A Julie Good Day

I wrote this at the beginning of semester, got high and forgot to upload it. Have a blast.

A Julie Good Day

I almost always wake up with no clue whatsoever on how the day will go. You’re probably thinking, ‘dang doesn’t everyone?’  So, I’ll rephrase that. Do you ever stay in bed till mid-morning simply because you’re not sure whether you want to eat, watch TV, listen to loud music or check your Facebook/twitter timeline?

If your answer is yes, please get your shit together and get a life.

Indecision is what I’m made of.  I never plan because hey, life’s supposed to be a roll. Besides, indecision breeds flexibility. And this particular morning, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to travel to K’la or Jinja. I lazed in bed for over four hours weighing the pros and cons. Then I remembered it was supposed to be the first day of semester.

Arrgh

I decided the best thing to do would be to drag my lazy ass out of bed and into the shower for starters. I dressed up, got my backpack and J.R. Tolkien’s 1000 page Lord of the Rings hard paper back novel. With no inkling whatsoever on my destination, I asked mum for transport (which is just a nicer way to ask for up keep). She handed me a wad of notes which I didn’t bother to count. Because the last time I counted my PM, I was so heartbroken that I decided to head to my room, unpack and chill in my drawers. Which broke mum’s heart—which broke my heart all over again.

But none of that could have possibly prepared me for the female rollercoaster I was about to ride. I reached the station and decided to ditch a bus and use a coaster for once because;

·         I have beef with those Elgon Flyer Bus guys for refusing to transport my baby sister’s mountain bike in time for her umpteenth birthday. I later realized her BD isn’t until September. But I’ll probably forget again since she’s not yet on Facebook. Happy birthday in advance Tracy!

·         However much I concentrate and pray, I always choose a seat number next to that of a fat woman, obese man and/or breastfeeding mother of seven…make that eight.

·         The coaster looked full. A cursory look later indicated that they were just goons paid 200 shilling coins to make it look that way.

Who cares? I was in no rush. As I fumbled with my novel, she walked in and sat right next to me. Well, that was a first…let the ignorance begin. Wait, does that—does ignorance also refer to that moment when you don’t give a fuck about someone’s presence? Anyway, I’m a specialist at it, whatever it’s called. Sometimes I turn on the TV and radio simultaneously just to get that awesome feeling that I’m ignoring something/someone. Plus I didn’t pass on my tall genes so I doubted she’d fancy me but whaddayaknow!

She handed me a PK mint and that commercial just played in my head like—LET’S GET CLOSERR…

She was a nice girl and should I tell you how I know? Because she’s generous that’s why; I mean how many times have you met a girl willing to share a PK? Not never! So already, the thoughts in my mind started running along the lines of, ‘man, I would go to church for this girl.’ Yeah, that sounds off so when the journey started, I noticed she was doing that nodding disease thing that people do when they’re trying to fight sleep. Before I could stop myself, I was saying;

-          Are you sleepy?

-          N-No, I’m just a bit tired that’s all.

-          Sorry…well you could rest on my lap for a few minutes.

-          I don’t think—

-          No, it’s okay. Trust me.

I quickly put the backpack on my lap and for a moment I thought she’d laugh it off. She didn’t. Instead she calmly lay on my lap.

No way!

You think I’m lying? Well me too! But trust me, if you wanted to get lied to, you could have just turned on the television. I find it easier to talk to strangers. Matter of fact, it’s easier for me to ask a girl I’ve never met before for her bra size than telling a girl I’ve known for some time that I like her new hair-do.

I was enjoying every bump that we hit but apparently the coaster wasn’t. I didn’t notice the whole interior was filled with smoke until all the passengers started shouting and she woke up. The engine had over heated. Sadly, we had to disembark. It was until we stood outside that I realized it wasn’t a passenger service vehicle. It was a kindergarten coaster. That would have been okay save for the fact that it was called, ‘Train up a Child Kindergarten!’ How people think up these names will forever remain a mystery to mankind. What was worse is that this Train-up-Bullshit thing couldn’t go any further.

Holy Crap

I used this opportunity to get to know the girl.

-          So, what’s your name?

-          Julie, you?

-          Romeo.

-          Seriously? You’re lying!

-          Seriously, I’m not. So, what do you do?

-          I’m doing *oba what I don’t remember* at Kyambogo.

-          That’s cool. So what’s good at Kyambogo, if I want to visit?

-          Nothing—depends on what you like…

-          I like you for starters (she rolls her eyes). Seriously…

-          Hmm…ok.

She had this thing where her hair falls into her eyes and she always laughs as she brushes it away. She was dressed decently. Maybe too decently…it was like she had sold her soul to Beelzebub to get clothes because there was so little skin if you know what I mean.

All this got me a confusing boner.

While we were getting cute and shit, we didn’t notice that the conductor had been dragged to a nearby police station. The journey had officially run amuck and he was told to pay a fine and refund our dime. Unfortunately, the motherfucker gave me and Julie 10k. Five each. Which was like half what we both needed but I wasn’t in the mood for bargaining so I just let the girl have it all. Stupid?

Maybe

But no worries, since she wrote her number on my arm—somehow that sounds cooler than just saying, ‘she gave me her number…’

I decided to go to Jinja since I’d have some change for a pint or two when I reached. I hit the bar with the plan of playing the ‘help me, I’m poor’ drink pick up line. But I needn’t have bothered. I met another girl at the pool table and (wait for it), she was also called Julie! Except (mbu) married and an ardent fan of the devil’s nectar. Anyway she bought my humor and got me a drink and a couple of pool games.

It was a Julie good day…until I took my jokes a tart too far and got into a scuffle with some high South Sudanese nincompoops.

Threesome? Just a Wink Away…

I don’t date. Mostly because I make some of the most unrealistic, most mind blowing first impressions, you’ll ever know. It’s impossible to live up to that shit. In my freshman year I told some babe that I’m a finalist, I own a ride and I’m a notorious club-hopper. Plus, like Big Sean I’ve got ‘a wallet that look something like a Bible.’ And yet I was bleak about almost everything. I promised I’d take her to Steak Out for our first date. She accepted.

I had no idea where the fuck Steak Out was.

D-day and the ride was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly my ‘home boys’ had to borrow it for a party in Ebbz. Surprisingly she didn’t mind. I swear to God when I came to campus I thought if you had no ride, your chances of ‘getting some’ were zippo. Arm-in-arm, we got a boda-b and I’ve no clue where that nigger took us but it was definitely not Steak Out. Because I later became a regular and I’m currently serving a ban for breaking a bottle on someone’s head. I ordered the usual crap, Smirnoff for the babe, (Arthur) Guinness for the don. It was a fun night none-the-less. She was nice, I was funny and we kissed on that first date.

Then broke up three weeks later

Because the relationship was baseless as she didn’t know a thing about me. See, at the start of a relationship everything is rosy. There’s this confusing, alluring person you want to always hold hands with. Like for some reason, every time you’re with them, you just want to get naked. It’s a stage where you’re forever slightly bonkers with lust. And then the lies start creeping up, everything gets dull and all of a sudden you wonder why you signed up for the shit.

Wait. That wasn’t even what I wanted to talk about. I’m just free styling on this post so if I somehow don’t leave a mark, I’m sorry. I slept sober last night and I was locked outside my room.

There was a girl I wanted to impress. Vanessa smoked weed and drunk more than any girl I know. She didn’t do Smirnoff. Get a Guinness motherfucker. I was in love—like official! So, what did I do?

I threw a drink up.

It was holiday time. My sister was travelling up country for the weekend with her family (er, our family, my family…whatever) so we had the whole apartment to ourselves. The arrangements were a little hasty and fortunately or unfortunately, most people didn’t show because Najjera is way out of the city center. In the end there was me, my two home boys, and Vanessa who had been thoughtful enough to bring along a friend, Angela.

There was too much booze and we soon forgot that we were only five. We turned up the volume and drunk ourselves silly. Angela and I went to the kitchen to fry some chicken while my boys and Vanessa stayed in the living room and daggered. Of course I soon forgot my chemistry with Vanessa. It was partially because of the liquor but largely because Angela gave me ‘the look.’ You know ‘the look’ right? It’s like sex, except that it is done with eyes. Sort of like eye-banging but more brief. Tables had turned.

I wanted Angela.

We successfully managed to burn the chicken since we were so busy eye-banging the whole time. We all sat out on the couch, smoked cigarettes and made bad sex jokes. It was an awesome night! One of my boys got into an argument with Vanessa (who was, for some reason really drunk already). He left in a huff. The other dude also left because his mum thought it was horrible for him to be out at such an un-godly hour.

In the end, it was just Vanessa (who passed out), Angela and me on the couch watching the stars. I decided to make my move. She just smiled and shook her head. I frowned and made that priceless hurt face of mine that always gets me out of situations. She looked at Vanessa warily. I shrugged and whispered;

-          Don’t worry, she’s asleep

-          Yeah I know! But I just…can’t.

-          Why would you say that?

-          You wouldn’t understand…just chill.

-          Try me…

-          Well, the thing is…Vanessa and I are kind of—

-          --what?

-          We’re together, if you know what I mean…

-          Oh! Like seriously? Angela, there are easier ways to tell a brother he won’t be getting any.

-          Like seriously.

-          Okay, that’s cool. I don’t mind being a lesbian for a few hours.

-          Hahahaha! You don’t give up, do you?

-          Does that mean it’s cool?

At this point Vanessa raised her head and said groggily;

-          Look, if you guys want to make out just do it. Just keep it down I’m trying to fucking sleep.

And that was all we did. No sex.

I woke up in the morning hangover and feeling like a loser. I mean who the fuck sleeps with two girls and doesn’t get dissolute with any? The whole place was a mess. Cigarette butts where littered all over the floor and the front lawn. There was nothing in the fridge. I was broke. My sister was coming back at any moment. I just picked up a bottle of beer that had been left over and slotted the Scarface DVD in the PlayStation. As I was busy killing people and widening my Al Pacino drug empire, the girls were in the shower probably getting licentious with each other. I was trying (unsuccessfully) not to conjure images in my mind on what was going on in that shower.

Then Vanessa called out;

-          Hey Arthur, get us a towel!

*wink*

Merry Christmas! Checkmate! Finito! Eureka! Or whatever the fuck you want to call it. I was up in a heartbeat and like Lil’ Wayne, I was going IN!

…

Now what’s going on in that smutty head of yours? You think I didn’t do it. Well, you don’t have to be so despondent because you’ve never gone through that whole breakfast-in-bed, sex-in-the-bathroom thing. And do you want to know why? Because I haven’t either—

Having a threesome is still on my campus to-do bucket list.

I do things so you don't have to (Part 2)

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I do Things so You Don’t Have To (Part 1)

this is unedited shit...this is my pen bleeding...also, i might or might not be senselessly high right now. 

I do Things so You Don’t Have To (Part 1)

Because I am that kind of friend. I don’t want to be like those people who pretend to be talking about ‘someone they know’ when they actually mean, well themselves. I’m pretty sure if you haven’t done it yourself, you know of someone who has done it. And if you’ve done it yourself, I want to ask your mother why she didn’t go through with that abortion like your father suggested. So, you are having a conversation with someone and it’s like;

“Hey, you won’t believe this, can you believe some homeboy of mine just told me he’s gay?”

“Well, you’re telling me I won’t believe it but you are asking if I can believe it. Which is it?”

“Don’t be a wiseass. I just don’t know what to tell the dude!”

“Are you finally coming on to me? Because I always thought you were rather queer.”

“What?”

“Let me get this straight. By ‘some homeboy of mine’, do you mean your homeboy or do you mean yourself?”

“Well er, what?”

“Exactly.”

I don’t want to be that kind of person. Oh and this post has nothing to do with gay people. I am not gay. There are people who can testify to that in the meanest Middle East courts of law. So, if you are gay I’m sorry you have to leave. Now. That doesn’t apply to the lesbians, please stick around because I have no waahala with a little girl-on-girl.

Some homeboy of mine did not visit a brothel, but rather I visited a brothel with some homeboy of mine. On a week night too…and I have zip regrets. How did it start?

Keep scrolling.

I spent all day staring at the cobwebs at the ceiling in my shack. You think I should get a life? Well you should too, because you have no idea how awful it is to lay helplessly on the floor because of a mega hangover caused by 72 hours of constant inebriation. You have no idea how it feels not to be able to sleep because you are terrified of closing your eyes. Because when you close your eyes, images of all the shitty disgraceful things you did while drunk come rushing back and torturing the shit out of you. So yes, I will stare at spiders fornicating all fucking day long.

There’s no need for self pity and promises of, ‘I won’t do this shit again’ when you’re in this state because it won’t help. The solution is the problem, alcohol. My homeboy showed up at around 10pm with my favorite beer, Cold Nile Special. After two glasses, I felt totally sorted. Tipsy too. I don’t mean it as idolatry but when he got me a second one, it was official, this nigger was a god.

And I know I shouldn’t have accepted his offer to go to a bar because it would be another day of cobweb staring but I felt like I owed him. So off we went to the nearest place I could think of – Steak out. And it sucked balls. Besides, I didn’t want to drink. Three beers were already getting me a lil woozy and shit. The night was turning out to be a complete disaster…then he looked at me the same way a guy looks at two bored babes that he wants to have a threesome with. Scared that he was about to tell me he knew of a friend who told him he was gay, I quickly asked;

“Dude, you’re freaking me out! What’s up?”

“We should get babes.”

“Oh, yeah…how about that hot one in them hot white pants over there?” he shook his head, “or that one whose big ass boobs are almost falling out, she looks really slutty, huh?!”

“Exactly, we should get sluts.”

“Ayt, lemme holla at her for a minute,” I turn to go but he restrains me, “What tha fuck dude, I thought…”

“Not these sluts, I mean like real prostitutes man! This place sucks, so whaddayasay?”

“You mean like females who give out sex to the forlorn?”

“What? Dude, save that shit for your nerdy blog. This aint a grammar lesson boy. We out this bitch!”

“Ayt!

Now, I know you’re wondering why the hell? Me too, I didn’t want to mostly because there’s a girl I just met and I really don’t want to mess things up with her. But I accepted for two reasons; one, to return him the favor of being the guy grabbing the check. You don’t want the guy grabbing the check to not have fun while they’re out with you. Two, to prove that I may be nerdy, but I’m also fucking awesome to hangout with and as a matter of fact I told him that there’s a place I know.

H!gh five!

Problem is I’d never been to this ‘place I know’. Ok, I had been there, during day time to score some weed not prostitutes.  *thinks* and once at night, as a fresher I was approached by a woman who told me she had panties with healing properties right before she grabbed my d*ck and stole my wallet. But that was first year; I felt I’d upgraded my game. It was decided that since I was the one who knew of the place, I should do the bargaining.

So bargain I did. I also sucked at it. Bargaining you perv – I sucked at bargaining. I got one babe because I didn’t want to sleep with a whore. But my homeboy was having none of that. He insisted that she get a friend and we go to my place. She accepted of course. Come on she’s a slattern, that’s what they do.

She wanted a deposit of 20k.

I handed her 20k.

Then she shouted at some other babe to bring her bag and we waited. The friend couldn’t find the bag so she went to search for it herself while muttering hood rat curses.

Then she disappeared.

I had been played.

Visit from a Relative…This means War!

Come on admit it. There’s that one person whose shadow you don’t want to see at your doorsteps. And it’s worse when that person is in some way your sang-meme. Because if they’re just a friend you can just say, ‘Ay, jerk off. Take a hike!’You cannot say that to a relative unless you are really dim witted. People take these things seriously. If you ignore family, you’ll be cremated when you die because there’ll be no space to bury you sorry ass in the village.

So, if you happen to know a woman who is your father’s step-grand uncle’s sister-in-law that always makes it a point to ‘keep up appearances’, you know exactly why I say that shit means war. I don’t know how they do it but they always show up at the very right time – for them of course. Like you could order liquor and they show up just when you’re pulling out your wallet to cash the bill. Or when on occasion you decide to fry 2kgs of pork (for own consumption) and they crash the party.

Personally, I don’t mind.

The part that fills me with an overwhelming desire to stuff my foot in her mouth is when she starts ordering me around. She wants me to be at her beck and call like I don’t have better useless things to do with my time. She looks everywhere impatiently, waiting with a sour face that even her mother would find hard to love, arms folded, tapping her feet, looking at the watch every thirty seconds and asking if the food is ready every 60 seconds, then when its ready do you know what the bitch does?

She takes a bite, smirks and asks why you haven’t got a maid to ‘do some of these things’ because you are apparently not cut out to pull it off.

Sincerely shut the fuck up.

It wouldn’t have been that bad if they weren’t boring. Very boring I must add; every moment I spend with y’all, I feel like I’m literally watching my life go to waste. It’s so bad that if we are to pit odds on the life of the naked insane nigger who’s picking up trash just around the street corner against my life, he would win effortlessly. There’s a relative I know. He’s either my nephew or I’m he’s nephew, I don’t know. Our parents thought we should link up so that I could give him a run-down on this whole campus thing because he’s a freshman.

First of all, I don’t know shit about campus. Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I’m doing running up and down this bitch. But I thought I could give him a run-down on where to score some weed, where to find the cheapest bars or the strip clubs that boast the kinkiest girls.

Stuff like that.

Secondly, I’m reluctant to let people into my life nowadays. It’s more like a gamble because you can never be sure who is going to elevate your life or who’s going to drag you down. Most of the gambles I take end up in the latter. Downtown Baghdad is serene in comparison with this thing that I call my life. There’s all these people who are shoving things in my face. It’s becoming a sort of cliché that my body is some sort of dumping ground for narcotics and some really dangerous mixtures for my friends.

And I take it all in good faith because I hate sobriety more than…I don’t know *insert something you really hate*.

This dude er, relative was weird. Well, mostly because he didn’t have any narcotics. He was just there to see me. Hmm, why do I find that weird? Do you find that weird? Because hell fuckin yeah, it’s weird. So since I’m yet to figure out how normal sober folk hangout, I hit it off with a lot of ooh’s and aah’s. I heard soccer is the best place to start an awkward conversation but sadly, I hate soccer. Okay, I dig soccer but I’m just not big on it. As in I’ll watch if you’re paying for the drinks.

Nope, that’s not the same thing as being a gold digger.

I know relatives like eating and stuff so I prepare the dude some shit in the hopes that he’ll leave after that. He finishes and he’s still right there. Two grown ass men staring at each other on a Sunday afternoon. Sighs. I couldn’t get a smoke, I couldn’t drink.

I.was.slowly.dying.

I tried to make conversation;

Me: Hey, have you noticed how really yellow those curtains are?

Him: Yep, I know! Is that yellow?

WIT (what I’m thinking): Dude seriously, you want to talk rainbows?

Him: Gwe, does your computer work?

Me: As a matter of fact yes…it does work!

Him: Do you have films for watching?

WIT: Films…when was the last time I heard that?

I did not want to watch anything with this motherfucker because first of all, I hate watching movies with people because they always talk too much and I want to get every line. Secondly, what kind of movie should I show this 6 foot package of boredom? I thought maybe Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan would be perfect because those guys’ movies don’t require a lot of attention and dialogue…guys just shout some shit and bang the brains out of theyselves.

By bang I didn’t mean sex you perv.

We settled for This Means War. Heard of it? Of course you have, this blog is for the known and learned. It’s an awesome movie…almost as good as the one I’m writing. See, you’re the first to know that I’m writing a screenplay for the best movie to ever come out of this dump of a country. Need a sneak peek? Follow this blog because they say good things come to those who follow this blog.

Okay, where were we? Watching some war shit I presume…

As predicted, he started talking at once.

Him: Mwana, it’s like that ka chic has nuggu on the ka other one.

Me: What?

Him: The ka chic, she has nuggu! Can’t you see?

Me: Yes, the ka chic has nuggu. (sighs)

*watching*

Him: Is that the man who was with the other ka chic?

Me: Yes.

Him: But he looks like the other man who died.

Me: Yes they’re brothers.

Him: Are you sure?

Me: No.

Him: Wama, you’re right. Eh, kale they look together (resemble). First rewind and we see ko how he died.

*I flash that sarcastic smile like Agent Mahon style*

Me: Ay, dude I know of a really nice short cut to your place. You wanna check it out?

Personal Note: I just made over 700 page views on this blog which is arguably the most awesome thing to happen ever since you started touching yourself at a tender age. I really appreciate all the support because without you, I’m just another alcoholic and/or drug addict. You have no idea how much it motivates me to know that I’ve people who read my shit. I love you. Er, no homo. Please keep reading and keep sharing!