Saturday, January 23, 2010

Just zip it already!

The memory part of the female brain is an amazing thing. It stores
birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, what Junior was wearing when he
took his first step, the correct dosage the vet prescribed for the
dog's flea bath and such type of clutter that men would rather clear
their minds of to concentrate on matters of more relevant import.

But while this isn't neccessarily a bad thing, (Memory is after all a
very integral part of any technical set-up,) trust something in the
female make-up to find ways of making it a bad thing.

And in this case, it is the nagging.

This arises from the fact that while women are indeed are good at
keeping memories, they prefer negative memories to positive ones.

Due to this, we have a situation whereby her head has more than its
reasonable share of negative vibes. Negative vibes are unhealthy, and
letting them out is the reason why psychiatry is by far the most
profitable field in the medical industry.

Unfortunately, shrinks don't come cheap, and even then, she is highly
unlikely to think she requires their services. But these negative
vibes are there and have to come out, so you end up taking the
shrink's place on the receiving end of the negative vibes.

When a man is slighted, forgiveness will come with the relative speed
of the Middle East peace process. But you can be sure that unless it
is something collossal, like say an insult on his mother's honor, he
will forget about the slight in no time flat.

Women on the other hand are wired a little differently. So were you
immensely relieved whenshe bought the tale that your lip-lock with her
best friend on her bed the other day was nothing but a case of
mouth-to-mouth resucitation? Well, don't act surprised when she brings
up the incident at your 20th college re-union party.

And that, I'm afraid, is guaranteed to be an incredibly uncomfortable

A women will remember that you broke your promise to take her to
Amboseli the previous month, but conveniently forget that you renewed
her subscription for the gym on that very day you were suppossed to
take the trip. She will belittle and berate you about the limited size
of your living quarters, but unless you bring up the fact that half
your salary has been meeting her tuition fees at the university for
the past four years, then it will pass unmentioned.

Throw in the fact that science has proved women speak about 75000
words a day to man's 15000 words, and you begin to appreciate the
quagmire that nagging is for us.

It is better to live alone on the roof, King Solomon once said, than
to share a house with a nagging woman.

This was a King whose experience with women was both prolific and
legendary, and considering that he was like only the wisest person
that ever lived, I'm guessing it isn't too much strain on the the
imagination to assume he knew what he was talking about.

And it is an opinion most men whole-heartedly agree with.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Dating your Exe's friend.

For its smooth running, any organized human activity must have rules and norms which its participants are expected to conform to. And since romantic relationships between two (or more) humans fall under the definition of 'Organized Human Activity,' then they too need to have their own rules and norms.

In romantic interaction, these rules are always unwritten and often are subject to modification depending on the prevailing circumstances. But although of the most part logical consideration inspires the creation and adoption of a majority of these rules, sometimes certain norms occur which make about as much sense as Arsene Wenger's transfer policy.

And a good example of such a norm is the incredibly absurd 'Thou shalt not date thy exes' friend.'

When Stephan met Julia, he was convinced that his debauched bachelor existence had just entered its home stretch. She was stunning, cultured and fun to be around, qualities which although independently common in most of the women he had dated, had never manifested themselves to him together in the same woman.

The situation however wasn't exactly straightforward. For a girl of her caliber, Julia unfortunately had other suitors apart from Stephané, and like any female between the ages of 18 and 28, she was as yet unversed in the intricacies of making up her mind.

Obviously, she needed time to learn this vital art and apply it, so in the meantime, she engaged the help of her childhood friend and roommate Sally to keep Stephan deceived whenever she was checking out another suitor. Sally's brief when such discretions took place was to engage Stephani in conversation and defer his attention until Julia got back from her escapades, or whenever it became apparent that Julia wouldn't be able to make it back, lie her behind off until Stephan was convinced.

But although he couldn't precisely boast headache-inducing IQ, Stephan had nevertheless been somewhere near the front row when brains were being handed out, and thus it didn't take him long to figure out that his chances of walking Julia up the aisle in this lifetime were just a few notches below non-existent. So being a pragmatic man, he decided to cut his losses and cast his eyes further afield in his quest for the bone of his rib.

Only he didn't have to cast them that much farther afield. During the course of his interaction with Sally while Julia was out playing him, Stephan had come to like Sally very, very much, while Sally, who wasn't seeing anyone at the time, had all along disliked the way her friend was dogging this earnest, sincere man whom any girl in her right mind would fall hopelessly head over heels she herself had.

Thus it came to pass that almost two years later; Stephan crossed the finishing line of bachelorhood with Sally in his arms. And as would be expected because of the 'Thou shalt not date thy exes' friend' rule, Julia never attended her erstwhile bosom friend's wedding because she felt Sally had committed the unforgivable sin of snatching her man.

Emotions are instinctive, and everybody knows that instinct cannot be controlled. So although it wouldn't be right for a person like Julia to feel aggrieved when her friend claims what she considers rightfully hers, it is perfectly understandable that she would feel aggrieved when it happens. However, going on to deliberately make that into an unwritten rule that criminalizes what was in fact a natural, logical progression of events under the circumstances would in my opinion be stretching the limits of reason to frankly unacceptable extremes.

