God is A Guy

I just read a post on facebook which stated that a woman who sleeps with ten men is a whore while a man who sleeps with ten women is umm...was it a ninja? Or a hero? Something implying the man is super awesome anyway. The reason being that it takes more effort to have sex with ten women than it does to have sex with ten men.

Then I skimmed through the comments and there was a general celebration from the men, stating that this person had grasped the brass ring when it came to logic and correlation.
And that is when I knew that God is indeed a guy. There is no other reason why he would create such creatures unless he was one of them. This failure in the use of logic is the final proof, the nail in the coffin, the pineapple on the pizza.
God is a man guys.

Just to break down this idiocy for the men reading this and wondering what the problem is...
The definition of a whore is a prostitute that is one who solicits sex for money. She's a streetwalker who sells her body. That's what the dictionary says with emphasis on the pronoun, she. Implying that men cannot be prostitutes although life and fanfic very much demonstrates that they can. Now according to Einstein up there, he's come up with this new equation where a whore = skills in attracting a mate. So if you as a guy attracts ten females to yourself, you are highly skilled and therefore NOT a whore, but if a girl attracts ten males to her, this is so much easier than the inverse, that it makes her a whore.
So if it's easy for you to attract a multitude of men, you're a whore. But if you attract a multitude of women well...high five?

I mean...
It's 2018 people.
If male minds are this incapable of evolution, I have to conclude that the flaw in the design was the creator's fault. He made men in his image right? Women were the afterthought, produced from a rib? They probably developed logic because as the afterthought, they weren't embedded with all original features.
It would explain a lot.
Speaking of things not making sense,  the ebook industry is suffering under the monopoly of Amazon while all other ebook sites screw the pooch. I feel like someone should call a summit. Has anyone else noticed this?

When Being Dark Skinned and Beautiful is an Oxymoron

I am dark skinned and beautiful; I just wanted to start with that disclaimer so that we can get motives and ulterior motives out of the way before we dive in. When I first started school, my kindergarten class was full of white people, Indians, and mixed-race kids. I was the only African and a dark one at that.

Naturally, I had no friends.

The white kids ignored me, the Indians bullied me and the mixed kids tried to stand up for me once in a while. Conditions I guess, were optimum for me to feel like less than nothing. Weirdly enough it had the opposite effect. See, that was when I realized certain things about myself. For example, I was smarter than the average bully. The Indians would circle me and try to poke holes in my confidence by saying things like, “That doesn’t even look like a tree.” When I was drawing a tree in the dirt.

So I’d look up at the ringleader, who did all the talking, and ask, “Who said it was a tree?”

And they’d be stymied. And I would laugh inwardly and feel superior to them.

I was alone all the time, but that just taught me that I was happy in my own company. With the advent of the World Wide Web, I would hear similar stories of bullying and, well I don’t want to call it racism because we’re dealing with preschoolers who were probably just aping their parents; but the experience seems to have traumatized them rather than being a source of empowerment.

Being bullied by people of other races is one thing.

Being put down by people who look like you though, is something else again.

I think my self-esteem didn’t take a beating because I went home to my beautiful mother and my popular sister and I knew that people who looked like me, were worthwhile. I saw myself in my mother and that was stronger than a bunch of silly insecure children trying to make themselves feel better about themselves by trying to put me down.

Later in my school life, we had a visiting white American student; we all tried to make her feel at home and everyone was friendly with her. When she was taking pictures to take back home with her, she arranged us in form of skin color. The light skins in front, and the dark skins at the back. I didn’t even realize until later that that was the criteria but again, it was an ‘other’ applying her messed up standards to my life and not something to lose sleep over.

Because as long as the people around me see me, and value me, and think I am beautiful just as I am, the attitudes and prejudices of outsiders are easier to take.

But what if it’s your own people putting you down for your skin color? Calling you things like ‘nappy-headed’ in a manner meant to imply that it’s an insult and not just a hair type. Calling you ugly because you’re dark skinned.

