You think you and I could be an item? Aronnoooo! Would you leave your boyfriend for me? Aronnoooo! Do we like it when you say Aronnoooo, YES!! What on earth does Aronnoooo mean? Ok, here’s a question babe, can I hook up with your cute friend, who likes me by the way, while you figure out if it’s a yes or a no? Aronnoooo!

Can we just be friends?
Let me share a secret with you ladies. All of us take “I just want to be friends” as “There’s still a chance,” so if there isn’t just make it a clean break and move on. You save yourself numerous irritating phone calls while of course saving us some credit (especially in this recession). A lady friend of mine told me you guys think it is polite. Its not! Do you know those guys who keep a lady hanging on to them, never completely committing themselves but at the same time being overly sweet? That’s the male equivalent to this line.

Am I fat?
What!!? No, you are crazy! Do I look like a gym instructor to you?

Do you think she’s pretty?
Of course we do, our standards are much lower than yours. But just because we check her out doesn’t mean we think any less of you. We try to be as discreet as possible, but how do you hide a mouth that is agape? It’s in our DNA. When an attractive woman walks by, how about you look at that cute guy in other side of the room? Coz we will definitely look at her, head to toe!

Do you know anyone for my friend?
Which one? The cute one who’s always in skimpy clothing or the ugly betty? I was kinda hoping the cute one would remain single just in case we, you know, ended this. As for the ugly one, are you kidding me? Ohh, wait a sec, I have this nerd in my class who’s always asking me to hook him up. Funny story, first time he asked me that, I asked him, ‘With what?’He! he! He! Back to the topic. My dear, I am not a dating consultant. How about you propose a group outing with my friends then you can hook your friend up with one of them? Without my help. Thank you! You’re the best!

What are you thinking about?
Ah, the girlie phrase that out-girlifies all others, including the classic “Do I look fat?” which now takes a close second. Once again, don’t make us tell you because—believe me—it wasn’t about how special our relationship is, though if you insist, that’s precisely what we will tell you. Barca had better defeat Man-U, otherwise those idiots will be boasting for the next 3 seasons!

It was only one time
The tale about that one night you made that one mistake with that one guy – no matter how hilarious – should stay in the vault, along with any other confession that involves alcohol, an ex and –God forbid-visits to the abortion clinic. No, wait, Id like to know about the abortion clinic, when I finally propose to you, not before. Sweety, this is a relationship, not a support group!

Be honest with me
This one could go oh-so-many ways. None of them good. These four words make a man’s stomach knot up even more than if you’d said “Let’s go to brunch with my 10 best girlfriends “. If you’re trying to get his read on something casual, like a new dress, tacking this on sends him the message that his opinion of the dress could be make-or-break (oh my God are you sure you want to wear that top with that tummy?). If it’s about something more serious, such as the DTR (define the relationship) talk, just ask him outright. Boys can become men and give their genuine opinion – if they’re given a chance. No, don’t laugh, I’m serious.

That looks cute
For the most part, men hate cute. We don’t want to hear about it, we don’t want to see it, and we sure as hell don’t want to be it. If we come down stairs after getting dressed and you tell us we look cute, there’s a 100 per cent chance we’re changing. We’re supposed to be your protector, your rock, and cute does not fit into that picture. Along with this goes such words as
Mellow, Harmless, Placid, Docile, thoughtful (especially with regards to the bedroom), and the deal breaker, OK. We hate Ok! How about Awsome, Handsome and any other adjective that ends with ‘some’?

That wasn’t so hard to learn, was it? Next time you meet your hubby, give him a passionate kiss and tell him “yes!” for once.

Update:
In a review of this article here my reviewer questioned whether a couple can’t be at that point in their relationship where they can ask or tell each other anything, including those in my list. To her, I only have one thing to say. Show me a couple who have no problem discussing each other’s sexual exploits with an ex and I will show you a couple of shameless pretenders!

