Vodka, Football and Beautiful Women...... No words

I love words, they make me. When am out of words, it's almost drowning, it makes me feel things only acceptable in relationships, a concept am not good at as they ruin the conquest part which is all it's really about for me, at least the relationship that require constant reminders of how we feel. Then there are the break-ups where you are supposed to hurt and someone has to hug you and tell you ''I'm there for you'' and all that crap.  You can almost conclude that am in a relationship with words, but am going to ask you not to.

Sunday, the 13th of May 2012, we had the most beautiful season finale ever witnessed in the English Premier League. Manchester United, the most decorated team in the EPL were about to lift their 13th premier league title. The 13th league title on the 13th of May would almost be poetic for the Red devils, but they needed their noisy neighbors Manchester city not to win against relegation bound Queens Park Rangers. Arsenal on the other hand needed to win to guarantee them a Champions League spot next season, or for Tottenham Hotspurs and Newcastle United to both loose. Arsenal didn't need Batman as they had Robin so for us it was more of a formality. The Manchesters on the other hand, gave us magic, three minutes of pure magic as Manchester City lost and found glory. It was a story that deserved words.

The two days that took precedent the 13th, we had a work-related retreat, team building if you may. Personally am not a firm believer of these bonding things because bonding without vodka isn't much. People mostly conform in these retreats to impress their bosses coz as much as we like to pretend we are better, we are human, we back-stab, withhold information, backbite and do a whole lot of calculated and unethical deeds to take care of number one unless number one is dependent on others goodwill. And bosses get new blackmailing material to use against the employees. I however enjoyed this particular retreat, probably because there was chicken for lunch (chicken is my new fetish), and there was a lake, it made me miss the beach terribly but I decided to view the lake as a small ocean without a beach which was somehow comforting. There was the vodka too, and a lot of beautiful women albeit after hours.

The thing is, I had a weekend of vodka, football and beautiful women, things that make me glow, things that give life meaning, things I never lack words to describe. I especially lacked the words to describe vodka and friends, which is just sad. I love my vodka whether its mango vodka, in cocktails, in coffee and my all time favorite, straight from the bottle. In forging friendship, arbitrating conflicts, foreplay, fighting boredom, healing broken hearts, making memories, and in all other life endeavors of mine, vodka plays a significant role. I couldn't find words for football either, lessons in three minutes, lessons on how people who work together will win whether it be against complex football defenses, or the problems of modern society (words of Vince Lombardi). The tragedy in my inability to talk directly to the hearts of beautiful women, to those all I wanted to say was, It is enough for me to sit beside them, who are an art mostly pleasant although demanding great skill and knowledge. Being unable to tell people how there are no unbeautiful women, only women who are yet to discover how beautiful they are. I am a bachelor and being a bachelor means walking to and fro the kitchen with only your boxers, sometimes naked even scratching your balls taking a drag. It's eating chemsha 8 days a week; it's knowing the route from the bed to the bathroom by heart, (between the bed and the bathroom is not clear of obstacles - difficulty game). Bachelorhood represents freedom and the ability to talk about vodka football and beautiful women at all times.

I have a writer’s block. Am not sure I can call it that, a writers block, coz am not much of a writer. Am more of a story teller, although my friends kind of use the wrong words to point out. I love to tell stories rather than write them. The facial expressions, the imitations, the tone of the voice. Story telling is supposed to be a one on one thing. You need to read the mood of the crowd, the attention they are giving your story. It pains me to lack words. Robert Collier once said, ''The great successful men of the world have used their imagination? They think ahead and create their mental picture in all its details, filling in here, adding a little there, altering this a bit and that a bit, but steadily building - steadily building." My imagination albeit visual is not built around pictures whether still or otherwise, nor is it audio, it's plain paper and pen. No words means I can't or am not in a position to concentrate on anything else, I scribble a couple of mini-posts, a collection of vanity I call them. I need words like a fat kid needs cake, as 50 Cent keeps saying in one of his badly done tracks. I feel like am losing a part of me whenever I stay too long without playing with words, restless, heartbroken, and lonely even. Words comfort me in more ways than I care to admit, especially calculated words and it drives me insane when I can't play with them regardless of whether y'all get the message or not, especially the ones I put down and am the only one who gets them. I think my lack of words lately is going to land me in a mental institute.