It not only bothers me because it’s just wrong on so many levels but it also hints at a degree of self-hatred I just can’t fathom. Will Smith said that when he did Bright (the movie) he realized that people just want to feel better about themselves and that’s why we have these divides. So I guess people who put down the dark skins are trying to imply that they’re somehow better because they have less melanin? They should probably go listen to The Story of OJ on repeat for a bit. How can we develop as a people if we are so busy trying to be crabs in a barrel?

Many times we try to find someone who is more vulnerable than we are just so we can say to ourselves that we have our foot on someone’s neck. That there’s someone who’s wig we snatched. That we are better than someone. But are we?

Look at white supremacists for example. They chose Donny to lead because they figured it would ‘show everyone’ how much better the whites do it. It was gonna be the Era Of Whites Only and White Is Right and The Might Of The Empire and all that bullshit. Instead they’ve spent that time looking for other people to blame for Donny’s failures. Trying to surpass Obama by tearing down all he’s built – the fantasy was it would be done to white cheers, the reality is that it’s white tears being shed the most. The Empire is losing because the avatar for the empire is just a petulant self-absorbed immature child who wants people to stroke his ego. It lowers the entire tone of an entire country. An entire country has been reduced to one buffoon. I guess now they know how Zimbabweans have felt for many years.

I didn't even have to look for this meme. It was among the first to show up under the Mugabe tag.

The point is, how long can these white supremacist run from the fact that they thought they would be proved superior and have been shown to be extremely incompetent? I mean who wants to know that about themselves? All that superiority based on inferiority complex has come down to this…

And what happens to the Uncle Ruckuses out there, following blindly after this White is Might philosophy? How much more do they have to bury their heads in the sand? How many mirrors do they avoid? Can you ever look yourself in the eye?

It’s not too late.

It’s not too late to start loving yourself.

It’s never too late for that.

Ask Leo.

You can meet him for free in the Swamp is Full of Mystery.

Stagnation And Fatigue: Just in Time for the Holidays

There is this girl.
She's from Brazil.
She has several Supernatural-named accounts on Tumblr.
She uses them to beg the internet for money on the daily.

Now I'm not trying to poor-shame her or nothin'. God knows I wouldn't have a leg to stand on if I did. But every day for a year or more, she asks every day for money. She outlines her story; how she has no money for food, rent, her mother's medicines, hospital bills, her own hospital bills. It all seems very hopeless. Then I think in October or something her mother died so it was money for the funeral, for the pending hospital bill, for rent...
Then she let slip that she has a sister. She mentioned her in a "Please help me pay rent because I don't want to move in with my sister, I want to do it by myself."
But you're not doing it by yourself. You're asking the internet to do it for you.

So now that we know there's a sister (and a brother-in-law) instead of just her and her poor dead mom, then I wonder, so...how much did you actually have to pay for-
No wait, that's not even it.
My actual problem with her and her relentless posts is...there's never any change in the status. There's never any reports of job interviews, applications for jobs, a future plan that doesn't involve begging the internet to pay for every single expense. That's what bothers me.
There's an African saying about how if someone is carrying you, you make yourself easy to carry. You don't sprawl about in their arms like you're sitting on your throne. You try to take as much of your own weight as you can.
For this girl, nickname gadreelsam, it's all about sitting and crying and hoping that people will feel sorry enough for her to basically become her sugar daddies online. And that's annoying because of the entitlement of it. Because she's not making an effort. She wants to just take take and take, no expiry date, no specific plan for the future. Oh and of course we get the occasional, "I'm losing hope, I want to kill myself" message.

