To Comrade, Wishing You Were Here.

I was once told by a boy, as I lay under him, naked from the waist up, beneath a fig tree, that I was one of the most open girls he had ever met.

I was once told by a boy who loved me more than any other that I am the original, raw description of a free spirit.


I don't know how right they are but I'm taking it as a compliment.

I don't know anything about being open or a free spirit.


Sounds complicated.

Sounds challenging.


I try to avoid hurting myself, though that does not detract from openness or being free.

I try to avoid hurting others, that does detract from openness and being free.


All I know is that I do things that make me happy, that make me laugh, that make me smile, that involve real emotions and don't leave me feeling empty and shallow or used.

All I know is that I live my life by one rule. Always Get What You Want*. It has served me well these past two decades, it has never let me down and strangely enough life rarely ever disappoints me.


*Never Want Anything You Can't Have.

God Fuck All Communists!

As you may have noticed I have been posting utter crap of late. I mean really, have you noticed the shit I've put up here? Even I'm disturbed by just how bad the posts have been. I'm afraid I haven't got it in me to write properly these days.

I keep composing long political posts but I never want to post them because something is missing. So instead I feel guilty about not posting in over a week, cram some stuff together, hope it's legible and hit the publish button.

Comrade! Why did you have to go! Don't you understand how lonely I am without you? I have no one to scream, rage, rant and rampage with. I don't want to post something interesting without you here to rip it apart sentence by sentence and tell me how wrong I am! The other Bloggers are cool but they don't quite have that psychotic, slightly unfounded hatred streak and I think if I attempted to place 500+ word comments on their Blogs over and over they might take out a restraining order on me.

Fuck You 27th!!

...You coming back soon? Pleeeeeeaaaasssssssssssssssseeeeeee!! Can't keep posting this crap, it's getting me down.

So here's some more crap to space fill.
I'm moving house, sometime in August, don't know when, don't know where.

Tribes and Naming Rights

I'd just like to express my deepest and most sarcastic gratitude to Chanel for thinking I need an African name. Did you see what they came up with? And GUG thinks I have a big nose, though he's not even seen it and said I should be with the Baganda. So NOT COOL!! No offense to the Baganda who drop by here but I can do better. In response to the names people gave. And it's obvious most of you cannot follow simple directions, I wonder how any of you passed your school exams...but I shan't dwell on that.
Omuramba! - Well, I quite like being named after an alcohol. And I guess you win, only because I don't want you to hit me if I don't say you win...
Nansamba - Means what exactly?
Kukyakara - Huh?
Nomvhulangxa - Well, I would, but I can't spell that shit without having to check back here!
Sokhilixwezingikwe - Ditto, though I can click reasonably well.
Nakawunde - Means what?
Kamese - You're trying to name me Rat/Mouse? I don't fucking think so loser!!
Aber - Best suggestion so far. Sounds nice and I CAN SPELL IT! :P Middle name?
And as far as tribe goes...screw the Baganda! I refuse to be part of that tribe. My nose is a perfectly normal size, nothing overly-large about it! And I'm not a, wait, what was it they were called...oh right, I'm not a back-stabbing, theiving gossipmonger! I'd rather be a Mukiga. Antipop is a Mukiga and she's a bitch. I want that tribe! Any excuse to be a bitch 24/7 and I am so there! How do I join? Obviously too late to be born one. So, initiation ceremony? I can give you a rib. Or do you join the tribe of whoever you marry? Anyone want to give me the number of a cute Bakiga?

Butts, Booty and Suicide Ledges

I had a conversation yesterday night with three people, a dreadlocked man, a Vietnamese chick and a Brazilian guy. The DL turned to me and asked, very randomly, if I liked Alicia Keys. I said yes, she's nice. And he asked if I thought she had booty? Then in piped the other girl and guy and the conversation got so out of hand I almost cried with laughter.

