'I live in a space inside my head,a cluttered space crammed with random thoughts about life, love and the struggle of being a 27yr old african woman trying to 'find' herself but losing her self in the process.I always vowed when I was growing up that I would do things differently from my mother. As the years have gone by I find myself modelling my life on the woman I thought I wasn't strong enough to become,'(If you ever have the chance to meet my mother even once, to be given the chance to be half the woman my mother is, you will know that you have been truly blessed) Finally I have had to embrace the fact, that I'm nothing but My Mother's Child....

Thursday, April 30, 2009

9 Days Celibate and still Counting.........

My celibacy count is back down to a mere 9 days. Don't even know if that still counts as being 'celibate' I miss being celibate (insert big sigh)I miss feeling so self righteous amongst my rampant friends like i belonged to some elite stuffy boring uppity club, wish I had made him just put the 'head' in lol so i could technically still be a celibate non condom buying so and so.

Speaking of condoms God are they so dear.....hmmmmm there is something oddly unsettling about mentioning God and condoms in the same sentence, but seriously last time i bought condoms they cost 20 cents came in one shape, one colour and had the same latex taste lol. I bought my first condoms at 11.....from my brother aged 6 who had stolen them from my mother aged...... well dunno how old she was but my behind was certainly a few years older than me when she was done with it. She kept shouting 'show me where it goes!!!' whilst beating the living daylights out of me. I become permanently scarred, whenever I'm buying condoms my heart is always almost about to leap out of my chest, like she will suddenly leap out from the checkout counter shouting 'show me where it goes!!!' if you know my mama please advise her not to try it though coz i might just.......just...just be brave enough to lift up my skirts and defiantly shout, 'it goes in here mum, its definitely been in here!!!'.

So me and him are having 'a thing'. I hate having 'a thing' with a dude. You know that indescribable confusing stage where you have moved past the point of being casual lays, (we speak on the phone all the time for hours on end, he is the only person I can bare my soul to, and he tells me he loves me and wants to be only with me ) but for reasons best known to myself I absolutely refuse to classify what we 'have' as a relationship so ' a thing' it is. 'Things ' are supposed to be less complicated, I used the word supposed coz they are in reality a whole lot complicated and messy. What is 'a thing?'. Does it give you a licence to diversify your man portfolio? legitimately I can always do another thingy on the side after all ' we are just having a thing' right? Is a relationship a relationship because you have that conversation where you agree to be exclusive and actually say yeah we are now in a relationship, or is it the case of if it looks like a dog, barks like a dog and lives in a Kennel then it is a dog even if it calls itself a cow? if I'm to keep my sanity 'we' can not be in a dog, I insist that what we have is a cow, a non milk producing, barking, kennel sleeping, dog look alike but I insist its a cow nonetheless.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Sexclaus is coming to town .............

Just so you know

Sexclaus is coming to town

and when he does,

he is soooooooo going down my chimney

not once, not thrice, but over and over again


lets do the maths........

fcuking my brains out = Sex

going down my 'chimney', deliverin' my goodies and making my christmas come early = Claus

so Sexclaus

Johhny Teabag upstairs aint got shit on you.

so bye bye Pink Rabbit

The End of 389 days of celibacy.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Who Ate All the weight loss Pills Pies .........

Siren blazing, lights flashing, travelling at an almost suicidal speed, the car swerved from lane to lane, onto on coming traffic, past red traffic lights, zig zagging into the bus lanes and down one way streets, you would be forgiven for mistaking this as a scene from the latest Bond/Bourne movie, but it wasn't, if it had been a movie scene it would have been aptly titled 'Ms DM's almost fatal attempt to be a size zero'.... and it was...almost fatal...when I was admitted into the emergency department temperature at 38, my circus qualifying abnormally big head almost twice its normal abnormal size, breathing through non invasive ventilation, my life, actually to be exact my last 397 sex free days flashed through my mind and I had only one regret on my death bed, 'I should have fc*ked Johnny from upstairs brains out when I had the chance.'

At that very moment even though I felt I was dying, I would have given up the last three, four or seven hours I had left to live to have Johnny my tea bag borrowing upstairs neighbour appear in that A&E assessment ward and give me a mind blowing orgasmic send off into the 'other side'/ pearly gates. seriously as I lay nearly dying from dodgy weight loss pills bought off eBay all i could think about was 'God just one last chance to have sex' (in case you are wondering in my 26years I have already spent an average of 45 Sabbaths a year praying for my salvation so it would be have been only fair to spend the remaining few hours of my life focusing solely on sexual gratification lol).

