Monthly Archives: September 2013
I was eighteen, he was nineteen.
I was shy when it came to boys, so he was my first kiss, my first date, my first love, my first everything.
Both of us were college students, so all he could afford on his student bursary was this li’l diamond chip.
But, it’s my most prized possession for so many reasons.
We dated for five years, until I left in search of greener.
I did get greener, bigger, better, but even though we live in different countries, I never forgot him, my first love. The boy who gave me all he had, all the time.
I talked to him the other day on Facebook. A mutual friend had told him that I had changed my status to ‘single’ on Facebook, so he wanted to know how I was.
We talked about his kids and my kids and our spouses and about life.
“You know, I still have the chain you bought me,” he said. “When we were dating. And I use it. Often.”
“What? You serious?”
“Absolutely. It’s my most prized possession.” His exact words. I couldn’t believe it.
I asked to see a picture of it, as I had forgotten what I bought him. He sent me a photo of a thin, flimsy, sterling silver chain. I laughed and cringed at its cheapness. He’s on the flashy side, so I was surprised that he’d wear something so simple.
“Does your wife know about it?” I asked.
“No, she thinks my mom gave it to me.”
“Mm. I still have your ring, you know.”
There was a small silence before he spoke. “You’re kidding me. You don’t actually have it, do you?”
“I have it.”
Another small silence. “Wow! Can I see a photo of it?”
“Okay, I will send you one tomorrow.”
So, I softened my cuticles, exfoliated my hands, painted my nails a pretty blue and took a picture of me wearing the ring.
“Wow!” he said when he saw the photo. “That’s a bloody cheap-ass ring I bought you. I’m so embarrassed, Eve.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s my most prized possession, too. I’ve kept it in the safe behind all my other jewelry and my will, so that my husband (ex-husband now) wouldn’t find it and badger me into throwing it out. Like he did with all our photos.”
“I’m so touched that you kept it. Hey, I remember the day I bought you the ring. You had this big grin on your face and you kept waving your hands around so that your friends would notice.”
I laughed out loud.
He was right; you’d think it was an 8 carat Harry Winston pink diamond or something, the way I flashed it around. But I was 18 and even though I tried to dissuade him from buying me a ring, I was thrilled with it.
“I remember that day,” I said, as my laughter died and a wave of nostalgia washed over me.
It was a while before he broke the silence.
“Eve, besides the times when you look at the ring, do you …like, I mean, do you ever …think of …me? Of us?”
For five years, he was my life, my love and we spent every waking moment together. What did he think my answer was going to be?
I cleared my throat.
(To be continued)
September 23, 2013
Continued from Part One …
I wanted to say, “Yes, I think of you. I think of you often. More than I should. I wonder how you’re doing. I wonder if you achieved all that you dreamed off. I wonder if you ever think of me, of us. I wonder if you hate me. Maybe just a little. I wonder if you love her the way you loved me. I wonder if you remember my birthday, cos I never forget yours.”
“Eh, you first,” is what I finally said.
“All the time,” he blurted without hesitation. “Every time I bought something new, achieved something, I thought of you. Anytime something monumental happened in my life, I don’t know why, but I thought of you. How nice it would be to tell you about it. Not because I wanted to show off or something, but just because.”
I sat in my cloak of smugness. He thought about me. All the time too. Wow!
“Like the time you got married?” I said. “You called me that day, remember?”
“Yeah, and you were such a bitch about it.”
“What, you expected me to jump for joy?” He had no idea how painful that phone call was for me. How I pretended I didn’t care, all the while wanting to simply die at the finality of our break-up.
“Well, you could have …”
“You got married like almost three months after we ended things. And she moved in with you right away! You guys were moving at an incredible speed which was confusing to me. So yeah, I believed that there was something was going on between the two of you while we were dating. I still do. Of course I was pissed off. With her and you. She stole you from me.”
“But you left for …”
“And anyway, I challenge you to find a girl who says, ‘Congratulations, ex-boyfriend who I dated for five years. Hope you and that bitch lives happily ever after like Shrek,’ and does a joyful jig.”
“Shrek? Ha! Ha!”
“And did your wife know you called me that day?”
“Of course not. She’d die if she knew.”
“Mm. And why did you call me? I mean, how could you, on your wedding day of all days, call me, your ex-girlfriend? Something was wrong with that picture, boy.”