The thing that puzzles me is that in the midst of all this poverty she continues to have an unbroken internet connection, data to spend and a device with which to spend it on. And Tumblr takes so much data, hell I can't afford to be on that site every day. But there she is like clockwork, endlessly reblogging herself...I mean I don't know about Brazil. Maybe the internet is free? Maybe she borrows a laptop from...yeah okay that theory just died an ignominious death.
Why do I continue to follow this girl you ask?
Well, it felt rude to interrupt the whining you know? I was waiting for her to say thanks, guys, I'm good for a bit now before I unfollowed. Well, then I realized it was never gonna end so I just unfollowed.
So anyway I'm not saying she's lying or conning us. I'm not. But I don't even have donor fatigue; I have reading her whining fatigue.

Life is hard.
And when you've reached the end of your rope you should ask for help.
Please.
Ask for help.
But as you ask for help, also try to come up with solutions for your problem. Demonstrate that you are actively trying to get better. I want to cheer you on; I don't want to stay with you in a stagnating pool of self-pity forever, I'm sorry.
Speaking of stagnating, I've kind of been feeling like I'm doing that myself. I feel like I complain, to myself, to people who ask how I am, about how I'm not working as hard as I should. I feel like I'm trying to resolve it, but it's not getting resolved and that makes me feel discouraged. Then I start to feel like, "What's the point anyway?"
But my son wants to go on holiday for Christmas and enter a football tournament and eat lunch at Java...those things cost money mayne.

So that's my point I guess.
Is it a good one?
It certainly gets me up in the morning.
But I'd like my passion back, please.
Somebody make it happen.

Storytelling with Google

I just spent the last ten minutes scrolling through NASA infographics in order to find out what the interior of a spaceship is called. (turns out there's no particular name but flight deck would do nicely for my purposes). Like I'm just wanting to show two people giving each other the silent treatment in the er...place - *disembodied voice* - it was at this point that she turned to Google.

I use Google a lot when I write. Sometimes words just disappear from my mind so I have to use google to write a description in the hopes that it will turn up with the word. It's jarring to do so because it breaks up the flow of the story in my mind but needs must. I really wonder what people did before everything was literally at your fingertips (p.s. I just wrote fingerprints instead of fingertips...that's me nowadays). Diana Gabaldon says that when she's writing she has all these reference books that she gets plus reference people who help her with words and shit...I am one hundred percent sure that if I had to do that much study to write a story, the story would never get written. I am such a pantser it's not even funny.

Speaking of being a pantser, I was watching Insecure season 2 the other day and today while I was having my lunch and harassing the staff at Chicken Inn, I had an idea for a book. Because see Issa's friend played by Yvonne Orji (I can't remember the character's name) finally steps outside her comfort zone and dates this guy because 'he's funny and makes her laugh...' rather than, I guess his CV or whatever. But when she's telling Issa and her other friend about it, she seems to give the impression - without outright saying so - that the dick was not bomb even though she likes the guy. Anyway so what does she do?
 Has sex with the married man she was seeing before.

It gave me an idea for a non-fiction novel. I say non-fiction novel because while it would be in story format, the point of it would be to deliver facts rather than fictions. The premise of the novel would be a girl who finds a guy that is everything she wants and needs in a man, but his dick is not bomb at all. Like...at all. So she decides to be honest with him about it and let him know that he's not living up to her expectations. She doesn't want to cheat on him but she knows that she will in the long term if they don't address the problem. So her proposal is for him to take classes ideally from a lesbian, about how to pleasure a woman. And just so he doesn't feel like he's doing all the work in the relationship, she would be willing to take classes from a gay man about how to pleasure a man. So the chapters would just be different ways that the guy is taught to pleasure his woman. Then maybe one chapter at the end of what the chick learned.
Why go to the homosexuals you ask?