Here is where y'all coming in as friends. I think friends should always encourage friends to get their heads examined, or at least sit down, drink vodka and discuss football and beautiful women. I read somewhere that doctors do not categorize mango vodka as a fruit. But you have to understand that as a lover of vodka, I fail to see the doctors’ logic here because if we classify mango juice as an alternative vitamin source, mango vodka doesn't fall too far off. I'll bring this up with my best friend Jnr. I don't know whether you know this but not many men take the time, every day, to have a blunt, glass of vodka, to talk to their best friend. That's not something most men have.

Due to my current situation, my very painful distance with words, I will share with you something I found somewhere around the World Wide Web. It's something that talks to my inner soul. Two things in fact.

"Vodka is our enemy, so we’ll utterly consume it!” – Russian Proverb

"There cannot be not enough snacks, There can only be not enough vodka.
There can be no silly jokes, There can only be not enough vodka.
There can be no ugly women, There can only be not enough vodka.
There cannot be too much vodka, There can only be not enough vodka.”

-Popular Russian Saying

A toast to the women of then...........

Before I start my post today, I need to tell Safaricom Limited that one message is enough to tell me that I have insufficient funds to send a message or make a call. Sending 10 messages to drive it home is just rubbing it on my face. Since this is the only place that I truly have a voice, I should use this forum to complain and hope that y'all share the same sentiments, otherwise am just a bore. But then again, it wouldn't come as a surprise coz my cousin has a way of letting me know that telling the same story over and over is kind of boring. His exact words about the blog were, roughly translated, “you talk too much. You mean to tell me that you sat somewhere alone, and since you don’t have anyone to talk to, you decide to start a blog?” But I digress.

It's Friday and am preparing for a typical loud weekend of indulgence (my typical loud weekend has evolved from club hopping to coffee and vodka and a couple friends) and reflecting. I just realized I have never really thanked the girls that came before for driving me towards vodka. In between emotions from, "It's not me it's you" through "Please take these feelings away from me, Lord God I pray," to "was I drunk this whole time?", a good bottle of vodka comes in handy. I know, I've being there once or twice, or a whole lot of times, but who cares about the numbers. In between reading advice columns, hanging out with your friends as they pamper your ego, telling you how "that bitch didn't deserve you", and drunk dialing, binge drinking is the only thing that we accept as a healer of broken hearts for real men. I say real men because Abraham Lincoln couldn’t be wrong when in his address to the Washington Temperance Society, Springfield, Illinois, on the 22^nd of February 1842, in his words, “If we take habitual drunkards as a class, their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison with those of any other class.  There seems ever to have been a proneness in the brilliant and warm-blooded to fall in to this vice.  The demon of intemperance ever seems to have delighted in sucking the blood of genius and generosity.” he could only be addressing real men, who drink. If you’re not a fan of Abraham Lincoln, you’ll accept Winston Churchill (one of the most important leaders in modern British and world history) confession that he has taken more from Alcohol than alcohol has taken from him.

Anyway, after the break ups, we live like gamblers, where we start with a beer at 10:00 in the morn without knowledge of where you’ll wake up tomorrow morn. This is after waking up in disastrous situations in the past but still hoping it will end up like that one night you woke up with a perfect 10, like throwing a dice on a high stakes table. We drink from bottles because glasses are for those who sip not those who drink because people who drink aim for the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it's there, because it can't hurt, and because what difference does it make? If I sleep sober or drunk, she still won’t wake up next to her in the morning but with spontaneous acts after the devil harasses us, we seek the company of women or drink more, or joke and talk nonsense, or do some other merry thing. Sometimes we must drink more, sport, recreate ourselves, and even sin a little to spite the devil, so that we leave him no place for troubling our consciences with trifles. We are conquered if we try too conscientiously not to sin at all. So when the devil says to you: do not drink, answer him: I will drink, and right freely, just because you tell me not to. Again, I digress.

After the beers, three or four down the line, someone always comes up with the idea of keeping the spirits in given the widely accepted our bodies are temples. A bottle of vodka or as we like to call it, bottled poetry comes in hand, mostly after realizing double tots albeit chasing the beer quite well, are getting on the budget upside. This is where football talk kicks in. At this stage of the day, mid-afternoon in most cases, the honesty level is on the lower side because we are still disguised in sobriety.