“Yeah…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Well, clearly you were thinking about me.” My voice oozed glee.
“Yeah, I was nuts.”
A short silence.
“Listen, I have to deliver a lecture. Three actually. Can we chat in about four hours? And can I call you?”
“It’s a long distance call!” I reminded him.
“Please, I really want to hear your voice. Please.”
“I…look, I really don’t …”
“Just this once. Please! Here’s my number…” He typed it in and hit send. “Message me your number. Now.”
After a slight hesitation, I said, “Okay.”
“No, say you promise.”
I smiled. “I promise.”
“Cool.” He sent me three smiley faces and xoxo.
I laughed and messaged him my number.
How should I end the conversation, I wondered?
Xoxo? No, hugs and kisses – too forward for our first convo.
C u later? Too cold.
I typed in five smiley faces and hit send. It’ was neutral enough and he could read into it what he liked.
I logged off and peered at the clock. Four hours.
Quickly, I loaded the dishwasher, tidied the lounge, folded washing, fed the dog and cat and hastily assembled a chicken salad for dinner; all so that I could be free to free to talk to him in four hours.
To hear his voice after thirteen years.
The thought of it made me shiver with delight.
I looked at the clock again. Only an hour has passed!
When my phone rang three hours later (not four), with an Out of Area signal on it, my mouth went dry and I swallowed hard.
After several deep breaths, I answered. “H…hello?”
“You sound the same,” he said, his voice full of excitement.
“Ohmigod, you sound the same too!”
“Yeah, you do.”
“You …you don’t have an Aussie accent?”
“This is surreal,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Us talking. Just surreal.”
“What’s your daughter’s names?” he asked.
“Billie and Sydney,” I answered. I wondered if he remembered that Billie had been significant to us. “What’s your kids’ names?”
“Joshua and …” His hesitation piqued my curiosity. “…Billie.”
I was stumped. Tears smarted my eyes, while he cleared his throat several times.
“Oh, man!” he said, his voice hoarse.
I nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see me.
We both fell silent as nostalgia lingered.
“You know that song by Kid Rock? All summer long…whatever? Remember that song?
“Eh, vaguely,” I lied.
“You should listen to it. I downloaded it, and when I’m alone in the car, I blast it and think about you. Us.”
“Yeah. All the time. I always smile when I listen to it. Sometimes I laugh out loud when I think of all the things we did then. Then I get hit by a bout of nostalgia and I’m sad again.”
My heart sang at his confession.
“And I think Rags knows it’s significant, because once or twice when she got into my car, it was playing and she changed the song straight away.”
Good. I silently hoped it burned her.
“And Passenger? Let her Go? Do you know that song?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah?”
“I turn it off when I hear it.”
“Off? Wwwwwhy? I loooove that song!”
It was a while before he answered. “Makes me sad. Disappointed. I don’t quite know why. Like, I love my wife, I love my family, I’m happy in my life, I’ve achieved all I dreamed I would and more, yet…it’s like …I dunno, something is missing. When I think about you, that is. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not trying to start something…”
“We would have never made it,” I hastened to add. “We fought too much.”
“Ah, but it was the making up after the fighting that was great! Special. Wasn’t it? Or don’t you remember?”
I chuckle. “I do, I do.”
His words set my feet tapping against the wooden floors of my study. The making up was always so awesome. Beautiful.
“Don’t you fight with your wife?”
“No, not really.”
“Really? You don’t fight?”
“Yeah, she’s not like that. She doesn’t fight or argue and like, well, I dunno, she’s …reasonable. Logical.” There was a slight disdain to his voice.
“Mm. Sounds dull to me,” I said, my bitchiness getting the better of me. That comment will most definitely make him mad, I thought. Make him regret contacting me.
“Yeah, true,” he said to my surprise. “I liked it in the beginning, but it’s strange that the very thing I liked about her, is the very thing I …” He appeared to be choosing his words, “…I wish I could change.”
Wow, I hadn’t spoken to him in more than a decade and he’s talking so freely to me, I thought.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that to you. I feel disloyal to her when I do. She doesn’t deserve it.”
Yes she does! We probably would be together today had she not moved so swiftly.
We both fell silent for a moment.
“Your turn,” he said. “Spill. Do you think of me? Like over the years?”