Because let's face it, who else knows what a woman likes better than another woman who has sex with women? Heaven knows if you asked me how to pleasure a woman I would not know what to tell you. And I'm a woman! All the magazines only seem to focus on "making the man in your life happy."
What about us?
It took this story premise for me to realize that I would not know how to pleasure me if my life depended on it. Innit sad? Is it my fault? Did I not expect enough from my relationships? Probably. But I just didn't think to. It wasn't on my radar. Am I alone in this?
I really do need to write this book and do interviews.
I still think that the best person to ask about pleasuring females would be a lesbian though. I feel like Portia de Rossi has that "I orgasm daily" glow. It's time to educate myself y'all, and give all the girlies out there some reference material.
Holla if you hear me!

I saw on twitter the other day that a girl pooped in the club. Not in the loo of the club. Like she had an incontinence moment and the poop just fell out of her as she was walking.
I have so many questions.
What?
What happened?
I thought the sphincter only loosened when someone died. What disease is this? Or did she hold it for just way too long and her body couldn't take any more? Did someone mix laxatives in her drink? I need answers. Is it drugs?

You guys know that I love Shadowhunters the TV show right? Okay, maybe not the show so much as Malec. Anyways, so Dominic Sherwood who plays Jace on the show said a homophobic slur the other day. He said it to Mathew Daddario who plays Alec, and who was on Facebook Live at the time.
Super awkward.
Okay so first I gotta say that this white boy is super idiotic. He must have known that it was a Mathew Takeover which meant that if Matt is talking into a phone, very likely he's talking to the fandom. So this brain dead individual yells, "Hey fag" at the guy. Like...even if by some miracle you were not aware that there was a takeover if someone is talking on the phone do you shout things that are best not overheard by anyone? It was so stupid I can't even.
So, of course, everyone got in their feelings and they want Dom to be replaced. On the one hand, I get it. On the other hand, lissen...

I compare it kind of to that situation where a white person does something racist because they are unthinking and unconcerned and safely ensconced in their privilege so much so that they can just afford not to care or to be aware of their actions. So they are uncaring and indifferent to the suffering of others. It's the way their life is set up. Can you blame someone for the way their life is set up? It's up to them to take the time to get out of their comfort zone and try to understand others' pain. It's not an obligation though. You can't make people care about your issues. And just because they are on a show where you are represented doesn't mean that everyone on the show is concerned with the issues that plague your community. I get it, for some people, celebrities are their everything. And I am sorry that they do not have role models closer to their real lives who they can glom onto. It makes it so much harder when something like this happens. It's important to remember that sooner or later, celebrities will let you down...
Except for Rihanna.

Speaking of racist fuckery, I would like to address the hoo haa surrounding Meghan Markle. See instagram post below for example.

Playlist gonna be lit 🆙🤣🤣🤣🔥🔥🔥 #YuhBumperReaaaal #MiWahPushSteeeel 👀😈 @_fake_smiles_all_round_ @realdealcomedyjam ⬅️

A post shared by Forgive My Fuckry 🙏🤣 (@whypree_tho_vip) on Nov 29, 2017 at 1:15am PST

Is Meghan Markle Jamaican? No, she is not. But she's black right? So we can just impose on her any type of black culture we feel like because all dem monkeys is the same right? BBC Africa had an article about how the "Royals fell in love with Africa before Harry fell in love with Meghan."
Okay first of all...
 Nope, I won't let Y'all make me 'first of all' you. Just a question. Giuliana Rancic is a first-generation Italian American right? But when discussing her wedding, did anyone mention Italy anywhere? About how Italy is the home of red wine and romance and that must have been why Bill fell for her? No, why? Because she's American now, he's American too and where they come from or their ancestors came from doesn't come into their Americanness. But Meghan, regardless of how her ancestors reached those shores; whether they were abducted and sold or emigrated of their own free will later; they are just as much entitled to be called Americans as Guiliana is. But no, her entire history and identity is erased so we can reduce her to this one aspect of her ancestry. That someone in her bloodline came from Africa so she will forever be your exotic little 'African' flower.
No fam.
She's an American of mixed race who is apparently not even black enough for some black Americans. Poor dear, everyone is so willing to disenfranchise her of her identity just enough that when she says 'her people' she probably just means her mom and aunties. But they're all very happy to say 'a black person' is joining the royal family. She's not even a person, not really. The only pertinent thing about her is that she has some black in her. That's the entirety of her importance to the world. So, by all means, let's talk about how extra her black relatives are gonna be at the wedding, blasting Jamaican music and how Prince Harry fell in love with Africa before he fell in love with her like he found her underneath a bush in the Sahara. Let's erase the PERSON that she is so we can find ways to diminish her. God sometimes y'all make me so mad.
However.
Her husband sees her.
That's who all she needs right?