At around three vodka bottles down, the advice start flowing. Someone will blubber about how drinking doesn’t help as they pour you a glass of vodka and explain how they’ve being there. Someone will tell you that you need to go find that new love and not waste anymore of your time thinking of someone no longer with you.  “Don't go wasting your life on the past, think positive and find that new girlfriend who will love only you, and make you happy. From now no more drinking a lot as it will also ruin your life, and no girl wants a boyfriend who drinks too much. So go find that new love and prove to yourself and others that you can be happy again with someone new. Go out today and if you see someone you like who is also single, go talk to her, but not about what’s happened, unless she asks. It’s okay to say you were cheated on, but to go into every detail can put another girl off. So now its your time to be happy again and love again. So don't sit there, get out and look around for a love who will treat you right”.

I think this is the point where we order the fourth bottle of vodka and laugh at the logic of the drunk who thinks that jumping from one relationship to another one while still sober is a good thing, we all know one needs to get wasted over and over again to heal broken hearts. Depending on where we are physically (drinking den of the day) anything goes from trying to woo a decent woman as you slur sweet nothings incomprehensible to either you or the new girl of your dreams sitting alone on the counter. 

We sip some more vodka and go Irish…..

All: Ohhhh, aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di!

Patrice: Once when I was celebratin'.

Aga: I went to bed.

Serge: I had too much to drink.

Caine: I woke up to an ugly head.

Patrice: She turned over.

Aga: And I saw her face.

Serge: I screamed in surprise.

Caine: And I sprayed her with mace!

All: Ohhhh, aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di!

Aga: I jumped round and ran away.

Serge: And put on all my clothes.

Caine: And then I ran from the house.

Patrice: I hit her, I do suppose.

Aga: But, she jumped right after me.

Serge: She got into her car.

Caine: She didn't get there.

Patrice: She looked like Jamie Farr.

All: Ohhhh, aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di!

Serge: Although she was so ugly.

Caine: I took her anyway.

Patrice: I used her to scare children away.

Aga: What the hey?

Serge: Boy, it really worked good.

Caine: I remember that day.

Patrice: That I took her to the dog park.

Aga: And said, what they hey.

All: Ohhhh, aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di!

Caine: I tried to forget it.

Patrice: I tried to drink a lot.

Aga: Because she was so ugly.

Serge: She needed an ink spot.

Caine: Then that day would come again.

Patrice: That I'd meet her.

Aga: I was so scared.

Serge: It looked like someone had beat her.

All: Ohhhh, aye-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di-dee-di! 

  

And in the morning, we’ll wake up and do it all over again…..

"It's well to remember that there are five reasons for drinking: the arrival of a friend, one's present or future thirst, the excellence of the vodka, or any other reason". Break-ups fall under any other reason.

I gotta say that words of Toni Morrison, Martin Luther did me justice when I wrote this piece

Before I forget, y'all should swing by www.facebook.com/LinkArray and say wasup....

 

Spin, Run and Choose

“This is why we shouldn't be afraid There are two possibilities: One is that there's more to life than the physical life, that our souls "will find an even higher place to dwell" when this life is over. If that's true, there's no reason to fear failure or death. The other possibility is that this life is all there is. And if that's true, then we have to really live it - we have to take it for everything it has and "die enormous" instead of "living dormant," as I said way

back on "Can I Live." Either way, fear is a waste of time.”

― Jay-Z, Decoded

I guess he was right in a way, but on the flip side, how broad are our choices? We are thrown choices where we are not in a position to choose right with certainty and the risks spread to the extremes of our fears. Whatever the consequence of our choice will be, if the opposite turns true, we are most definitely screwed as the punishment falls either on living a completely stale and boring life wasted on patiently waiting on an unknown bliss or an eternity of unprecedented agony albeit in the afterlife. And it gets worse, we live in a community who tend to judge us depending on the choices that we make, a society with absolute truths, a society that does not understand why our truths vary from theirs but they expect us to understand their truth.....PAUSE....

When I was growing up, I knew of a few truths, absolutes if you may which reigned supreme regardless of how wrong they would turn out to be. That was before they opened the gates of Hades, dragged my soul away, and told me I shouldn’t walk this way.Take music for instance, and the difference in association today and a couple of years ago. Rock for instance was considered Satanic, still is in some quarters, hip hop as a messenger for all that's wrong (probably because it's provocative) until we found out it's us who were listening to the music wrong. We were listening to music the same way we read books, or perceive art, the way society deems right. We've been molded to take a particular path and designing ourselves, creating our identity which in my opinion should be our goal on life is hindered. Identity is an absolute truth. It is sometimes conflicted, bigoted, stereotyping but all in all, it's probably the only absolute truth. We may try to run from it, remould it to suit the circumstances that be, but it's core values, it's needs, it's principals remain. With this in mind, re-examining our truths. We think the way society expects us to and crazy ain't too far a dogma if your path is considered against the grain. We don't pause, what if the societal truth is wrong?