I was hoping he’d forget to ask me.
“Well, yeah, I think about you too,” I confessed. “Five years is a lifetime. Especially during that period in your life. Like, I was seventeen when I met you and then we grew up together. It’s hard not to think about that time, you, our friends …”
“Yeah, I don’t understand why we can’t be friends and keep in touch with each other. I mean, I’m not trying to hurt anybody. And I know you – you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, either.”
“True. So, you burnt all my photos, huh?”
He laughed. “Yep. She found my hidden stash and demanded I burn it all. What a bonfire!”
“What about you?” he asked.
“Same. My ex found my diary once while I was out shopping and read the whole thing. Our fights, my fears, our sweet times…read every goddamn thing. So we too had a massive bonfire.”
“But hey, I salvaged something.”
“You did? What?”
“A tiny teddy bear you once gave me.”
“Seriously? You kept my teddy bear? Really?”
“Yep. It says, ‘I purr when I’m cuddled.’ Has a little red top. Very pretty and very precious.”
“Hey, you know what, I remember that teddy! We had a fight and…”
“…over my curfew on campus …” I smiled as I thought about it.
“…and you left me on the highway and drove off in my car! How could you do that to me? It was 2 AM.”
I laughed. “You’re the one who pulled over and told me to drive myself home. I begged you to get into the car, but you told me to fuck off, so I did. I was working the next morning, remember? Had to be up at 6.”
“God, you were such a bitch. I hitched a ride with a biker. Fat, old guy. He stank like shit and I had to put my thighs around his. Eeewww! Gives me the shivers to think about it.”
“Hey, I stole money from my mom’s purse to buy you that.”
“Ha ha ha. I didn’t know you stole money from your mom. But I remember that day, you bringing it to me. That was an awesome day.”
We spent the next hour trading memories, until it was time for him to go.
“I’ll call you again,” he said.
Tomorrow? Please say you’ll call me tomorrow?
“In two days.”
Damn! Why not tomorrow?
“Sure,” I said, doing my best to sound casual.
“Um…take care now and be good,” he said. “On second thoughts, don’t. Be just the way you are. Exactly the way you are.”
My grin was big enough to stick in a coat hanger.
After I hung up, I scrolled down my iPhone, found Kid Rock’s All Summer Long and hit play.
Every time I had heard that son, I thought about him. Only him. If only he knew.
Yep, we were trying different things, for sure.
We were smoking funny things, oh yeah!
I whirled around to my little girl.
“Who you smiling at?”
“Um…well…eh…nobody,” I said and quickly left the room, my hand pasted over my mouth.
Alone in my room, I lay on my bed and post mortem every single thing he said. Every confession, every silence, every chuckle and I hug my pillow.
Two days…how will I survive the waiting?
To be continued…
As some of you probably may have read before, I wrote GRINGA in 2009 after a horrible nightmare.
Yeah, I know what you’re going to say –sounds clichéd, the whole nightmare thing has been overdone, blah! blah! blah!
But here’s the thing:
I was so terrified after that nightmare, I couldn’t go back to sleep.
The drug lord’s shooting, the bullet that came my way, (I saw it as it hurtled toward me) was so real and so terrifying, I woke my husband (by means of a kick to the shin, as I usually do) and told him about the dream.
I expected sympathy and comforting arms. Maybe a coke and some M&Ms.
I didn’t get any of that. Instead, I got a lecture (at 3 AM) about eating chocolate before bedtime while watching Sopranos re-runs. My usual routine.
Of course, I got mad at him for giving both chocolate (and The Sopranos) a bad rep and when he wouldn’t stop lecturing me, I shut him up by kicking him in the other shin.
Anyway, it took me days to get over the horrible dream.
I stopped writing Captured, which I was busy on, and started writing Gringa. The words flowed like alcohol at a Real Housewives of Miami lingerie party!
It took me a year to write Gringa, and the feedback I got about Payton’s character from my writing group, which consisted of authors, some published, some who spoke like they had a hot potato in their mouths, well, they didn’t like her character.
Too feisty, too rude, too crude and she had no filter, they complained.
Mm. I was in a bind. Should I change her character, I wondered? Make her more likable? I wanted to, but after much thought, I looked my fellow writers straight in the eye and said, “Fuck you and your PhDs, you boring ass hoes, I’m staying true to Payton’s character.”