Of Men Versus Women

lawrence — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 08:00:30 +0000

A man gets so agitated by the insolent behavior of other beings whom he considers to be his subjects and hence lesser beings, that in a fit of rage he bursts a blood vessel and dies. That, for those of you who are paupers of history is a true story, twice true actually.

A question pops up in my mind, what is the highest degree of anger that a person can be driven to? Another one follows suit, between men and women, which side possesses a higher capacity for rage? What ticks a woman’s anger valves to palpitate at their most vigorous? How about a man’s?

A few weeks back I embarked on an odyssey that would culminate in women taking their proper place in this fiber that is the society we live in. That article sparked controversy in my wee bit of a fan base, with an ‘it-cant-be’ kind of admiration from the women and a ‘what-the-#@$&’ kind of reaction from the men. The men are of no concern to me as these articles are meant for the ladies. Given the reaction from the ladies, I felt obliged to write this equally sublime follow-up, so if you are a man, read on at your own peril.

It is an obvious fact that men are Proud. It also happens to be their major weakness. It is an even more obvious fact that women are emotional, and I have to say, sometimes too emotional. May I also add that many a lady feign pride as a defense mechanism, or a transparent veil rather for their feeble emotional tendons! I personally find it despicable when an iron lady suddenly transforms into an emotional wretch when some idiot of a man ‘breaks her heart’. As natural as crying should be for women, such scenes are gross and a huge marks deductor for all the real ladies out there! Can I get an Amen!? At this point I feel obliged to remind the ladies that I am an emissary of your true destiny, so take no offense.

Good people from the fairer gender, it is paramount that you bear in mind that any effort on your side to flip nature’s coin will spark a war, not a war of words, not a war of wills, not a war of swords and knives but the worst kind of war known to human kind, the war of passion. The good news is that in this kind of war your victory is assured. How do I know? Once again I am an emissary of your true destiny, will you pay attention please!? Now, listen carefully. In any war, there is only one sure way to win; Attack your enemy at their weakest point and fortify your weak points from any counter attack. If you don’t believe me, ask the Romans. The day they stopped following this rule was the day their collapse began, a fateful tale that begot the utter obliteration of the most formidable empire in ancient civilization. You my friends have stability of mind, strength of will, power to persevere, incredible sense of order and that one single effective tool that will always bring your foes, bishop and pervert alike, down to their knees, the amazing work of divine art that defines your femininity. With these weapons you can easily fortify your main weak point and have enough to spare to hit at the enemy. Having crossed that bridge, let us lay down your strategy for the attack.

You see, we men believe that we managed to put you in your place for all eternity. So entrenched is this belief that we have turned it into a norm, an ideal so tangible to us, which we have packaged and embossed the label EGO on it in pure gold. Just to paint the picture for you, Cain killed his brother Abel out of a little smoke misunderstanding, Achilles launched a whole assault on Troy to prove the gods wrong(I hope you know how that ended), King Henry VIII founded a whole church just to get a fertile damsel to keep his dynasty going, just recently Adolf Hitler fried a couple million Jews and figured he could conquer the whole of Europe, oh, then a few army guys decided to undermine Mr. Moi in 1982 and we all know how that turned out. Are we communicating here? What I am trying to tell you is that we are not just proud, we worship our pride, we are willing to die for it, we are willing to kill for it, we will wipe out the whole human race if only to keep our egos intact! That, my dearest reader, is the kind of passion you have to deal with if you embark on this assault.

Does this scare you? Does it make you ask if maybe things are better off the way they are? Does the thought of 2 billion really angry men going on the rampage when you finally stir up the calm settled waters of their ocean of egos cause a chill down your spine? If it does, then please stop reading and go back to your cocoon of soap opera illusion of a lifestyle!! But I urge you to read on, because much as the truth hurts, only the truth can set you free, and nothing tastes better than freedom, not even revenge.