I don't remember much of the conversation since I was grappling with a painful laughing stitch and trying to get enough oxygen so that I didn't suffocate! But the small parts I can recall went something like this:

J-Lo does not actually have booty. It may look like she does, but if you take a close look it's all hips. SHE HAS MASSIVE CHILD BEARING HIPS!!! And so her butt looks huge because it has to cover those wide, wide hips. But of course that stance really depends on your personal booty view point. In our conversation it was agreed that no, J-Lo does not in fact have booty. What she does have is curves, wide hips and a personal trainer to get that butt into shape. Because without it her butt wouldn't be booty, if it is even that, it would just be wide.

Why have we decided she doesnt' have booty? Because to have real booty your butt must be high! Also, everyone is claiming to have booty these days. It's Hollywood hype. Booty sells. And we don't think booty should be handed to every Tom, Dick and No-Talent Harry who a record label assigned a trainer to, to work their butt into a deceptive booty so they could make some money.

And of course once we got past the shallow Hollywood Booty we got onto real butts and booty.
I was practically in tears by this time so it was mainly the two guys who were speaking.
They said that guys like butts, but no kidding, everyone likes butts. They said what they were looking for in a butt was something they could grab. Round, a little plump, prefferably a little toned. A butt that has been taken care of, smooth, warm, oval, none of that square flat, neglected stuff! They said Booty is a term that gets thrown around far too often, which is very irresponsible. See, real Booty, it has to be high! High and round and plump! And this is something only some girls have. But then we got totally distracted by the high aspect Booty must have, in our opinion. Because African boys have some of the highest butts in existence! Have you seen them??

The Vietnamese girl chimes in with a tale of the African man on her bus who had such a high butt she though he should be offering to carry her home on it. Like a perch. Dreadlocks started miming some ridiculous stuff about African mens butts. But all I can remember was that he made a joke about reaching for his wallet and simply reached a couple of inches over his shoulder, as though his butt was so high that's all it took to get to his back pocket. But he's not far off, so I said when I regained my breath, I know a Nigerian boy and his butt is so high is like a fucking ledge!

DL - Ledge? Ha! Some of their butts are so high people will start commiting suicide off them!

The African Naming Challenge!

Part of the Pope's visit to Sydney, with a new follower......and now for the POST!

Chanel has deemed it necessary for me to be given an African name. Which is fine by me...so long as I can be Christened in Vodka. Or any alcohol really. Well, anything non-staining. You pour red wine on me and I will rip your fucking earlobe off with my nails! With that said, Antipop has already got in and named me Nansamba. I don't know what it means or how to pronounce it.

So here's the Challenge: Choose a name, tell the meaning, the tribe and why it is awesome enough for me to carry? Oh and while you're at it why not choose me a tribe as well. Something suitable that covers my oh-so-wonderful traits.

And if anyone knows the name that means "Fucking Awesome, Better than God and Can Kick Your Arse" then that'll be the winner.

The Heart Asks Pleasure First

I have bloggers block, or something similar. I can think of a million things to write about but I just can’t bring myself to actually write any of them. Every time I start I get sidetracked onto my now dead cat. And I don’t want to write some stupid sappy post about how sad I am my kitty died, hell, I didn’t even like the cat that much. Irritating rapist fluff ball that it was. Obviously I have serious issues though because he’s on my mind constantly, in fact, I’m sure he’s actually standing behind me, right now, rattling a ball and chain and meowing a haunting song. So here is my post about my dead cat, whom I can’t stop thinking about. Though, perhaps the real problem is that, some idiot, namely my Mother, has insisted upon placing his picture as the desktop wallpaper. Since I spend an unhealthy amount of time here I’m unimpressed by his huge ginger presence glaring at me from the screen whenever I misguidedly minimise all my windows.

Nevertheless, here is my cat post. And since I’m posting about cats I figured I might as well post about all my cats. Whom I all feel varying levels of hatred towards, except one, who hates me as much as I hate her and through our mutual level of hatred we get along quite well...