Congratulations to the happy couple though. I know Diana would be so proud.
Also just to let you know, seeing as it's the season of giving, I got a great gift idea for you; the Child of Destiny box set! Get it here.

The Story That Won First Prize

This is the story which won me that Amazon gift card. The one I'm using to buy anyone who wants one, a copy of any book you want (of mine - see google form at the bottom.) What I like about winning a prize with this story is that it's one of my crazy wacko concepts and frankly I was expecting it to be thrown out without ceremony. If you know me at all you know I like to avoid the beaten path when it comes to storytelling. I'd rather beat on the poison ivy with a machete than take the pig path. Only in my head of course. Real nature has chameleons and snakes...I'm gonna take the road. 

So here it is. 

Comments are love.

Copyright © 2017 by Annemarie Musawale All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Clyde and His Bonnie

Iman wiped his shoes on the rug outside of the bar. Sure, this was some Podunk town in Texas and the way the wind was blowing dust everywhere…his gesture was probably pointless. But that wasn’t the point of wiping his shoes anyway. He wanted these small town hicks to know he was a civilized gentleman with manners. With his dusky skin and curly hair, it was necessary.

The bartender looked up as he walked in, an assessing look in his eye. He looked down again and continued dusting the counter so Iman guessed he’d passed the test. He ambled slowly up to the counter, taking in every aspect of the room.

This was a dying town, a relic of happier days before the assembly plant was outsourced overseas. Iman was probably the first stranger they’d seen in a while.

“Hey. I’ll have whatever’s on tap,” he told the bartender. The man nodded, picking up a relatively clean glass and filling it up. He placed it on the counter and then picked up his rag. He didn’t move away so Iman took it as his cue.

“I hear there’s a poker game here every Wednesday night. Any chance I can get a buy-in?”

The man raised his blue eyes narrowing them at Iman, “whose askin’?”

Iman stuck out his hand, “Name’s Cole Sprouse, looking to make some money to buy me some fuel. Got me a job in Dallas waitin’...”

The bartender looked down at his hand with suspicion before reaching out slowly to shake it. Iman had found on his travels that if a man shook your hand, he was less likely to stab you in the back.

At least, not right away.

“Game’s in the back,” he said.

“Thank you, kind sir. And you are…?” Iman held on to the bartender’s hand, widening his whiskey eyes at him.

“Dan Shumpert,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Dan,” Iman said with one last vigorous shake. He had some money to make and no time to lose. Deadlines were looming.

∞

Iman was winning steadily and his opponents were getting steadily more upset. He figured it was time to bail and pushed his chair back to stand up.

“Uh, well fellas it’s been-” he began to say.

“One more game,” interrupted the sweaty guy on his right with five o’clock shadow and a dirty wifebeater. Iman had been keeping an eye on him because he seemed like the kind to keep a gun under his chair.

“Uh, you don’t have any collat-” he began to say.

 Wifebeater guy looked up at the beefcake looming in the doorway and said, “Bring her.” he cut in.

Iman sat up straighter. What was going on?

Before he could catch his breath, a young woman was pushed into the room. She had zip ties on her wrists, tying her hands together. Her long silky black hair hung halfway down her back in a greasy curtain and her white dress could have done with a wash. Her black eyes were wide with fear as she stared at Wifebeater guy.