After being humiliated and cheated out of a chance to bag 'the most eligible, noodle serving, pot bellied, Bugatti driving, sugar daddy on the block' by the Skinny-Bitch I vowed to join the size zero skinny bitches brigade, come doughnuts, lattes, cheese laden pastas, rich chocolate desserts, hail or sunshine. First research pit stop was the gastric bypass, (feel free to judge me all the heck you want lol) I am one for efficiency (working in billable hours does that sort of thing to you) I figured one better way to propel myself to Bugatti sugar daddy snatching size zero than getting my intestines nipped and tucked in Harley street? Besides, the fact that it was only two days after payday meant that the bank manager would happily give me the green light. But i found out the hard way that forget the disabled, gender inequalities, ethnic minority racial discrimination,bias against lesbians/bisexuals etc the world totally discriminates against those of us unfortunate enough not to be too thin and not too curvy either. Apparently no self respecting intestine nipping and tucking surgeon will touch anyone with a body fat mass index of less than 22, their excuse being its dangerous à la Kanye West mum's style hence totally unethical.

Undeterred I turned to the diet pills market, this was the point that the grim rippers clock must have started tick toking in my direction Final Destination style lol. In my defence the gym membership was not helping much, after religiously going to the gym four times a week and huffing and puffing nearly spitting my liver out on the treadmill, i was horrified to learn that i had gained 3lbs. the personal trainer had the nerve to try and spin a web of lies about muscle mass being heavier than fat blah dee blah n*gga purlizzzzzzzz that motivational sh*t don't wash on me, I mean its not as if I'm already spotting a six pack (yeah LLCoolJ always has me at Hello). Now my gym ought to be sued, whats with the sabotaging, situating the fitness suite right next to the drive through McDonald's and LaTasca(Italian restaurant), as I'm huffing and puffing on the treadmill the smell of freshly cooked pasta carbonara and big macs wafts through the room, plus you get discount vouchers for both restaurants as part of your gym membership WTF?????? You burn 400 calories on the treadmill and then afterwards pass through LaTasca and devour 1200 calories disguised as Pasta Carbonara (add 450 more calories if you have chocolate fudge cake as dessert), its a no brain-er so personal training so and so should cut the crap about muscle mass being heavier than fat, unless the other name for muscle mass is pasta carbonara lol.

So you know who your true enemies are when you ask a 'friend' to recommend certain diet pills that can fast forward you to skinnybitchness and she directs you to an Internet site. She swore the sh*t came highly recommended, was 100% legit and even endorsed by celebrities (yeah should have asked which ones, OJ Simpson???). Son or rather more aptly daughter of a b*tch nearly sent me to an early grave, without giving me the opportunity to get my brains sh*gged senseless by tea bag borrowing Johnny from down the stairs. I parted with nearly £183 for the sh*t (hey in my defense I'm sure that when i had successfully bagged Bugatti Veyron sugar daddy he would have spent x1000 that amount on 'keeping me happy' lol). The sh*t (sorry there is no politer word to describe the death pills that nearly killed me) even came with a guarantee that if you didn't loose 7lbs in the first week you would get your money back (conveniently the corresponding address was a P. Box number, now don't quote me on this but i need to recheck Vera's P.O Box number, girl could be the one who tried to grim reaper my ass lol). To cut a long story short, I took the first three tablets and in less than two hours my head had swelled up to twice its normal size, my heart was beating off the Richter scale of heartbeats, my whole body had a sinister looking purplish rash and i was badly swollen as if i had been rihanned by a team of 12 Chris Browns, I couldn't breathe my airways were closing up, in short that sh*t was killing me, thus i found myself on the way to the emergency department in an ambulance, wishing to God I had shagged tea bag borrowing Johnny from upstairs when I had the chance.

8 days later I'm now back home, recovering ( as if you could ever recover from such an ordeal) thanks Tigeress for checking up on me whilst I was in hospital, as for the rest of you Judas Iscariot's who never checked up on me, I hope you choke on a batch of the diet sh*t that nearly killed me. Seriously never ever buy pills off the Internet, I learnt my lesson the death bed way.........but thanks to eight days of horrible hospital 'food' (slimy mashed potatoes and mince meat which had a suspicious sardine like odour) I'm now firmly on my way to earning my Skinny Bitch club platinum pass lol so forget sh*gging Johnny from upstairs coz Bugatti Driving, noodle serving, pot belled Sugar Daddy here I come!!!!!!.