Well, I didn’t quite say it to them, I said it to myself. But that’s what I would have told them had I more time.
What I did do was press my full lips together, point my pencil at them and say, “Mm, you have a point there.”
(They then swallowed the hot potato. I think.)
Anyho, to me Payton’s character was so entertaining without a filter that I had to chance it and let her be.
It worked – just about every reader of Gringa tells me that they love Payton’s character.
I am glad I did not listen to my esteemed group of fellow swallowers. Er, writers. On that aspect, that is.
As for Diago, I hated the fargin sonofabitch in the beginning, but like Payton, I grew to loooove him.
In the original ending of Gringa, which I changed after umpteen requests, I cried buckets as I wrote.
I even cried during my many re-writes! (I am a cry baby, btw. I even cried while watching Lion King.)
I enjoyed the company of every single character in Gringa, including Tongue the fargin SOB, and Christa, the fargin nympho!
They all brought something to the table as many of my readers pointed out.
And…Gringa reached no 1 on amazon.com!
After repeated requests for the original version of Gringa, I’v decided to re-publish it.
But it will be free to those who have already purchased the Gringa book/series.
To get your free copy of Gringa – Since You’ve Been Gone, please contact moi via Facebook or this blog.
Oh, and make sure you have a white, lacy handkerchief ready.
(Has to be white and lacy like in the movies. And I said, white, lacy, hand…ker…chief. )
Okay, fine, Kleenex will do. Just make sure it’s scented with Aloe Vera or something. Except chloroform. It makes me sneeze.
Oh, as for my bad dreams, the chocolate and The Sopranos… a few things have happened since.
1) I traded my husband for a new one. The new one’s mute. He’s perfect, I tell you. Doesn’t even cry out when I kick him in the shin.
2) I no longer eat chocolate before bed. All I have is chocolate milkshake. Or hot chocolate with marshmallows, one pink, one white.
Whaaaat? I’m not eating it.
3) To prevent more nightmares, after watching Soprano re-runs, I watch something antidoty (is that a word? It should be.), something sweet like Glee. Or Barney.
I’m happy to report, I’ve had no nightmares since.
On a happier note, what do you think of the latest cover? (Attached. )
And yes, that is me on the cover.
I was eighteen, he was nineteen when we met. I was shy when it came to boys, so he was my first kiss, my first date, my first love, my first everything. We were both college students, so money was scarce, yet he insisted on buying me a ring. All he could afford was this li’l diamond chip bought with money from his student loan. It became my most prized possession and it seldom left my finger.
We dated for five years, planned to marry someday, even chose names for our kids – a girl and a boy – Wesley and Paris.
We were truly, madly, deeply in love.
Sadly, as the years passed, I grew restless and left him in search of greener pastures. He was sad at my desire to leave, but he was quickly snapped up by a mutual friend. Within months, they got married.
I did get greener, bigger and maybe even better, but I never forgot the boy who bought me my first diamond. The boy who gave me all he could, all he had, all the time.
I moved to a different country and for years we had no contact with each other. But I always thought of him. What became of him? Then, a stroke of sheer luck – 18 years later, I get a friend request from him on Facebook. With shaking hands, I accepted his request.
Him: You hiding from me?
Me: Nope, you disappeared from my radar. Good to make contact with you again.
Him: Great to make contact with you. Wonderful in fact.
I feel a surge of happiness at his adjectives.
Him: Heard you changed your Facebook status to single. What gives?
Me: Didn’t work out. Happens.
Him: Happens, true. U ok?
Me: I will be now that I’ve heard from you. Smiley face.
Him: smiley face jumping up and down.
Me: How is the wife, the kids, work?
Him: All good. Kids grown, taller than me. Smart too.
Me: Same here, except my kids aren’t really smart, just know it all kind of kids. They know everything. Seriously.
Him: Hey, you remember you once bought me a chain while we were dating?
Me: Yeah…the silver one? Y?
Him: Still got it. Use it all the time.
Me: U serious?
Him: Absolutely. It’s my most prized possession.
His most prized possession? My heart warms. I couldn’t believe it.
Me: I would love to see a pic.
Him: Hold on, will take one. Am wearing it now.
Me: Now? Wow!