“What’s-” Iman began to ask.

“Your entire stake for the girl,” Wifebeater guy said.

Iman stared at him in shock, “You want to wager…a person?”

Wifebeater guy shrugged, “She’s mine to do with whatever I please. Bet or no bet?”

There was no way he could stand up and walk away. Not when these people were…wagering humans.

“Bet,” he said.

Wifebeater nodded at the dealer who immediately began to shuffle cards. Iman could not stop staring at the girl as she stood shivering behind Wifebeater’s chair. She was tall, maybe five eight, voluptuous with her heavy breasts and ample hips, tiny waist in between. But it was the look in her eyes that drew him again and again. She looked like a trapped tiger, looking for an opening to escape. Iman resolved there and then, that he was going to help her. He looked down at his cards, knowing with even more certainty than before, that losing was not an option.

∞

Iman grabbed the girl’s hand, pulling her out of the Saloon at a run. Wifebeater guy had not been expecting to lose and it had been tricky getting out of there without a fight. He skidded to a halt in front of his Camaro, pushing her in before getting in after her before gunning the engine. He raised a lot of dust himself as put the pedal to the metal. They careened out of town, one eye on the rearview watching for a tail. Iman didn’t stop until he’d put two hundred miles between him and the Podunk town. Too tired to drive anymore, he stopped at a no-tell motel on the side of the road. Parking in the driveway, he turned to the girl.

“So…what’s your name?” he asked.

She looked at him as if she was thinking about pretending not to understand what he said. But at last she sighed and turned to face him.

“Will you untie me if I tell you?” she asked.

Iman jumped. He’d completely forgotten about the zip ties, “Of course I will damn.” He said fishing for the knife he kept in his stocking. He pulled it out holding it toward her. She held out her hands, too trustingly he thought, and let him cut through her restraints.

“So, you going to tell me your name?” he asked.

“It’s Honey,” she said.

Iman smiled at her, looking into her eyes, “It suits you,” he said looking down at her arm, “that’s the exact color of your skin.”

Honey smiled, “And what is your name? Prince Charming?”

Iman smiled, holding out his hand to be shaken, “My name is Iman Bridges. And I am here to rescue you.”

Honey shook his hand with a laugh, “Yeah right. Are you getting us a room or what?”

“Your wish is my command,” Iman said suddenly feeling like he had indeed won the lottery.

Fill in the form with a book of your choice and Merry Christmas. First come, first served.

Of Witch Hunts and Which Hunts

The lynch mobs are out in force these days huh? I always feel uncomfortable when the pitchforks and angry mobs come out. Especially since they seem so selective. Louis CK came out of the sexual harassment closet last week. Unlike the other guys he didn't try to fight the power, but just was like, "Yeah, I did it."

p.s. Why do these pervs all look like pale skinned homeless drunks?
I read his apology. It was full of how much these women 'admired' him and how he 'took advantage' of their admiration by asking them if they wanted to see his penis...
That kind of puzzled me because assuming he was meeting these women in business conditions, what part of the business meeting involves the notion that your colleagues might want a peek at your privates?
I tried to understand it using my one and only guinea pig; my son. So like Michelle Obama said, it's true in my case, I did kind of mollycoddle him except that I didn't. I say that because looking at men around me, I kind of figured that they have really fragile egos because they didn't have a foundation of a sense of self. So I always tried to give my kid that. To let him know that he was valued and that he was capable and I always tried to let him make decisions for himself just so that he knew he could. I could tell you how this backfired on me in adolescence but this isn't a parenting post.

So yeah, he does have a belief in himself and in his importance in the world. And when he talks about girls, maybe he does feel that he's really important to their happiness. Certainly, he thinks (knows) that he's important to mine. I see how he goes around feeling cocky and like the greatest thing since sliced bread. But that's just teenagerhood, right? And even with all that, I don't think he would whip out his penis to show someone because he thought they admired him. I mean, I'll ask him, but I don't think the notion would occur to him.
So if that notion wouldn't occur to a cocky teenager, why would it occur to a full grown, middle-aged man? These are just some of the things I wonder about.
However, back to the lynch mob.