.....PRESS PLAY. With truth relative, what are we supposed to run with? My truth is fire excites me. I sometimes, for no apparent reason strike a match and watch the flame glow, grow, steady and slowly die. It tells the story of my life, our lives, but I don't know much about yours, thus this might be or might not be your truth. My truth is I want to spin, and then run.

I want to spin because I want to see the world distorted, listen to the music broken, an alternate world where nothing is as it seems. I want to see God the unconventional way, see power as a different tool, women as beautiful, nature as Gods' creation. I want to experience the peace in belief. I want to trust easy and love slow. I want a better view of the world, delusional or not.

I want to run. I want to run and experience everything good in the world. I try to live right, I try to make choices that add value to my life and although going with the flow gives you a softer landing, the rewards fall on average. Although every man believes that his decisions and resolutions involve the most multifarious factors, in reality they are mere oscillation between flight and longing. The end result of your life here on earth will always be the sum total of the choices you made while you were here.

And then the big question, having a devil on one shoulder and

an angel on the other, how to live my life, where to live my hell, how to walk facing forward with nary a crick in my neck from looking back at the crossroads, and most importantly, how to live without been afraid........

The beginning

At first, the rhythm was more subtle but you could dance to it if you listened more keenly. I didn't expect to find this many people at the party but with an open invitation, it was bound to happen. Free booze has a way of attracting the weeds. Anyway, the choice of music was pathetic and the girls were a little too needy for my liking. I didn't mind since the booze was on my to do list and the girls were more like the pirate's code; to be thought of only as suggestions. Am aware that the list is in a weird way self-regenerative but at the end of the day, booze being the big stones had to go first in to the jar before the small pebbles, the college gals, filled in the spaces.

I sat at the far end of the counter across the room and looked around; she was on the dance floor. Basic instinct, initial intention, curiosity of that guy that drives him to her kicked in. She was your average college girl with everything that they come with except for one thing, enigma. She was composed and had a sense of self-control, two things maybe. Mysterious, meditative, unapproachable, three things maybe. Feet. Those were the first thing I noticed. Her satin heels put emphasis on the beauty of her calves. Her perfectly tanned legs seemed to glow in the lil light in the room. On a normal day, my instinct would automatically lead my eyes up to check out the rack but at this point in time, it was the legs that mesmerized me. I watched her hips sway to the beat, the rhythm was clearer now. She was like a jeweled dancer, dancing upon a pavement of gold. Her thighs, tanned beautiful thighs. Her thighs beautiful and tanned go straight to the top. Good grief they're fabulous and all I could think about is the lots of warmth within just glowing from fun. Can you imagine moonlight in liquid form? Now, can you imagine yourself immersed in a pond of liquid moonlight? Now imagine all that liquid moonlight seeping dip into your essence. Watching her brought that feeling.

"I think I'll take another one of those shots, double vodka"

Where did she go? My mind deftly swerves from the frivolous mood to profundity and even the jerk of inertia was non-existent. I had turned for only a few seconds and she was gone!

"Hi"

I turn around and she's standing right next to me with this inscrutable smile.

"Hi" with a measure of composure and a hint of nervousness. I hadn't noticed her face until now, she was familiar. I had seen her a few times.

"You're more of a loner than most," she said with a pitiful look.

"I'd say the same applies to you," I said trying to act confident. My heart was now in a sorry state as it had not being beating rhythmically and had skipped a little too many beats in the few minutes past. The effect of her scent, sort of like a rose geranium but sweeter, was intoxicating yet cleansing and purifying.

"Nice perfume"

"Thanks, how women did you say that to today?"

"Three or four, but they all smelled good. You're more like cherry blossom,"

"Oh really" smiling sheepishly, "I almost thought no one would notice,"

"Let's just say every man in this room would relish the chance to say that to you, if you didn't look so astoundingly beautiful, I guess I get to be the lucky one."

"How long have you being watching me?"

"I almost thought no one would notice," Smiling warily,

"I did, at least in the last three parties I have attended. You want to tell me why you've being following me?"