I bristled with excitement as I waited for the picture. After a few minutes, I saw the chain. Thin, cheap and sterling silver. I laughed with delight, then cringed at its cheapness. He’s on the flashy side – gold chains, BMW, expensive threads… so I was surprised that he’d wear something so simple.
Me: Wow! Does your wife know about it?
Him: She thinks my mom gave it to me.
Me: I still have your ring, you know.
A short pause before he responds:
Him: U kidding me?
Me: Nope. I have it.
Him: You use it?
Me: No, for obvious reasons, but I think of you whenever I see it.
Him: Wow! Seriously?
Another short pause before he responds.
Him: I’m feeling moved. Can’t explain it.
Him: Can I see a photo of the ring?
Me: Okay, I will send u one tomorrow.
Me: Can’t. People around. Sorry.
Me: Smiling. Still a big baby, aren’t ya?
Me: Gotta go.
Him: tomorrow? This time?
I think about it before I answer. Will I be at my computer tomorrow this time?
Him: Say yes. I really wanna talk to you. You’ve been on my mind for so long, and there’s so much to talk about. Right?
Me: Right. Talk tomorrow.
Him: Cool. Supercool. Smiley face.
That evening, I softened and pushed back my cuticles, exfoliated my hands, painted my nails a pretty blue and took a picture of me wearing his ring. The next day, after taking a photo of it, I sat at my computer and sent it to him. His reply was immediate.
Him: It’s beautiful, but a bloody cheap-ass ring. I’m so embarrassed to have bought U such a small diamond. Cringing.
Me: Don’t be. As I said, it’s my most prized possession, too. I’ve kept it in the safe, tucked it away behind all my other jewelry and my last will and testament so that my husband (ex-husband now) wouldn’t find it and badger me into throwing it out. Like he did with all our photos.
Him: I’m touched that you kept it. Hey, I remember the day I bought you the ring. You had this big grin on your face and you kept waving your hands around so that everyone would notice.
I laughed out loud. He was right; you’d think it was an 8 carat Harry Winston pink diamond or something the way I flashed it around. But I was 18. Even though I tried to dissuade him from buying me a ring, I was thrilled with it and kept polishing it.
Me: I remember that day like it was yesterday. You paid cash in small notes too. All your money was spent on the ring, so we couldn’t afford a fancy lunch that day.
I smiled as I replied, but as nostalgia washed over me, my smile faded.
Me: u there?
Him: Yep. Frog in my throat.
Me: Same here.
Him: Besides the times when you look at the ring, do you …like, I mean, do you ever …think of …me? Of us?
For five years he was my life, my sweetheart. We spent every spare moment together dreaming about a future together. What did he expect my answer was going to be?
I cleared my throat.
(To be continued)
Look who she’s dating …..
And …who are you dating?
Say that again?
ONLY 99 CENTS!
I saw Steve Jobs the other night. The movie, not the man.
My opinion of the him?
Much as I understand what an icon he is with all his inventing, founding, marketing and shit; I just didn’t like what I saw of him.
I wanted to like him, really I did, especially since I own an iPhone and other Apple products, and since I’ve heard so much about the genius.
But I hated the way he ignored his friends, treated his pregnant girlfriend and rejected (initially) his daughter.
To me, charity begins at home, and if you can’t be loving and giving to family and friends, not to mention your own child; you deserve to drink vegetable juices for the rest of your days (or apple juice in his case) and be portrayed as Montgomery Burns. (Have you noticed both their hand movements? It’s uncanny, I tell you.)
So, after seeing the movie, I’ve decided to toss out my Macbook Air for a typewriter.
One that hasn’t been founded or made by Apple.
If you know of one, please holler. Money is no object, I have tons of IOUs I can issue:)
PS: I no longer care for Ashton Kutcher either, after seeing him in the role of Steve Jobs, so I’ve decided to delete all my episodes of Punked I’ve pirated from the internet.
PPS: I know a few of you are gonna kick my ass for talking ill about Stevo, but that’s cool. Just take a number and stand in line. While you’re waiting, read my book below if you’re over 18. If you aren’t over 18, ask your mom to buy it. Or your dad. 🙂
Tarago Jakobus was 6’4”, intelligent, extremely wealthy with a Midas touch.
He was also openly racist, politically incorrect and a chauvinistic pig who told offensive jokes.
He loved to party and was used to women vying for his attention.