I have a plan; unfortunately it has to be delivered in coded language to prevent your adversaries from snooping and foiling this grand master takeover scheme. It shall be in the form of a series of short stories in this section of the Lily Review, so please keep visiting.

PS/ I have received death threats from unidentified people whom I assume to be men. I thus request for any protection that you ladies can offer. You know where to find me.

Other articles in this series
Of Men vs Women [Part 1]
Of Men vs Women [Part 2]
Of Men vs Women [Part 3]
Of Men vs Women [Part 4]

Formation or Hypnotization? The Conspiracy Theory

lawrence — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 14:58:03 +0000

Ancient Rome, around 200 BC, Caesars Palace, imperial resting room to be more specific, a stupid man, stupidly turned on by his sister’s sexual appeal, committed incest, but even worse because he actually raped her. That, my dear friends, was the birth of the monstress that is the conflict of genders, which sadly has strained its eerie tendons to the world we live in today. Not that no incest had been orchestrated before, but never before by a ruler of the greater world. Welcome to the conspiracy theory.

You see, creation and the subsequent forces of time have shaped human culture into believing one quite distorted notion, stately, ‘Don’t bang your sister and ensure to the best of your capacity that no one else does so’. The clause then has a sub-clause that goes, ‘Bang anyone else!’. The fact that ‘anyone else’ means all other people’s sisters escapes the twisted selfish mass of cells that is the male mind. And yes, for you slow folks, this rule only applies to the 3 legged members of our species.

If you are someone who subscribes to the above mentioned piece of crap, please stop reading this article, because this is classified information. Ladies, did you know that that place that your local pastor talks about, called hell, where all bad people will go to after they die, is only reserved for men? This life right here my dearest members of the fairer sex, is your living hell! True story! And did you know that it is actually Eve who was created first and Adam subsequently cloned from her rib? Shhhhh!! Keep your voice down! Did you also know, that women are like a 3 in one bar? Made up of the visible you, the spiritual you and a third ignorant, arrogant blonde, bitchy you. Men love the third you, that’s how we manage to get into your pants. Did you also know that for every 3 ladies, there are only 2 men? Ever wondered why? Take away the monks, priests and the celibates and you will realize you have a serious problem in your soft hands. Oh, and did you know that in some ancient cultures, child birth was such a revered concept that men believed that all women were gods? The women consequently sat on thrones while the
men toiled for and served them at their behest? Those cultures are now ancient. Do you know how or why?

Ladies, please gather round. Now, listen very carefully, the forces of this world, working in tandem with the men have formed an eternal alliance whose sole objective is the perpetual subjugation of the female species. Why? How can you ask me such a dumb question!!? It’s because we realize the power you wield within, the mystical female intuition, the ever persistent female perseverance, even in the face of fatal suffering! We know only too well that soon as you realize how powerful you really are, then men will be doomed to revert to their preapportioned
slice of purpose, at your service.

So why am I telling you this, jeopardizing all the unfair advantages that both me and my fellow hombres so greedily savor? Well, I will only tell you this for now; I have discovered a secret. Long hidden in the most unusual of places. With this secret, it is actually possible for humans to restore the natural balance that the forces of creation destined us to have. Best part is, no one will feel like the pendulum is swinging in one direction only, and we will all live happily ever after.

Not so fast ladies. To begin with, I have to know that I can trust you. I need assurance that once the balance is restored you will not turn into vicious vengeful elves and throw us into the lions’ dungeons. Can I trust you? Your starry deceptive eyes convey a girlish innocence which threatens to tempt me into easy submission. And for the promise of a few minutes of unadulterated ecstatic sensual pleasure, I could also easily blurt out the secret. A drop of some unknown brain numbing concoction into my drink could also do the trick. But it’s a risk I have to take. Let me remind you that any sinister options you take could simply reverse the roles and the world will remain the same dreary mess that we all love to hate.

I have to go now but I will stay in touch. We meet at this same place, same day next week and we will start the process of healing for this cruel world. Long live the woman!

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