jesus,mary and that lousy joseph

i am soooooo freakin pissed. actually, thats all.
i feel good already


lists are in these days, so i kind of thought it would be cool to have one of my own. listing the things that people fuss over.

Roses. they wither. they are thorny. and lets be honest, they dont smell nice. except that one time i sprayed my valentine's day flower with perfume.

Pizza- the crust is tasteless. it is rough. i know that curtesy of the bruises on the roof of my mouth everytime i eat pizza. and it does not taste that good either. plus, none of the diet schedules i have read( as if)say yes to pizza.(okay maybe this is bordering on anorexia)

Juno- he recommended it. she swore it was the coolest thing ever. i lost sleep over the fact that none of my movie friends had a copy to share. until i bought it. it is just another movie.

Black forest- cake. i love cake. and some of my friends know this. one day one of them brought over what she described as pastry heaven. i was not impressed. no gerry, black forest is not the best cake kown to man.

Getting hammered. let me count the ways. there is the purging, the staggering, the loss of self control, the bad breath, then the oh so glorious morning after. getting drunk does not take you to cloud nine i have discovered.

Coffee dates-pretentious.

Bakiga strength- i got my ass kicked all the time by the tiniest kids in school. once i went out to prove my mukiga prowess, even got a couple of kids to chant my tribe to intimidate the opposition. i have a nasty scar on my back to prove that bakiga are mortals. weak mortals.

Peep toes- they hurt my feet.

Virginity- i would have thought HE would bring out the champagne to toast to the virginity popping ceremony. he didnt. he just stunk of beer. and the following day, i was limping. and the day after, i was back to normal. no crowds on the street chanting and throwing stones at me. life was good again.

Obama. so he is black. him and millions other people. he is a politician. him and odonga otto. he has a vision for change. him and besigye both. whats the fuss?

Toblerone- it costs 5 times my usual cadbury's crunch chocolate. my cadbury's tastes 5 times better.

Introducing cry-baby loser part1

How I met loser
Rush hour is everyone’s nightmare, but I imagine it is a little easier for those that have cars. I mean, sitting in your car in traffic jam, listening to drive time FM shows presented by dj’s with phony accents beats having to tussle for a taxi hours on end after a long day at work or wherever. So you can imagine what a breath of fresh air it must have been for me to get to my taxi stage and there is this cuuute guy waiting just nearby and making eyes at me. I feigned disinterest, and continued nodding my head to the heavy metal beats in my ear, but really, I could have hugged myself right then.

Anyway, so a fleet of cars came and I found that could not muscle my way through the throng to get space in the 14 seater. Now normally I am aggressive and will normally push everyone out of the way, but I could not very well do it what with cuteness watching and all. And then he did something honorable. When the next taxi came, he pushed everyone to one side, ignored everyone else’s sneers, and beckoned me to enter. And a hero was born.

I felt obliged to book him a seat right next to me, we exchanged names, (me a phony one), we shared my earphones, swapped phone numbers, and the rest as they say is history. Okay so there is no history really, but you get. At first it was exciting having all this attention from a hot guy. I interpreted the constant phone calls as concern and shit but it got quite tiring having to answer for my every waking, and sometimes sleeping minute. I almost carried a recorder to bed just so I would know exactly what I had gotten up to while I slept incase he queried about that (okay so maybe I am exaggerating a little).

He wanted to see me all the time, to come to my work place all the time, and after work, he would be waiting to go home together. But what really creeped me out is, after a week of escorting me home, he decided to christen me. He said my name-Rachael (the phony one I had supplied) was ordinary and he wanted to call me something fabulous. So I said to go ahead, and then he said,
“You shall be called……”(him, pausing for effect) (me, thinking get it over with loser)