So when his eyes fell on Tanin, he expected her to just melt into his bed and be grateful that he even looked her way.
To his utter surprise, she was totally unimpressed with his wealth, thought he was an uneducated buffoon and publicly rejected him.
Of course he was shocked and humiliated by her response.
But no woman had ever turned Tarago down before, and he found her fascinating. He became obsessed with her and decided to win her over his way – destroy all that is precious to her, so that she would have no choice but to need him.
If that didn’t work, he’d switch to plan ‘B’ – take away her freedom and throw her ass in jail.
And being the absolute bastard that he was, he did.
“Kan jy Afrikaans praat?”
“No!” I fold my arms across my chest. “I prefer English.”
“Because, sir, Afrikaans is the language of the oppressor.”
“It is also my language. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to continue my surf and turf. Have a good evening.”
As he tries to walk away, I step in front of him and block his path. Opening my purse, I take out two coins and slap them on the table.
He looks at the coins, at my face, and his eyes twinkle.
Furious at his inability to take me seriously, I take out more coins from my purse and slap them in front of him. “Or do you need a note instead of coins? Huh?”
Again, he looks at the coins and smiles.
I open my purse and empty the contents on the table. “Why stop at coins, huh? Take my lipstick, my pens, my keys, my wallet – take everything! Just leave me the f…just leave me alone.”
With a smile, he brushes past me and walks away, leaving me staring after him.
Sarah appears and jerks her thumb towards the door. “Or do you want me to get security?”
Feeling like I’m in a really bad dream, I collect the contents of my bag and make my way out through the back door of the restaurant.
As I leave, I spot Tarago’s Merc parked in a special parking bay. A shiny, silver SLK. Ashwin always admired this car. Said it costs as much as a house. Mm.
I walk over to the stack of liquor bottles waiting to be collected, grab a Johnny Walker blue label and smile to myself. Taking a deep breath, I walk over to his car and slam the empty bottle on the windscreen. Bam! It shatters.
That felt greeeeat!
Damn bottle broke in my hand, though. No problem; I run over to the heap of empty bottles and grab another. Bam! The bonnet buckles. Man, this feels amazing. Why didn’t I do it before?
“What the fok are you doing?” a man screams.
“Stand back!” I warn as I raise the bottle.
He fired me – bam!
He’s evicting us – bam!
He’s lying ’bout me stealing – bam!
He’s an arrogant son of a bitch – bam!
All around the car, I walk and slam bottle after bottle and I feel alive and energized. This is how insanity must feel. What a delicious feeling.
“Sy is mull (She is mad),” someone complains.
I turn and look at the man who said that. When I smile, he shrinks back.
“I most certainly am,” I say, as I lift up the bottle and slam it on the roof of the car.
“You missed a spot.”
I whirl around to look up at Tarago, leaning against the door, eyeing me with crinkling eyes, while everyone around him have their hands on their head or pasted over their mouths.
“No, I didn’t, you racist fucker! I’m saving the bottle for your HEAD!”
“Really now?” His face has a bring-it-on look.
I nod and take a step towards him, bottle raised. He doesn’t move.
Pity the police has to arrive. With all their sirens blaring, they ruin a damn good cathartic session.
Tarago watches with a smile as I am handcuffed and thrown into the back seat of a cop car by a beefy, red-faced arsehole with a badge.
“Kan jy Afrikaans praat?” the cop in the driver’s seat asks.
I fume in silence.
He looks around to me for an answer.
“Just a few words,” I say, maintaining eye contact with him. “Like, FOK JY! (Fuck you!) and jou ma se MOOR! (Your mother’s cunt!) Basics.” I give a mirthless smile.
His eyes narrow. “Got attitude, hey? We’ll see about that. Do you know whose car you fucked up? Hey?”
“Nee, that is Meneer (mister) Jakobus’s vehicle. Taraaaaago Jakobus. You want to mess with an important man like that, hey? You little smart Alex.”
“Alec, you retard,” I mutter.
I fall silent and sit with my lips pressed together. I’m beyond angry now and this cop is wasting his time talking to me.
End of Excerpt
Here are 5 useless facts bout Kanye West, who, as you all know, has a new album out called Yeezus.
1) Kanye West does not know how to spell Jesus. Ay, Ay, Ay!
