6 keys from the edge…

You’d think moving to a new place would mean a fresh start, right? You’d think wrong. See, my lifestyle may have been upgraded somewhat, but my immunity’s still a bitch.

How was your Christmas Day? 

I got off to a decent enough start. You know, the sporadic load-shedding that suggests someone at the power company is sending you signals by Morse Code.  Apparently you can’t sue ‘em because of something on every bill that indemnifies them. I think it’s the bit at the bottom where they tell you they will disconnect your power supply if you have not paid up by the time the silly uniform has walked through your gate

Then there was the rain.

Whoever goes around blessing the rains down in Africa has not experienced a Christmas shower in Uganda… or is some sick perv. I’ll let you think about that for a bit before you pass it on to the Red Pepper’s Hyena as one of your own. 

I woke up to bad weather, but it was okay. Sometimes Christmas means more than that.

Then it kept raining, like someone was trying to prove a point.

And then, just in case I couldn’t take a hint, it rained some more.

I felt a little, I don’t know, off-ish, so I skipped the beer and the wine, figuring I’d go see the doctor and follow through with my traditional self diagnosis thing…

It didn’t work. 

I thought I had Malaria. I didn’t.

They thought I may have Typhoid. I did.

It’s been called the poor people’s disease and I think that’s a pretty dumb thing. (Oh MJ, why did you have to go??)

I asked the doctor what options were available, secretly hoping that there was an injection that they could administer that would magically make it all go away. Seriously, I didn’t care where that needle was going to be stuck, provided I was fit for thirty first (yeah, take that one too).

There was an injection, but it was one of those intravenous (read; drip) things and I would;

1. 1- have to endure about 15 minutes of drip drip action (thing is, they’d said that my blood test results would be ready in 10 minutes, then proceeded to walk the dog and bring them back after 30. Clearly they were liberal with their minutes, there was no telling how long I would be in union with syringe)
2. 2- feel very very nauseous after all that. I’d gone to bed feeling like if I put my mind to it, my walls would be covered in a new coat of ewwww.

So we settled for pills. Actually, that’s a lie. The lady with the certificate really wanted to give me the injection, but I politely declined. Even her pleas that I take one “starter dose” was met with a well practiced, soon to be perfected shake of the head.

She said it was alright and proceeded to write out a prescription for me. Between you and I, I’ve been to pharmacies that stock less drugs than the stuff that was on that slip os paper.

Oh, and it would take me way past New Year’s day. Naturally, I asked the most pertinent question at the moment…

“So, can I drink?”

she: drink what?

Me: alcohol

She: what alcohol do you usually drink…

I paused for a bit here. I have never thought of myself as a rigid drinker. Do I infact have one particular poison?

Me: oh you know, er, uhm… *cough cough* beer… whisky… the usual

She: You can drink wine

Me: Huh.. what?

She: What’s wine made out of?

Me: Er… fruit

She: There you go

{what the heck is sambucca made out of… isn’t one of these drinks made out of jackfruit? You know the one… the thing that tastes like funny scented glue}

I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong. Come on, you saw THAT coming.

The lady in charge of dispensing the drugs made a show of the whole thing, it felt like I was back in primary school;

“This one is 1 times 2. Strictly after meals”

This was, in fact, written on the little medicine pack.

“You take one, eh. Two times a day. After you have eaten food.”

I think that’s what the pack had written on it, but shit, what do I know? I have Typhoid…and a pair of eyes.

“So, if you take one now, you take the next one after 12 hours… after food.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Does that then mean that I should take 1 two times a day after meals?

The math lesson went on with all the drugs and a part of me felt really bad that none had to be administered with every bowel movement. I’d have wanted to see how graphic she would get. 

“Kati, let me go to the toilet and then come back and swallow this medicine…you get?”

Obviously, I sought a second opinion.

My other doctor, the one I would have called Dr. Favourite if I was Carrie Bradshaw or one of those happy males that watch Sex & The City, said I was on the right track. Except for the Ibuprofen (whoa! I got the spelling right, bring on the Spelling Bee). 

Apparently, my stomach was going through enough shi… stuff as it was, throwing in a drug that had some acidic tendencies was NOT going to do me any favours. So I asked whether I could take my personal favourite; Zerodol. (How is it that Microsoft Word gives these things the green light, but is quick to throw squiggly red lines under Eid?)

Oh, and as to the question to end all questions, yes, I can drink one or two beers. After all, I need my fluids, right?

Man, I love the Hippocratic oath.

Done with the first week at the new place. How was it? Well. . .