“… Duncan”. His name. I was at this point looking out for any sign that he had maybe manufactured a rare joke, but waa! He was dead serious. That is when I almost ran. Almost. But I stayed and decided to own up that Rachael was indeed not my real name and that my real name was antipop, at which point he proceeded to trash my real awesome name to nothing-ness. He insisted that Duncan sounded way cooler and I was baptized.
The guy was sweating me. But I played along for about a month. Afterall, it is every girl’s dream to have a guy at her beck and call. This was my toy boy, and I was determined to milk the experience… Until the tears started to flow…

Part two coming up soon.

when loyalty saved the day

It didnt. It didnt come running with arms wide open, to thank me for a job well done. And it was. instead it looked me in the eye and told me i had not given my all. That i needed to put in more time. To invest some more in it, loyalty. to give and give and give. And if i had no more to give, loyalty said, it could easily find another sycophant. Yes, jack was going to find another jill to go up the hill with.

Loyalty had left me for dead. I turned one cheek and it asked me to turn the other. Yes,the day i waited for loyalty to put food on my table, i went hungry. To put clothes on my back, i went topless. To put shoes on my feet, i got blisters. Loyalty didnt have cash. It didnt have food stamps, Didnt have any old clothes to give, no crumbs fell from its table. It had promises. And i was getting weary. Screw loyalty. I want to live.

being a fanatic

Yesterday was a good day and to prove it, i hav a sore throat.
Okay so i am not your everyday screaming, statistic and odds calculative footaball fan, but i am a fan. i am a fan in a way that i know the hottest players on a team and i am always inclined to the team that has the hottest of the hot. I choose manchester united. and it won some silver ware or other.

Now normally, if the game is not showing on my local tv, i can not be bothered to go looking for it, but not yesterday. it was afterall the season finale, and trophy decider for that matter. so, clad in my tomboy jeans and baggy shirt to hide the breasts, i went to a local bar, paid shs500 to the bouncer at the gate and on i went.

I almost ran back to the safety of my UTV as soon as i entered.turns out, the t-shirt did not do much in the disguise department, so it was clear to all that i was a gal, and it was clear to me that they were all skunky horny losers as they leered and teased and grabbed before i got to a safe spot at the bar.

I sat near this guy who promised me that he was going to be the best boyfriend i had ever known, but cockiness is not what was wrong with this one. He kept farting all the time or when he was not farting, he would open his mouth to talk to me and i would pull away as the hot smelly air hit my face. But even then, the smell of the fart was drowned out by the stench of all else around. boys, water is not the enemy.needless to say, i walked out of there smelling some kind of funk that i can not describe.

But i learnt one thing during the match. That Rio Ferdinand is WELL endowed.


I was not going to let moron spoil it for me. I had already planned a surprise party and i was determined that there would be one. so i linked up with two of phoebe's other girlfriends and we came up with plan B. So we put operation surprise phoebe in motion.

Party was at shangai restaurant, almost everyone that was invited showed up. Late, but they showed up. And thankfully, phoebe also showed up, despite an earlier scare that she would not be able to make it, because she was doing her laundry.Till like 6:30pm. And the party was slated for 6:00pm. So as usual, the party started atleast 2 hours late.

Apparently she hates surprises, so she came in and pronounced death and hate on all of us who had planned it. that is her looking at us menacingly, at the head of the table. We were not cowed in any way, and the party had to go on.

That is her nolonger mad at the cruel world that planned a party for her, in a compromising pose with another gal. It is compromising, no? am I reading too much in the pic then? The light in the back is a TV. With Whitney Houston karaoke playing. What? Don’t you all judge me. Atleast it was better than a quiet room.

This is the cake that brought phoebe to tears. I am glad I am not the only one that cried about this party thing.

That is the guy that utilized the teary moment to feel her up, pretending to console her. But we all saw through that.

forgive the poor quality pictures, but that is all i could squeeze out of my nokia.
That chinese food is not doing me good today. I find that i have to make a run for the bathroom every so often to fart. I am about to just start sliding them past at my desk. My legs are tired of moving...

Also, i hav not yet figured out what to do with moses, who by the way i invited to the new surprise party last minute, just so he does not out me again.
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