Why should real love and genuine foundation for a lifelong relationship be stillborn because a person's soul mate was once in a relationship with the said soul mate's friend? That is of course both unfair and unreasonable, but among women, a former flame is permanently sealed and off limits to any of her friends for life, and breaching that seal is considered the ultimate betrayal.

It must be said, men aren't immune to such ravages of jealousy when such instances arise, but at least we make allowances for exceptional circumstances. With men, exes are basically off limits to friends, but when a friend is truly into your ex, he is expected to ask your permission to date her. You, in turn, must grant him this permission.

An unconventional rule, yes, and even a little unreasonable. But let's face it. It is much better than the blanket ban on opportunity that women have with their 'Thou shalt not date thy friend's ex' rule, and one they would do well to adopt.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Secret Admirer.

Dear Ms. Gloria

My hope and prayer that you have no reason to be thankful for the existence of health institutions. My prayer too that your spirits reside at hights that Yelena Isinbanyeva would need steroids to clear.

I sincerely apologise for this intrusion and any inconvennience it might cause, but I find myself in an unfortunate situation that only you can remedy. And that, Ms. Gloria, is not an exeggerattion. You happen to be the singular person among the odd eight billion humans that populate the globe who can help me out of my predicament.

Thing is, last night I created a google e-mail [gmail] account because I needed to open a new facebook account. [And please don't ask me what I needed a new facebook account for. Trust me, you DON"T want to know.]

Anyway, did you know, Ms. Gloria, that scientists have reason to believe humans are evolved from pre-historic, pelagic life forms? Well, if there is factual validation for this assertion, then I surely must have descended from the forefathers of the modern day goldfish, because there is very compelling proof I have the memory span of one. This morning when I went to continue with the mischef that had made me create a new facebook account, I realised I had forgotten my e-mail address and therefore could not access it. My password I could remember since I'd written it down and somehow managed not to forget the slip of paper at the cybercafe, but not the e-mail address!

Which is where you fit into the scheme of things.

You see, you just happen to be the only person in the world to have ever received an e-mail from that account. Just before I logged out last night, I used it to e-mail you a very detailed account of my fascination with certain parts of your anatomy.
So in the sincere hope that it won't be a terrible inconvenience, I'm requesting that you please retrieve a message titled 'Why I think you're hot' from your inbox that was sent at between 9.00 and 9.40pm last night by one Anonymous Admirer and foward me the address to this account.

Yours sincerely
Anonymous Admirer.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Coming to America: The Million-shilling Resolution.

Ten days into the new year and already, I'm halfway through breaking my New year's resolutions.

Among other things, I'd vowed to tackle my slopiness this year, but the dozens of cigarette stubs littering my bedroom floor are clear evidence of just how short-lived that resolution was, as well as of what happened to my other resolution to finally give up smoking. I'm also yet to destroy my Two Girls One Cup DVD, I'm yet to step into a Mosque this year and my ex girlfriend's digits are still on my speed dial. Clearly, I suck at this whole resolutions business.

However, all's not lost. You see, the reason my resolutions have the longevity of a Kenyan legislator's integrity in the face of material inducements is because like most people, I make resolutions not because I have a burning desire to set goals and stick to them, but because everybody I know and their grandmother seems to be making one and I don't want to be left out, but this time there is one resolution I made which I fully intend to see realised.

That resolution is to have ten thousand bucks in my account by the time Jakaya Mrisho Kikwete wins his second term as Bongo's big Kahuna or the first yellow NRM poster of Kagu wearing that ridiculous hat hits the streets of Kampala, whichever comes first.

By buck, I'm obviously not talking wildlife, and neither am I interested in ten thousand actions aimed at upheaval in the general order of things, such as would be inferred in statements like 'bucking the trend.' By 'Buck,' I'm talking about the legal tender accepted as payment for goods and services as well as the settlement of debts in the United States of America.

The natural questions in this case would of course be, what the hell do I need ten thousand bucks for, and how the heavens am I going to make ten thousand bucks?

The answer to the first question is quite straightfoward: I don't need ten thousand bucks. All I said was I've resolved to have ten thousand bucks in my bank account by the end of the year, period. who said anything about needing it? It isn't beyond the scope of reason to want to have any amount of money in your account that you don't need now, is it?

Getting around the second question is a little trickier. My plan when I made this resolution was to wait until December and then  persuade my MP to surrender to me his improved monthly pay package in the yuletide spirit. But although I can be quite persuasive when I want to, the brutal economic times coupled with the sheer capacity for meanness in our legislators means the chances of that happenning are only slightly less than the chances of the said legislators voting no when the improved pay package report is finally tabled in the house.

There is a fool proof way of making the money, though. Since the buck is American currency, it follows that the best place to make thousand of them is to go where then thousand of them can easily be made, i.e the United States Of America, so all I have to do is make my way there. In fact, I'm reliably informed that despite all that Economic Downturn nonsense, there is alot of money to be made there, and it won't even take me a year to accomplish my resolution.

Only one problem with this method. If they can ignore the fact that I'm Moslem, the American Immigration Department first of all requires that I have ten thousand bucks in my account before they issue me with a visa to travel to their land and make ten thousand bucks...