My housemate has not been in since I got there. I think he was picked up and taken to the home for crazy people. I thought it might have been a business trip, but let’s be honest, which business trips go on for more than 3 days? A pleasure trip, maybe? Nuh, not likely. In these harsh economic times you can’t even enjoy pleasure trips that go on for the whole night… I mean nights out on the town…

There’s {'there are'… stupid autocorrect} other things that suggest that he might have been crazy. Like the sim card. There’s an abandoned sim card lying somewhere in the kitchen. That’s not the part that worries me. Sim cards are abandoned all the time. Thing is, this particular one is shaded blue…violently.

At first glance I thought maybe he was trying to save a contact’s number with considerable difficulty, but as I tried to make out name and digit, the truth came at faster and harder than a Ugandan pothole; he was trying to switch to another network!

I suppose I would have felt betrayed if I didn’t feel sorry for him. Maybe that’s why the people in the uniforms came and took him away…wait, do Butabika staff wear uniforms? Do they have a little van that goes weeeewoooooweeeewoooo as it comes to pick up people? Can we afford stuff like that?

The gatekeeper is extremely helpful and eager to please… too diligent even. When I was moving in, I made the mistake of leaving the movers (read; rogues) with my ‘balance’ or ‘change’ as I went round back to lock up the house. When I came back, gate dude had oh-so-helpfully let them out. Leaving me in a very Uganda government situation a’la No change. Guess who will not make it to my facebook friends list.

Of course, I felt the need to share this bit of misery with someone. All I got for my efforts was a Ugandan interpretation of the philosophy, “Karma’s a bitch”. Thanks. Two more strikes and you too will be unfriended. This time I will go easy on you, I won’t give you a Christmas card. {Hey, neat, Microsoft Word knows to turn the ‘c’ in Christmas into an uppercase letter. Does that work with eid…nope. Damn thing doesn’t even recognize the word. Infidel! You will pay for your deceit}

{Hang on, Ngoni are still around? I’ve just noticed that Luzinda Desire was tagged in a poster for their zouk performance at club 9 degrees… Zouk? 9 Degrees? Why don’t they just go over to Congo and put a nail in that career’s coffin. And yes, Luzinda Desire and I are Facebook friends. This was way before I realized that she was friends with at least 5000 other people. She probably won’t even read this}

So anyway…

New place has a kitchen, but the landlord’s either a cheapskate or has a morbid fear of electricians if the dead ‘bulb holder’ is anything to go by. Housemate told me that the landlord has vowed to get that fixed…along with the shower handle…and the doors and the other sockets, but for some reason he hasn’t gotten round to it. I don’t get how you can possibly mess up a ‘bulb-holder’ with this level of precision.

It actually looks like someone took some time to **** this up. We are talking, buy a ladder and a metallic file kinda time. Your best bet with the state this thing is in would be to employ someone to hold the bulb in place as you walk on by or invest in some electro-friendly superglue. It beats my understanding that Word has no issues with the word Electro-friendly, but it will dare throw ugly red-death squiggly lines under Eid.

On the day I moved, the neighbor’s kid came over to help me carry things into the house. In hindsight I think the little devil may have schemed with the movers to make off with my change, but I digress. Evil In Diapers must have thought that this made him and I buddies and that if he was willing to help out with grown up stuff, I would reciprocate and pitch in with kiddie games such as, throw dirt into the washing water as adult did his laundry. This is clearly a relationship that’s got no future.

Especially if his grammar does not expand to allow more words into his life. How long can a person live on ‘look at this one’ as conversation fodder? I should trade words with his teachers or whoever it is that gifted him with these almost patronizing and entirely annoying four words.

During the day time, I noticed it, but it took coming back home late to fully appreciate just how annoying it is to have a gate door ‘this’ small. No, really. I could kneel in an attempt to go through and still manage to bump my head. Granted I have a big head, but THAT’S a small gate! Only Evil in Diapers can walk through unharmed. I suspect even the gate can’t be arsed to deal with him.

There are two routes to my place, both with their share of potholes. When I’m asked to give directions I go with the more scenic hunger inducing route, “It’s near two pork selling joints. Call me when you get to either. It’s advisable that you order some pork as you wait for me. Pork”

The Boda-boda guys haven’t gotten with the program yet and still think that they can get away with charging me like I’m going upcountry yet all I’m doing is going up the road…then down, then up the road again. Its like a bad Chaka Demus and Pliers song/experience.
 

My internet is a bitch. Keeps going down on me at the worst times. It gets so bad, I wonder why I even bother with the ISP, maybe I should just pull out.