Well, that's what I wrote last Friday. And now it is next Tuesday night and I am exhausted, fucking pissed off too and quite depressed. I'm supposed to go to a funeral tomorrow but instead I have to go look at an apartment to rent. I have an 80th birthday party to go to soon and my Opa is coming to visit too. Which is good because I was worried I wouldn't get to see him again before I left, which reminds me, I need to call my Dad and tell him I'm switching countries again. I'm not telling the rest of my family I'm leaving until I've already left, then I'm just going to mass email them.

I think I'll go to bed now because sleep is the only thing stopping me from screaming out loud, because the person holding my heart is crushing it and it's ripping me apart.

The only thing keeping me sane right now is the Theme from The Piano.

The Heart Asks Pleasure First.

For GUG

You know I can never deny you anything so here goes. For Guggy and for WildeY.

One early evening, 20 years ago my Mother L, Father J and Father I were sitting around and of course the topic got onto sex. L wanted to shag J. I wanted to shag L. And J wanted to shag them both. And so they did. And here I am!!

The utterly adorable, I-N-C-O-R-R-I-G-I-B-L-E, slutty DeTamble, the product of a friendly, raunchy and apparently very good threesome.

GUG wants details. But what details do I know? I was busy swimming and play loop the loop with my tail and kicking some serious sperm butt! Obviously I kicked butt 'cause I got to the egg first, because that's just the sort of awesome person I am. See I would have been the leader and would have shouted too all my now dead brothers and sisters that this way is the right way. And I would have led them into a trap!!! A sticky wall! We would have been racing full pelt and I would have swerved and ducked under them and the rest would have been to stupid to realise and would have careened into the walls! Heheheh. Then I would have dusted my tail on my fat body and swum on. Plotting and planning the destruction of all the other sperm still around, and gloating over my imminent triumph and conquerage of the egg!

One detail I do know is that my Father J, the one I'm actually fully related to, is big. Long and thick. So that particular piece of dormant genetic code had better be passed down to my son. Or else! If he can't have blue eyes, at least let him have a huge cock.

Your Opinion?

Someone said I was too skinny. But pffft, screw them, I beg to differ! Take a look, does that look too skinny to you?



And yes I am aware that I'm very much on the whiter side of White. No need for pasty related comments. Nor too many comments on the state of the room...

To My Future Children, I Hope You Love Your Mother Bee...

This is what a saw when I woke up that morning those few months ago when my friends and I were still together. I was sleeping on the floor in my undies and someone else's shirt and the sun coming through the door woke me up.

Antipop II

For Fabulous Antipop, the owner of That Smile ;-) Enjoy. For you lazy bloggers who had the cameras, how could you? You know Facebook hates her! You should be feeling ashamed, leaving her out like that you cold hearted monsters.

Yes, finally, he thinks as he meets her for the first time: Antipop and...dunno, maybe Dante.

These guys thought I was picturing them kumbe I was on the (insert word) guy up there: Duksey, Edmo, Heaven and Chanel.

Muwanguzi Archilleo: The now reformed alcoholic spreading the good word.

Talk about intense: Duksey and Edmo.

So you see, when I press it here like this, it snaps pikichaz like magic!: Dante and Carlo.

One on one seemed like a better idea: Muwanguzi Archilleo and Eddsla.

It was still starting out only to pick up later: Edmo and Kissyfur.

Isn't that bag divine? Edmo and Kissyfur.

Where are you going?! Heaven, Eddsla and Chanel.

Edmo seems to be having a conversation with his Coca-cola. Ivan and Edmo.

Heaven, Dante and Chanel.

(Why don't I know who you are?), Edmo, Carlo, Antipop and Kissyfur.

You have the right to remain silent and watch me drink your beer. 27th, Ivan and Duksey.

??, Dee and Carlo.

Sex and the City, baby! Dee.

Rev's kitten wrote that book. Antipop (ain't she just gorgeous) and Edmo.

Check the bag! Comrade and Jazz.

I salute thee my comrades...The Communist is actually Rastafarian deep down.

Carlo picked Samantha for a button. What does that tell you?

Bambi, he took the hat off to greet. Chanel, Eddsla and Antipop.