2) His VEVO hits for his video Black Skinhead on YouTube stands at 3, 365, 862. (That’s almost as many hits as I get on my blogs. Per day. What? Like it’s hard.)
3) Yeezuz is naked at times in the video and he’s got biceps and abs. That I can confirm. As for the rest of him, I tried really hard to see his lady lumps, but I didn’t get to. (I have booked an appointment with my optician since. Him, his avatar – same thing. )
4) In his video, he’s still using the ‘n’ word and showing KKK with black hoodie’s. (Someone’s gonna get into big shit with Oprah for using the ‘n’ word.)
5) According to Ray J, Yeezus didn’t hit it first, Ray J did. (According to a reliable source that I cannot name, (Taylor Swift) Ray J didn’t hit it first either, he just thinks he did.)
6) Yeezus lets Kim sleep while he tends to baby North at night. He sings her lullabies. (I can just imagine the lyrics to his lullabies– yo bitches, yo asses, yo homies, shut the fuck up and sleep ’for I bust a cap in yo ass!)
7) He has directed several short films. (That is amazing. I had no idea that he did. Not clear if they were pornos, but if they were, it shouldn’t matter.)
That’s seven facts, I know, but I’m feelin’ generous.
Do I like the album Yeezus, you ask?
For two reasons:
a) Yeezus, even though he’s such an egotistical sob, is talented. I really like Black Skinhead. The song, not the people.
b) Yeezus can out-scream Eminem anytime. I listened to both of them twice, took careful note and Yeezus won. So there.
c) When the world crapped on him for calling himself a god, he responded with, “Fuk ya’ll.” But he left out the ‘c.’ If that’s not cool, then I dunno what is.
Yeah, I said two reasons, but I’m giving you three reasons cos I’m feeling generous.
Now I wonder if Yeezus (or God) would be interested in buying my yooks? Eh, books.
If both of them buy a copy each, I’ll give them 50 % off, even if they don’t have a coupon.
I’ve always loved this song, and when I listened to it today, while I was cooking a healthy stir fry, (okay fine, I wasn’t cooking a healthy stir fry; I was paying for a McDonald’s triple bacon cheeseburger, fries and a shake.) I wondered what the lyrics meant?
I decided to check it out.
During an interview about Set Fire to the Rain, Adele described it as ‘burning’ the pain of heartbreak in order to rid herself of it.
Of course, it’s a song about liberation and triumph — getting over heartbreak, saying adios to a two-faced jerk who said things that were ‘never true’ and who would ‘always win’ at whatever game he played. (Hey, how does Adele know my ex?)
I love it when you have to work out the lyrics, find the meaning of a poignant song, especially a love song.
But I gotta tell you; it comes a lot quicker to you if you’re high. But the danger there, is that while you’re high, you may end up setting fire to the asshole, instead of the rain.
Okay, okay, okay! Strike that, I’m kidding!
Anyho, in Burn’s World, A love Triangle, Burn set fire to the rain’ when she walked away from her first love Brody McGraw.
It was Trojan who ‘rose to claim it’ (her heart, that is, not her ass. Well, her ass too).
Even though he was a street thug who initially only wanted her because she belonged to Brody; he eventually fell in love with her, ‘kissed her lips’ and saved her.
But although Burn loved Trojan, she could never get over her first love, the man who broke her heart, Brody McGraw.
He couldn’t get over her either, and years later, when he returned to to his hometown, he was consumed with jealousy at the sight of Burn and Trojan together and set out to destroy Trojan.
The only way Burn could stop Brody and save Trojan, was to betray Trojan.
Read about Burn’s love triangle, by clicking on the link below:
Oh, and that picture of me on Audi’s billboard? A fan (some may call him a stalker) took my photo from Facebook and worked his magic on it. I’m thrilled, so I thought I’d show off a li’l. 🙂 🙂
Happy to announce that
My Brother My Rival (book 2)
is now available
If you go on holiday to countries like Libya, Iran, Mozambique and Ghana,
it’s illegal to take pictures of most government buildings.
That’s what happened to Payton in Gringa-A Modern-day Love Story.
Except that she was in Mexico, taking photos of sights, (not of buildings) when a cranky drug lord called Diablo, walked
up to her, called her a spy and bust a cap in her ass. (Hopefully, next time she will go somewhere safe. Like Syria.)
Read about Diablo’s beef with her by clicking on the link below: