Dystopia

I feel strange.

I feel like locking myself up this weekend and not coming out until it's over. At the same time I feel like going out there, where it's all happening (but well lit) and seeing young others having platonic fun. And I want my friends.

Unlike most people, I don't have a best friend. I'm yet to find anyone I can identify with (or conversely who can identify with me) to that extent. And it leaves a vacuum of trust and a load on my chest. Now don't get me wrong, I have close friends, who know more about me that I would, in my more rational moments, prefer them to know. And these close friends are sufficient.

But a best friend is that person you give special critical privilege, the right to question you without the reciprocal right for you to get angry and exorcise (yes, like a demon) from your life.

But the way I feel has nothing to do with not having a best friend, I just brought that up to explain why this finds itself in this blog, rather than on the soaking wet shoulder of a bff. My random feeling has to do with a long chain of post-apocalyptic (and similarly dystopic themed) movies that I've been watching, both on big screen and at home. They've left me with this sour taste in my mouth, or rather, they have made the normal motions of ordinary life leave such a taste at such a prime location (pun intended).

So I feel I need time off, and yet I want to observe humanity from afar, and yet again I want the company of those few loved ones. Put it like this, I want it all, and I want it all this weekend.

I did something else I'm embarrassed about - I made someone fall in love with me. At first it was a momentary prank with no intention to see it thru but someone developed it into a dare. I wasn't sure of success, but daily calls, and miss you texts, an "I have a soft spot in my heart for you" statement and fluffy inboxes have me thinking I'm in way over my head. I wanted to succeed, and I'm afraid I've done just that. Now to get out with as few casualties as possible.

And before you judge me, I did say I'm sorry, didn't I?

Moving on, I know why I don't bring people too close - because they are human, which means they are full of contradiction and inconsistency, which, coupled with my own vagaries tends to lead to inevitable chaos. I don't like chaos, it's too......you know, random!

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Me Likey!!

So I watched Transformers 3: Dark of the Moon. The movie was fascinating - as expected for someone who likes the whole graphics thing. I'm not sure it had any story or a moral to any such story but I loved the action and the graphics. Did I mention it was in 3D? The movie was.....to borrow someone's description - AWESOME!!!

Now there was this chic seated in front of us and I could tell from an early stage that she was going to be trouble. Judging from the way she was jerking her head and exclaiming in whispers, I knew she was excited. Just how excited, I came to learn later. I'm used to sci fi directors impressing one person more than me, but this chic just took it to another level.

At some point in the movie, she was standing up and exclaiming out loud! By the end of the movie, she had degenerated to using profanities to proclaim just how good the movie was. I learnt as we were walking out that she was not just excited, but also under the influence of two classes of really bad stuff.

Did she have more fun than us? I'm not sure, I tend to like my fun served straight up without the haziness that a few rolls of weed and a bucket of vodka brings. I'm risk averse, I like playing it safe. What's the use of having fun if you remember only half of it? Isn't fun like people, sure to pass away in everything but memory? Anyway, I'm me, and I like walking away from fun, not crawling or staggering or being towed away.

I did something I'm embarrassed about this weekend. I thought it would be fun, but only the shame remains. If only hindsight was as compromised as my normal vision, then maybe the details would be blurred enough for me to placate my conscience. That should explain my sentiments in the previous paragraph - for me, no amount of irrational fun survives the regret that follows when my better nature kicks in. Sigh. Moving on.

Four. That's the number of special people I spent time with this past weekend. One new and exciting but with a multinational corporation trying to keep us apart (imagine facebook having green as its corporate colour), one old and precious providing such fun relaxing company, one long lost from long ago (and looking quite pleasing to the eye with that long hair) and one as prevalent as ear wax who I assume my personality just vexes the shit out of.

You know what I've become good at? Indifference. I can ignore the viking shit out of the vagaries of human nature where these are irrelevant to me, which is, invariably, all the time. I have a heart, but its in secure cold storage beyond the reach of mediocrity.

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Oh no, he's SINGLE!!!

Why are people so concerned by the fact that I'm single?

Seriously, people in relationships always think those not in one are unfortunate. and even people who are single have issues with other single people. either they want to date them themselves or just want them to be equally desperate to find a 'mate'.

My observation of relationships born of common desperation is that they tend to be short, multiple, with an irresponsible but exciting start, and ultimately a disastrous and painful ending. Why, pray tell, would I want to subject myself to that? Unless, of course, I'm trying to build a track record for dating. Is there a reward for serial dating which I have not been told about? When did I miss this memo coz this has been going on for a while.

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Imagine this

A dear friend of mine has an imaginary friend.

By extension that means I know an imaginary person. I was talking to a colleague of mine and had an epiphany in the middle of the conversation. If I'd received a friend request from an imaginary person a long time ago and accepted it, I'd have an imaginary friend. And then people wouldn't think I'm as mad as they think I am.

Doesn't figure? Well, you know how in marking a composition, you don't penalize the author for a spelling mistake twice? Well, if people knew me to have an imaginary friend, I'd blame him for all the very sane things I say but which people seem to think I'm crazy. That way, I'd only have my sanity questioned for having an imaginary friend but not for all those crazy things that such a friend would undoubtedly say.

My epiphany took things one step further. If my interest in the imaginary person is to blame him for those things that I cannot resist saying, then he (or she, but most likely he otherwise we'd spend more time arguing and measuring male apparatus than actual blaming each other) does not need to be a friend. He can be an imaginary enemy, or even better, an imaginary stranger. This way, I might even pass the insanity test since I won't technically have an imaginary friend.

However, my logic was rebutted by that colleague of mine who seems to have a proper response for almost all my improper statements. She is of the opinion that the problem with having an imaginary friend is actually not the word "friend".

Be that as it may (really uselessly wordy phrase), I do think the approach would have been the better way to go. Having already mentioned the principle purpose of having an imaginary friend, I think I should specify why having an imaginary stranger makes even more sense to me. With friends comes the complications of a bond occasioned by affection, and we all know what those are.

With an imaginary stranger, I don't have to remember imaginary updates, get blamed for keeping in touch, have to take into account his imaginary feelings and most of all, I don't have to tolerate his incessant imaginary talking or pleas for financial (or even sexual) help. Imagine the imaginary sex. And the fact that I haven't done enough imaginary work to fill up my imaginary bank account. Crap. Sorry, I meant, imaginary crap.

When all is said and done, I definitely missed an opportunity in my past to have an imaginary stranger. And now I have to stop since, after all, haven't I just said all is said and done? So what else is left to say and do that would require a new paragraph?

Nothing.

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Strike Three, You're Out!

All three of them had something intriguing.

Number One, sadly underage by my standards, was simply beautiful complete with almost perfect hair and Egyptian-looking eyes giving a perfect exotic look.

Number Two was HOT. From the eyes to the lips to the body (a sneak peak confirmed no patent devil in those details) to the attitude. I was dazed, mesmerized, discombobulated even. But having passed the looks test with honours, a secondary test was instantly triggered. More about that later.

Number Three just looked good, but something about the [almost] innocent smile, the perfect shyness, the blush, the newness to the scene and the apparent unavailability (despite the willingness to chat) had my attention.

Did I mention Number One is underage? And given the circumstances of our previous meeting, I really didn't have interest beyond looking at the sheer beauty. Number Three does not elicit permanent or deep interest but I'd like to see where the conversation goes. I got a facebook friend request not 10 minutes into the conversation. Unavailable my dead grandmother.

Number Two, however. And no, I didn't mis-punctuate. For those who know me [and what I mean], that's a complete statement right there. But as I said, a secondary test was triggered. It's a safety test. Looks that good can kick the reasoning out of my door, but before the rationale leaves, the test of reciprocity must be conducted. Eye contact was made, severally, and a platonic compliment delivered. Results for part 1 of the test, no mismatched ego detected.

Part 2 of the test is a memory test. It's the more difficult stage since the first part looks for passive reciprocity while the second looks for the business end of the quality. I'm very sure that some of you (the audience) will disagree with this test, but I know some of you will know perfectly well why it has to be there. Number Two made an impression on me, and if that impression was reciprocated, the memory of me should trigger an attempt at contact. Simply put, a friend request must be received for any level of pursuit on my part.

Until then, I will selectively forget the details of that party. I also met my ex and my replacement. Lovely couple, that one. I discovered [created] a new cocktail of which the only non-alcoholic ingredient is ice. Potent, but despite the quantity taken, it had no perceptible effect on me. I got home at noon the following day, despite the party having been typical.

I need July to be a quiet month. It's the second half of the year, and I need time to think.

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a lil more HATE!!! - Why I won't date you!

I'm single. And that seems to be a problem with some people. Am I aiming too high? Am I too choosy? Maybe. But here are some reasons I won't date you:

This is a work of diction based on true stories. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the Droid’s memory or are used intentionally. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, boring or interesting, is hardly coincidental.

• You reek. I'm not sure if it's a hygiene issue or it's genetic. For the sake of whoever you settle down with, I hope it's not the latter which is immutable. But I'm not here to change people. So, no. Body odour is a chief factor in liking someone, it's never a first factor, but it's a deal breaker unless we're doing permanent long distance. Try cologne and see if it will work, but be sure to keep some under your pillow coz we tend to take deeper breaths in the morning.
• Your breath smells. Here's another killer unless we mutually agree not to kiss or be up close. I'm sorry but I don't want to cringe right before deciding to have a romantic moment. I can only hold my breath for 1 minute before passing out, and even during that one minute, I still get wafts of whatever if left over after the bacteria are through with your lunch. Do you know bad breath actually has a taste? Don't ask how I know but you can rest assured it's not a good taste.
• You're ugly. I like horror movies just like the next guy, heck, maybe even a little more than the next guy, but definitely not when I first open my eyes in the morning. I want to be able to say you're the apple of my eye, not the acacia tree in my face. I'm sorry, and you can't sue you parents any more than fat people can sue McDonalds (Kenchic/Steers - pick one and stick to it).
• You're clingy. I feel like I'm pregnant, with a little one demanding my every attention and growing heavier by the minute. ABORT!!! I need space. And battery charge too so stop texting, calling and inboxing every freaking hour. Absence makes the heart grow fonder so this weekend ain't looking good, in fact, my diary is all filled up will August......next year. I like attention, but get a pet........or vaseline.
• You're socially awkward. No, seriously, I'm afraid to be seen with you. You may be really good in the sack, but I wish you'd carry all of them peculiar habits in one when I'm with you elsewhere. Those days of crouching under tables in restaurants wondering who might know me there were exciting but I miss my dignity.
• Who's your daddy? I'm sorry but I don't need any help spending my money. I'm not really that desperate to buy you a drink, and no, I won't chaperon you to the club either. You'd happily sleep with me? Oh, sorry dear, I don't do that. If I did, I'd prefer a cash and carry basis, barter trade is so 1808!
• You're old. I'm sorry but I heard wrinkles are not good for my skin, so I don't like coming into contact with them, or looking at them for extended periods. Thanks for the interest though, I'm sure we'd have so many interesting socia-political discussions together. Hey, did you ever meet Darwin? There's a quote of his I love but I can't remember how it goes. (I'm so going to read this with regret years from now)
• You don't know what you want. From the type/list of people I see you dying to be around, you must either be settling for less or overshooting your goal with me. You'll make me happy for an hour, I'll make you miserable for 23, if I'm lucky. Do your social experiments, figure out what shoe fits best, then stay the hell away from me.
• You're brain dead. I'd like to speak my mind without eliciting a blank stare and drool from you. When I'm close to someone, I like speaking, and speaking my mind at that. If we're seated in the living room not speaking, and its not your first time there, you're in the wrong room.
• You're a corpse. Sex with you feels like necrophilia, move around a little, moan something, change your facial expression - pretend to be alive. If I'm quiet after that, I'm most likely wondering how the hell you got here. And if I'm looking at my hands, I'm just wondering what you can do that they can't.
• You have the personality of a deer formerly in headlights - where the headlights were of a subaru with a compromised braking system. We probably met in a noisy place where your dance moves and facial expression were remotely appealing. I can safely assure you that this is the last time we're meeting, and that's not a good backdrop to beginning a relationship.
• You're loose. You may need to wear a diaper in a few years, but for now, you probably walk around with a pose to flatter your ASSets and truncate the last vowel of all swahili words. Or you may be an uptowner with psychological issues best dealt with in the sack. I'm sure you're a reservoir of skill, but I like my 'meat' rare, not well done.
• You're shady. A village goodbye ceremony preceded your coming to the city, and you had a neckache the first few nights from looking at 13 storey buildings. I spent my first few years in the outskirts of Nairobi (albeit in another province) but I do insist on a minimum level of sophistication - I'm vain like that. In exceptional circumstances I will forgive an accent, but I have white friends too and I'd not like to have to act as interpreter.
• You're fat.
• You're a child. I like them young, but could you look like a teenager without acting and sounding like, [or being] one? I don't want to feel like I'm babysitting, and I don't want to think of you every time I'm discussing with my married colleagues about "children nowadays".

