Oh no! Everyone’s getting into relationships and growing up and I’m just blogging. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I grew up. No stories today. I’ll just rant about myself. Maybe pat myself on the head. The mystic me. First I’ll apologize. I’m sorry if I’ll (or I’ve) ever told you loyal fans the same story about myself more than once. Either in the lift, bus or here. It’s just that I don’t have an interesting life and cool things rarely happen to me. In fact this’ so true till earlier today my mum had to ask me who I’m laughing with, closed up in my room. I told her my laptop. She’d obviously thought I’d found the one. And it’s true. I found the one today. Surprisingly, it’s been on my keyboard all the time just before ‘key 2’. Sorry mum. Not yet. I’m here alone like a flag-pole and I’m okay because, “Hey, I love food and internet.”
I should stop being conservative with the truth.
Technically, I’m single but emotionally I’m completely taken. No. Not the best place to start. Let’s start with why I broke up with/stopped talking to this neighbor girlie of mine called X. She’s among those women who confirm my fears that women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.
So it was on such a morning last week when I got up, psyched with life, vibrant and full of spirit (I don’t mean wines and spirits, sit down and listen!). Everyone’s already up. Peeps are going to school. Others to work etc. I try to make myself important around the house from 6am to 8am as if I earn a salary so that I dash back to bed to tweet the day off when everyone’s outta home. Don’t get surprised, those are typical student woes; long holiday, unemployment, bedbugs and spiders.
*let me pet you with my SHOE!*
*ha ha spider*
Good. It’s 9am. Everyone’s gone, including neighbors. Perfect time to dash to the ‘kiosk’ just 100 metres away to grab some Safaricom’s prepaid airtime card. I’m in my vest, ‘akala‘ sandals (those tyre sandals) and pajama trouser. Just when I bang the door and exit the gate, this neighbor mama appears from the blues.
Whoa?! I thought I’m alone in the estate. She’s never seen me in akalas, red pajama trousers and spaghetti on my eyes, so she exclaims, “Jesus!”
Of course Jesus is my friend and thus this conversation has begun well.
“Actually it’s just me,” I reply, “although I’ve been told the resemblance is startling.”
Yeah, that’s me trying to remind her I look like Him so that she forgets my poor clad. Rattled and edgy I am around females these days. She asks me what I’m up and about in akala this early out of the compound and I think fast. I think left and think right; and think low and think high; oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try.
“Won’t you come in for some coffee? I got some nice buns left youngie.”
See? If you’re going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it or else you’re going to be locked up. Yeah. I’m getting paid some coffee. Very fast and I’m in, planted on the sofa, warm and cozy like a puppy. Off to the kitchen she goes. I’m so happy. Really what would men be without women? Scarce sir… mighty scarce.
Then X my girlie appears. X is this mama’s beautiful daughter by the way. Generally I avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it. No, it’s not what you’re thinking about. It’s the pieces of cake on the tray she’s expertly balanced on her palms that I’m talking about.
“Hi Joe,” she starts.
“So you visit us in akalas and a vest, you nuts?” she laughs.
“Aar, eeh. I was jogging and pushing up a little,” I blush.
“That does it. I’m going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year,” X says.
“So you can look up FUN . I’m not sure you know what it means.”
I know that’s a 10-NIL so I get busied up sipping hot coffee; after all I’m myself’s own best fan.
“Joe, you actually look like a squirrel.”
Girl confirms she’s never seen a squirrel, yet I thought she’s awesome. I’ve read plenty of squirrel-hunting novels. Anyway.
“Then hunt me down,” I blurted.
Oh no. Joke fails. She doesn’t even laugh. But I conclude X wouldn’t notice a joke even if it danced naked in front of her wearing a clown’s hat labeled ‘JOKE’. However, if at first you don’t succeed, try, then try, then try again. Then quit! No use being a damn fool about it.
But just before I tell her how I love her like a fat kid loves cake so as to ease the tense mood, my cake falls on the floor and cup of coffee slips and wets my trouser. I feel embarrassed at my alacrity in sipping the very hot, steaming coffee. I start rubbing my eyes, pretending that some insect just made an emergency landing in. Do you ever rub your eyes so hard that you start entering some galaxy of swirls and patterns? That’s it. I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies!
Anyway, two wrongs don’t make a right, but they make a good excuse. With brain itching to excuse itself from my skull, I excuse myself, get out of the house with voices in my head going like, “Man, that was fun! We should go to jail!” I tell X there’s something in my eye, that I should go check.
*phone blinks, then glows*
*low battery notification*
Oh, it’s my phone. It’s a ‘smart’ phone with a very ‘dumb’ battery. I open my/dad’s/our house, get in and think of how I’ve erased that fine line between genius and insanity by embarrassing my awesome self before X and her mum. That’s how I broke up with X. Just that way. That; I’d simply walk out on her rudely, or so she says. Like a typical lady in such a situation she updates her Facebook status, “There comes a point in life when you have to realize who really matters, who never did and who always will.” Like the non-typical guy, I update, “She’ll never realize she’s lost something good until she sees someone else enjoying it.”
It’s how people behave these days. ‘Complicated’, you know. Mark you, we weren’t even dating. Neither were we in any sort of ‘thingy’, yet it gets this embarrassingly ugly. Nope. We were being stupid folks. Life’s hard. Even harder when you’re stupid.
See now? I haven’t really grown up into a man. I’m the same angst-ridden teenager I was 4 years ago who can’t confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people through his blog instead. Looks like I’m doing a fantastic job if you’re still reading this. So you ask why I am stepping on myself here? Like don’t I have self-esteem? I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I don’t know the answer.
As if sent from Venus to comfort me, Shazy texts. Now, Shazy is those people that make you forget you’re shy. She’s the bomb. I mean real bomb. Like if Osama bin Laden knew her, he’d have her in a jiffy.
“Hi, my cake!” goes the text.
She wants her cake. I’d promised her some black forest cake four days ago. I text back.
“I’m in the library!”
She replies ignominiously fast, “Lol, have fun”.
Now friend, when a girl says “Lol, have fun” , do not have fun. Abort mission! I repeat. Abort mission; and run! Go see her! If you don’t, someone else will. Like; Osama will.
I text back, “Hey, I have your cake. I bought it like four days ago. It’s in my fridge in my room”.
She calls, tells me where she is in campus and we decide I’ll turn up in 30 minutes. Remember, I’m not in the library, I’m holed up in Doonholm in the house. Quick!
*gets into pants*
*gets into brown jungle boots*
*bangs door shouting “Shazy is the bomb!”*
*stops the next minivan to town*
*hears background music in my life for the first time, meaning this is heaven*
In 20 minutes, I’m in Tuskys Supermarket Bebabeba. Real men don’t break promises. At the counter, black-forest is made my slave, as it does appear to be in the Tuskys cell-box wrapper and BAM! In 10 minutes I’m with Shazy at Main Campus. Perfect!
*voice in head says, “Joe, now you’re the bomb.”*
That voice makes me feel like doing what bombs do; explode in her arms; but I behave, do a warm handsome handshake, look into her big magical eyes and feel like a gentleman for the first time that day. Those are the times you wish getting a girlfriend was like volleyball; you shout “mine” and everyone backs off.
Then, know what? Say KARMA! X passes by, (she’s in campus already?) sees us clearly and yeah, I nod to the voice in my head,
” Yes, I’m the Bomb!”.