First 99 problems: Last round

l'aventure continue...

Ideally, the problems should only begin once he has made his claim on you i.e metaphorically peed to mark his territory, when the boys in the hood know not to hit on you, and the hood-rats know that the man is taken so what happens in Vegas-stays in Vegas, except for chlamydia and herpes of course.

But for most girls, its start right at the doorstep during the first date when he doesn’t open the door for you, or doesn’t bow every time you curtsy. (If that’s you’re thing, then don’t settle for less).  Luckily for men all over the world, Crystal isn’t crazy so I don’t need all of that; I had pretty sane parents who taught me how to open doors and that walking in behind him doesn’t make me less of a lady. My list is a bit more realistic, and more personally suited to my taste:

THE FIRST DATE:

No, you don’t need to come in a pumpkin/horse drawn carriage but there are 6 things about this initial wooing attempt that must be perfect

1.       It must be an established date. i.e if we were previously friends and you invite me for coffee then I will automatically assume that I am there as you’re wing man and vice versa. If we are strangers and you happened to ask for my number then you’re in luck, I know when you asked for it, you weren’t looking for a play mate for your baby sister.

2.       It must be at night/ any time after working hours: if you ask me out on a day date I will be forced to assume that you have no life, no job and in turn no chance of being the next Mr. Crystal; either that or you are assuming that I too have none of the above.

3.       It must be during a weekday: because again, weekend date implies that you don’t have a life. Plus first dates are a chance to get to know each other and weekend dates usually involve crowded noisy places

4.       The date must strictly be drinks, not food or bungee jumping: this should be simple, if you haven’t already guessed the reason why… how exactly do we get to know each other when am struggling to chew like a lady and keep the chicken from jumping off my plate while at war with my fork and knife?

5.       The date venue must be in my turf: which means it can either be around where I work or where I live. Don’t ask me to come meet you at your favorite joint. I’m the one being wooed; hence I should be in my comfort zone. This also ensures that you won’t try taking me to your place afterwards. Good girls don’t give it up on the first night.

6.       The first move: after the date, as we part ways I expect you to at least try to kiss me. I need to know that you’re not a biter or sloppy with the lips or worse still… too shy to initiate.

DETERMINING HIS DAMAGE

This could be during the first date, maybe even earlier. I must figure out what major problem the guy has and whether I can deal with it if this ends up being a longer term relationship. This ‘damage’ could range from

-          He has bad breathe

-          He smokes/ he drinks too much

-          He is married/ has kids/ crazy ex-girlfriend

-          He has a small dick/ its bent

-          He doesn’t call regularly

-          He can’t spell/ he doesn’t speak English

-          His ancestors held your grandparents as slaves

If this is the kind of thing that you won’t be able to live with then its best you just walk away coz chances of the man changing are close to nil

THE FIRST SUSHI FEST:

The first time we have sex is as epic as breaking my virginity. Mostly coz it’s a new feeling each time. Unlike the first date, the sex date should be completely outside my turf; take me to your joints, meet your people and eventually, your bed; not mine! Never mine! In fact a cheap hotel room would rank way higher than a guy who asks me to take him to my place the first time we have sex. Have you no pride?

UNCOVERING MY DAMAGE

Once he has seen the sweet, flirty, non-manic side of you, it’s good to give him a taste of the witch that could be you. This may mean calling him when you’re on a major mood swing and telling him why he is the reason for the impending 3^rd world war, or the reason you’re thighs are suddenly a different shade than yesterday. It could also mean getting crazy drunk and letting him see you in a not so graceful light. However, take care not to warrant a trip to an asylum, or to go overboard and drive a good man away. But you can be sure that a man who can survive your crazy is definitely a man who will stick around.

First 99 problems

First of all, it’s pretty sad that a drink containing Malibu should have such a name; there are no problems with Malibu only solutions; I bet the only reason global warming hasn’t rendered us all impotent and bald is because there still lies some hope at the bottom of that sweet rum bottle.

Forgive me tequila; for I know not what I speak of.

The first 99…

When you’re new to the dating world (and by that I mean you’re either nine, make that seven, or recently divorced) it’s very common to find yourself falling for the completely wrong guy; that guy/girl that will put you off dating and generally all other sexes except your own for a while.

People often wonder, how did I not see that he was wrong for me? Was I blinded or stoned for the entire time that I was with the said fool?  

Maybe the guy had you under some sort of juju spell, though if you ask me, I would probably blame it on compromise.

They say that for a relationship to work, both parties must be willing to make certain compromises; and I agree entirely… however, before you declare yourself to be in a relationship there should be no compromise whatsoever. What do I mean?? Well, seeing as I have only ever been a pussy-carrier, I can only speak for the females, at least the sane ones who understand proper use of leggings (i.e. to start or spread fires)

Every girl has an idea of how they want to be swept off their feet; some like to be air lifted, some like to be wind-blown, a few will even settle for the good old fashioned broom as long as there is a prince charming involved. Personally, I wouldn’t mind miniature jets, Chryslers and gold mines; but seeing as those men are busy snorting coke in Hollywood I will settle for nothing short of my well thought out,  future Mr. Right condition list.