So Louis CK was masturbating in front of women and the lynch mob is very annoyed with...Aziz Ansari.
Yep.
They mad at Aziz because TWO YEARS AGO, when asked by a Daily Beast reporter about his mentor, he said: "I'm not talking about that."
What people seem to forget about these harassers is that that's what they might be TO YOU, but they are other things to other people. Aziz didn't rush to Louis' defense. He didn't try to justify what the man was doing. He just said, "I'm not talking about that."
To blame him for that is like blaming Nicki Minaj for paying her brother's legal costs. He might be a disgusting child rapist, but he's also her brother. Loyalty is a rare and precious thing, especially in this day and age. I'm not going to blame anyone for standing by their friend.
All these accusations being flung about left and right are making me uncomfortable. The only court that seems to matter is that of public opinion. How about someone files a police case? Sexual harassment is illegal, right? It is a crime? So file a complaint. This business of bringing stories to the blogs, just allegations being published as fact...it's...unsavory.

Besides, getting all these men fired is not the solution. Oh, I'm not saying they should keep their jobs; I'm just saying it's not the solution. What is really required is a paradigm shift.
In the eighties and nineties, AIDS swept across Africa, taking whole villages along with it especially in Nyanza and Uganda. This is because of the communities' sexual practices. All that was left was young children and old people. So the government of Uganda launched a campaign on safe sex. That led to an entire generation of Ugandans who grew up not knowing what it felt like to have sex without a condom. For to solve the problem, they had to engender behavior change in the whole entire country.
That's what this sexual harassment problem needs. Everyone needs to adopt new patterns of behavior. The lynch mobs are a fad. They will do nothing except make sure some men lose their jobs temporarily. In another, five to ten years, Brett Ratner, Harvey Weinstein and Kevin Spacey will be "rehabilitated" and allowed to join polite society again. That's just how the weasel pops.
Changing your behavior is hard, it sucks balls. It usually never happens unless needs must. Like Bulitia in Requiscant in Pace, forced to go from husband and father and free man to slave bonded to a monster. He had to adapt in order to survive and that's what we'll all be forced to do.
This month is horror month (go with it) and you have a choice...between a pair of ghost lovers trying to survive the afterlife, or an African slave, trying to survive his new master who is just a little bit more than human. Which will you choose?

Health Check, How Are You Doing?

Sometimes, when something bad happens or you've had a shitty day, all you want is to tell someone about it and have them say, "Bummer."
Just to feel like someone commiserates right? Mostly what you might get is someone trying to fix you or tell you why, through quotable quotes, this too shall pass. It might make you feel not understood right? Alone in your misery?
Today you're not alone. You have me. I'm listening, I'm ready to commiserate, so talk.

It's been a strange week.
Well.
These days they are all strange weeks no?
But this week has been kind of a mental health strange week both in my surroundings and for me. First of all, I think almost two weeks ago? My alma mater had a fire in a dormitory, eight kids dead plus two security guards. It was shocking to me on a personal level because I slept in that dorm when I was a rabble (in form one or the first year of high school). It was the rabble dorm for green house and yellow house and I was in green house. It's the oldest dormitory in the school, which means it's been up for however long Moi Nairobi Girls' School has been in existence. I should know the answer to that question but I don't so...
Anyway, later it emerged that not only was there a fire but it was arson. There was a girl, she had been suicidal for a while, even asked her dormmates to help her kill herself. She started the fire. I don't know what her intentions were in doing that since she survived it.
A cry for help?
On the one hand, I feel her pain; the system failed her. Her guardians in the form of parents and teachers let her down. She needed help she didn't get it. Eight girls died.
On the other hand, it scares the fuck out of me to realize that they are children out there with neglected mental health issues walking around possibly burning down my son's dorm...and I'm sorry but I'll kill them first.