"Following you? You must have mistaken me for someone else." I was getting nervous now and couldn't help myself from a quick scan of the place. Most of the revelers were either drunk or getting there, except for one guy sitting at a table with a direct view of me, and another one who was two tables behind him also
with a direct view of me. I needed to compose myself.

"Okay, am going to be honest with you,"I started, "You are a very beautiful woman, and I know you are way out of my league. All I wanted was to watch you dance, in a weird way, it helps me sleep at night."

"Pervert!" She said walking away. I jumped off my seat and rushed towards her,

"No, no… not in that sense. I mean, if your days happen to be as terrible as mine are, your nights aren't exactly peaceful. I just need one beautiful scene, a smile, dance; I'll probably take anything just to go to bed and not think of blowing my brains out. I just want a moment I can relive in my dreams."

"What do you dream about?"

"They are just dreams, and you're not exactly a genie, I mean except you talking to me, I doubt any of my dreams will ever come true."

Then it hit me, she was no different than I was. She came in alone as I did, and almost left alone every time, she seemed as much out of place as I did, and she was talking to me and not the others……she was
talking to me, she…..

"……………where would I go?" she was
waiting for answer.

"aaahh"

"Let's start over. What's your name again?"

"Serge', Serge is my name, and you
are?"

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Halleluuuuuuuuuuuujaaaaaah

That was my heart singing throwing my hands in the air as every part of me joined in and screamed louder. Whatever was happening to me could not be described, not a word in the current oxford dictionary can describe it although astounding, rapturous, or maybe euphoric comes close. It all started with a couple of vodka shots earlier. Alone at the counter, I normally prefer it with some slices of lemon although some days like today, neat works for me. In a good way it burns, and most parts of me go ballistic including the big toe, ooohh vodka, how sweet thy taste. I gotta say, for god so loved the world that he gave us his only begotten son who turned water into wine. How I wish he knew something about the vodka then. I’ll admit that I was a little disappointed when the second coming of JC was postponed for the umpteenth time, all the water I had packed will now go to waste.
 

Looking around me, it seems am not the only one who is feeling the vibe of the clear fluid. There is this chic on the floor clad in a black dress and spotting one of those extra huge handbags commonly referred to as ‘vitz packing zone’. She’s clearly in the zone, her face, her dance moves, the smile, the unmistakable smile which is a resultant of the best man made bliss, am clearly home here. A little sweat dripping, it’s arousing, satisfying. She looks, at me and we’re nsync. We are thinking along the same lines, she licks her lips, throws her hair back and smiles. She walks over to the counter, “double shot of vodka please”. She looks at me flashes a smile and starts walking away. I couldn’t just let my soul mate walk away from me, not today, not after Mary Jane told me that she’s around the corner.

We didn’t have definite plans, but vodka is extremely spontaneous. We want to watch the stars, the new moon, we can’t see it from here, maybe at the beach the outline will be clearer. Vodka stays close by and Mary Jane is a pretty awesome guide as we kick our shoes and play with the water. Roll in the sand naked, her body, so many curves and I want to know them all, I can never have enough of this fine body. Her lips, chocolate they taste. Her breasts rise, her breath is faster; her legs around my back and our bodies are carelessly free. None of us knows why we are feeling this good; it’s too good to be true. Maybe it’s the vodka or it’s us or a fraction of each poured in a glass, shaken together, and served with a slice of lemon to come up with a concoction none of us has ever tasted.

Its morning now, and after last night, I don’t ever wanna go back to the real world. I want to stay here, raw food, and sex in the beach, eat berries in the morning, fish for lunch and vodka for dinner. We’ll wake up with a big fat smile in the morning, smoke weed all day and night, siesta in the afternoons, and we’ll just chill. I want to wake up every day and sing

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Halleluuuuuuuuuuuujaaaaaah

I want to grow dreadlocks, and she can play with them when we’re making love. I will learn to fish and she’ll learn to grill on open fire. I’ll write her poetry at the beach and read them to her in bed. We’ll live in a tree house, with a small garden where we’ll grow the herbs that we need. Live like a Sherman, and make babies. Teach them to play mini rugby at the beach, fishing, to live happy without the pressures of money but with pleasures of nature.


Just a minute, gotta press the snooze button and get back to my dream, HOLY FUCK!!! Am dreaming!!

Gotta go, Mary Jane is in session!!