Not every guy who takes you on a perfect first date is bound to be the father of your unborns; but then again, if he can’t get the first step right why should he be allowed a chance at all?

PS: I’m not talking about the tall dark and handsome conditions. Why would you give him your number in the first place if he didn’t fit the profile? Let’s say, you have found Mr. T.D.H, or equivalent depending on your preference, what makes him qualified to be a future Mr. Crystal. Find out after the break…

Smoke and Mirrors

If what they say about breaking mirrors and seven years of bad luck is even remotely true then I am in for a hell of a decade (minus three years of course). I guess that means I am either going to be married for the next 7 years or I am not getting married for the next 7 years; depending on which of the above represents my awaiting hell on earth.

I am guessing my ill luck already begun; preceding the breaking of the mirror and the cut on my foot that I am hoping will not prevent me from wearing heels next week.

I have had the longest two weeks imaginable. My parents were visiting and being the thoughtful people they are, they decided that the best place to bunk would be their single and obscenely lost daughter’s house. I guess I should have expected it considering they left me the house when they flew out.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents… to bits; at least one of them… the one that raised me into the wonderful law abiding citizen that I am… (Don’t laugh). The other, I consider as just a sperm donor and not even a good sperm at that… all I got from it was a very hairy epidermis and an insatiable need for sex and alcohol. So the alcoholic nympho has daddy issues… no shock there, right?

I may not be fond of the man, but I will at least be grateful. Even with his shortcomings he still provided us with a pretty decent life, no complains there. Though if I do die of tuberculosis or lung cancer in spite of never having smoked a cigarette all my life, I blame it on you daddy, I blame it on you and those strangely nicely scented things you have been smoking all my life.

If there is one thing that the man taught me it is… well not much comes to mind; unless promiscuity and alcoholism count as life lessons… I love him all the same…him and the house, the car the insurance… (so am just a lil bit spoilt, shocker??? There are plenty of problems in this world, we can’t all worry about rent; though I still worry about fuel prices and recently I hear I should be stocking up on maize flour) Anyway, turns out money can buy love so for all you absentee dads out there; there is still plenty of hope if you have a fat wallet and a giving heart.  

So the highlights of my weeks away; you haven’t missed much: the folks moved in, moved out and left behind the unmistakable scent of daddy’s cigars. I swear the house seems cloudy ever since he stepped in. I just dropped them at the airport, came back ready to dive back into my life, broke the bathroom mirror, got a glass cut and now… now am headed out to haven… my little paradise on earth aka the wines and spirits at lavington shopping centre; imma grab me a bottle of wine, maybe something stronger… who am I kidding; am definitely going for a bottle of tequila.

Guns 'n' Roses...

The height of generalization…

So now Kenyan MPs are killing young varsity girls. Have I been watching the news wrong? According to my sources; one MP got one girl killed; why the rest have been pooled into the stereo type… I don’t know. Of course there is the eminent fear that probably this has happened before and the culprit has gotten away but really if we are going to generalize we should say, “Rich old men getting young gold-digging girls killed”. It’s not just MPs, we all know that; it’s just that they are in the lime light and their crimes always make it to headlines.

Though I must agree this whole vibe has sort of shaken me up. I remember my days in campus, dating married men and going out with all these rich men… anything for free expensive drinks and nights of care free fun. I can’t help thinking that this Mercy chick could have easily been me. Worse still, I may be out of that phase of my life but Sheila, my best friend, is still way deep in it.

It scares me to think that she could be next in line of dead bodies on waiyaki way. But forget all this negativity; I still remember the good all days of dating the rich older guy. Plenty of perks to it; I definitely don’t blame Mercy and Sheila and all the other girls out there wining and dining at the expense of some rich guy somewhere.

Though if you are reading this and are a victim/ culprit… I should warn you… it’s not all smiles, cheques and roses. Yes, it is a hell of a lot fun and god knows I would kill for some of the parties I attended while I was in campus but history teaches us to learn from the mistakes of others and trust me, the regret that follows is not worth the fun.

As you’re sitting next to that man/ woman who’s footing the bills try picturing the same situation with your father/ mother or sibling in their place. It’s probably happening… karma tends to be a bitch like that.

And one day you too will be in love with your own cash-bucket and it hurts to think that while you’re at home staring at your saggy boobs from breast feeding his implets, he will be somewhere spoiling some other you. Not so much fun now, huh???

So friends, lets live right… and while you’re doing your grand transformation be sure to drop all those numbers of your previous cash-buckets in my inbox…

 don’t look so disappointed, its either I give good advice or I follow it, can’t do both at once.