So please, I am speaking to each and every one of yous as parents, teachers, and guardians...PAY ATTENTION to your kids. Ask them how they're doing. If they're okay. Do they need anything? Any suicidal thoughts today? Are you maybe thinking about slashing your wrists? Cutting yourself? What are you sad about? Can I help? There is no such thing as too much attention. Your kids need it, they want it, they soak themselves in it and it feeds their spirit. Give. it. to. them.
And I am not for one minute saying attention will cure mental illness. I'm saying if you're paying attention you will notice when your kid needs help and hopefully, you'll get it for them.
And I know the 'Ah, my kid is fine' parents over there in the back are saying I'm being over dramatic.
Eight. dead. kids. beg to differ.

Talinda Bennington shared a pic of her husband Chester, just days before he committed suicide. He was happy, smiling, they were standing on a bridge. So I do acknowledge that it's not bullet proof, getting help, paying attention. But you can only do what you can do. The rest is out of your hands.

I had a moment where I feared for my life this week. I'm usually about sharing and caring but I kept this to myself because for once, talking about it would just have made me more anxious. I hadn't been feeling well and I woke up with the kind of a headache which makes you wonder if you're dying. I went to a nearby Marie Stopes and they took my blood pressure and it was high. Now my mom died of an aneurysm and my dad of congestive heart failure both of which are linked to high blood pressure. So obviously my heart dropped into my shoes and I was just totally going like "no no no no no."
See my son and I have a pact. We're dying on the same day when I'm 125 and he's 100. So you see why I couldn't risk this nonsense with high blood pressure now. It's too early. So from one day to the next, I changed my entire life. Threw out the sugar and the cake and the salt. Got some of that herbal salt that I'm not even sure is any different but hey, it says it is. I was already taking my aloe gel and bee pollen but I stocked up on vegetables and bran flakes and fruits. No more missing meals. I paid for a gym membership for a month and have gone religiously.
I ain't dying if I can help it.
My blood pressure is back to normal by the way but wow, that was scary. I saw my son yesterday and when he asked me how I was all I could do is shrug and smile because I didn't want to tell him about my shenanigans. The abyss definitely stared back at me this week.

I want to end on a positive note though because bad things happen all the time and I haven't even begun to cover the bad things that have happened this week. Hurricanes and flooding and what not. It's still quiet in my corner of the world and I don't want to jinx it.
Fenty Beauty...

My girl Riri came through for y'all! 40 different shades of makeup for every type of skin with those undertones that are so important. I don't know much about makeup but I read an article by an Asian celebrity - might have been Arden Cho, I'm not sure it was a while back - and she was talking about the scarcity of foundation with that yellow undertone for their skin and so it looks washed out on film. Fenty Beauty has makeup with the yellow undertones, and the green and the pink and blue, I think (probably for Sudanese skin).
I don't know.
I'm just so happy for you girlies. I see my twitter timeline all super excited when they're discovering what number of foundation their skin is. Some people have never had the opportunity to experience this because there is only one shade of makeup for 'dark skins'. So I'm super proud that in this age of selfishness and insularity along comes Riri and includes you all. Every single one of yous. Even albinos have a shade.
Talk about changing the world man.
I might even be able to put on foundation now and not look embalmed. What I'm excited about though, is the lipsticks. Maaan, so many shades to choose from. And with the glittery thing they doing. I might have to start dating again. Yes, I'm excited too.
I have just one complaint +Rihanna, you made all these shades for black skin but there are no Sephoras in Kenya, or Uganda or Sudan or Ethiopia. What about us girl? You know we can't afford that shipping.
Do something.
Okay, one very last thing. I may have a cover and name for my post apocalyptic gay African romance. The more I work on that book, the more excited I get. Can't wait for y'all to read it!