I'm not through hating, but I'm bored with this post already, and I think you may also be getting there.

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A lil bit of HATE!!

Technically, I don't like hating unless its deserved, but I deleted a number of people from my Facebook friends' list and I think you deserve to know why:

• Looking through your wall, I just saw bitterness and bitchiness. That’s not in the list of things I’d like to experience, online or offline.
• Looking through your pics, I see you have a propensity for taking pictures without your shoes on. I like the socks, but I’m afraid the tendency might be telling of a psychological disorder I’d not like to be part of. I like the grass/countryside background though.
• Looking at your profile picture album, I see the same four sample pictures that came with an outdated version of windows. I was so awed by your originality, I mistakenly clicked “ignore”. And now I just can’t seem to recognize which profile is yours.
• Looking at your profile, I see one of your updates was who care’s. I took the advice when I read another update saying let's be the end of us. I was very concerned when under the work section I saw “I am STUNDET” and in the high school section “I am THOUGH”
• Looking at your profile picture, need I mention your only profile picture, I suddenly realized you, a guy, recently appeared in an obscure female teen model site from an equally obscure country. I have no problem with the obscurity you operate in, but I have a policy against having famous people as friends.
• Looking at your profile picture, need I mention your only profile picture, I must say you have awesome legs. I’m just wondering why that’s all I can see. Is it the better half? Does it mean you like walking all over people? I think you’re too deep and cryptic to know on social media. Lets meet during one of these public cause walks. Come to think of it, I remember you asked me whether I was a model when you added me. Me? A model? Awww, shucks, how perceptive of you.
• Looking through your profile, I must say I’m dying to see you in a pose that’s anything natural. Your lips are dashing but its too bad they filled up the screen and can’t be seen in perspective. Your favourite quotation is “so what”. So what if we’re not friends? Good to know you “kEeP iT FieRCe” tho.
• Looking through your info section, I am deeply moved and amazed at your revolutionary political stand “we need trustworthy readers”. Your depth is even more perceptible in your stand that “no quote is a cliche unless you take things for granted”. I completely identify. From the shape of your mouth, I will not underestimate your prowess at proclaiming where you are from by your accent. Your name doesn’t help much.
• Looking through your profile, I notice your profile picture says you’re single. As in literary. Your last update says “im single and lonelly....inbox”. One word for you, Mig33. I was afraid of looking at your info section. 17 mutual friends? This is why I need to do this more often. I’d have deleted them as well but the first one happened to be my ex’s current and that would just seem jealously bitchy.
• Looking through your profile, I notice you’re friends with Fundi Mbengo. I don’t know him. This has nothing to do with your profile pic. Especially that third one. I just instinctively checked to see if my wallet was still here.
• Looking through your profile, I notice you have 2 fathers and 1 mother. And your were born in 1994. Who the hell was born in 1994? Wait, that means you’re 17? Time does fly. Add me after 4 years when you’ve done a DNA test to establish who you’re from.
• Looking through your profile, I notice you have 4,000 friends. 

I hate statistics. Apparently, 70% of the are made up on the spot.

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