In other news, I finally got some Kenny Rogers music! I know this will probably sound odd, but I was so pleased with myself. So much so that I called my brother and told him I had 42 Kenny Rogers tracks. He was not moved. I don’t get it. Dude loved the oldies, what happened? Did he ‘style’ up when he discovered rock music? No matter, I will call up my other brother;

-Dude, I have Kenny Rogers!
-Sorry?!
-No, dude.I.Have. Kenny ROGERSSSSSS!
-slight pause.- why?
-Coz this stuff is awesome. Classic stuff! Come on, you know you want some of this!
-Er, enjoy.

The first time I mentioned my mission to find Kenny Rogers to a loved one she looked at me with what I later found out was genuine disbelief as she asked, “really?”. It’s all good though, no love lost there.

I tried to pass on some Kenny Rogers to my mother and she didn’t seem moved. She did a little dance, but I suspect that’s because she didn’t want to break my heart, bless her. but seriously people, doesn’t anyone listen Kenny anymore? What did he do to you?

My kid sister was watching Army Wives when I got back home, I don’t know why anyone would find this even remotely interesting. Isn’t it like watching The Desperate Housewives with camouflage? Yes, I caught a glimpse of DH, and the scene had this lady hike her skirt in an attempt to outdo Eva Longo-rear.

Like Dee, I too have come to appreciate Eminem’s new album (Relapse). At first listen I thought, meh, but after a while I started to appreciate some of the songs. I find that it’s always like that with an Eminem album lately. For me anyway. The song that I’m playing over and over at the moment is My Darling. Pretty neat, though there is a part where he is having an (imaginary?) conversation with some entity that could be The Devil, His Conscience, His Drug Habit. One thing’s for certain, the thing has a decent ‘flow’. Man, I’d hate for Em to come out and say that conversation was with Lucifer. Dang, that would suck.

I haven’t seen an episode of Family Guy in ages, I need to watch something funny! The Hangover was pretty cool, but I suppose I got sucked in by the 300 million or so reviews that said this was the funniest thing since Jennifer Lopez said she wanted to be taken seriously as an actress. I found a clip online with Stewie singing one of those ballads from back in the day, off the tip of my fingers, I’d say it was Glory Of Love, but I know I’d be wrong. It’s a Bryan Adams song, but this Kenny Rogers is a major deterrent to sensible thought construction.. Everything I Do! That’s the song.

My battle with insomnia persists.well sorta does, it is not so much a battle but an ass-whoopin. I am being beaten up by insomnia. I’d appreciate it if it didn’t tease me with the thirty minutes or so of sleep at the start then took it away, that shit is not funny.

First of all, I’d like to state that I am not trying to start a series of posts dwelling on one thing. It’s actually coincidental that there’s more where this stuff came from, so without prior planning a lot of it carries over and allows me to fill the cavities on my blog. Yes, I WENT there! The place I didn’t go, however was the dentist’s clinic. There’s some back story behind this and it’s kinda sucky that I forgot to mention it last week. So here’s the thing. . .

When we were setting up my appointment for the RCT (shit, I love how that makes me sound as deep as those guys you see on telly) I was asked to sit down next to the lady that schedules the appointments (by the way, I meant guys like House). So we started going through the Book Of Secrets trying to find something convenient for me. It’s amazing just how many people need to see the dentist! (I didn’t mean Zach Effron(sp) or those other wusses on Grey’s Anatomy!) No really, if I’d actually known that dentists get all this action, I’d have rethought my career ages ago. I’d have studied harder and maybe I too would be looking down mouths and stuff. Rubbing teeth of the rich and famous and not their shoulders as is the case right now.
{quick question, do you really know anyone famous enough that you’d want to gaze longingly into their mouth? Me neither}

After a bit of back and forth we settled for an early Monday appointment. What better way to start the week? I mean, it’s a given that I will probably have a shitty Monday any week, why not make this thing legit?There was the promise of a phone call reminder type thing and the threat of drinking myself silly to the point that anyone coming into the premises after I’d been, would get instantly inebriated. Good times!

It was all moving along smoothly until Saturday. We were supposed to go catch up with a couple of pals, then head home. The amount of time spent out was not going to go beyond 2 hours.

It did. I got home pretty late… or early depending on how you look at these things, and spent the bulk of Sunday in bed. Not so good times!

I don’t know about you, but from previous experience, sleep can be a bitch! The way sleep and I interact is such that I can only get involved once a day, or like there are rations and stuff. Which means, if I sleep during the day time, my slumber will elude me at night, no doubt looking for some other hapless individual that failed to get some earlier. Also, because of sleep’s bitchy nature, it’s likely that it will simply elude me and go out for a night on the town with comas and stuff instead of visiting some deserving person.

Long story short, I was awake for the pretty much the whole of Sunday night and forced myself to go to bed at about 4am,Monday. I suppose it is only fair that I point out now that my appointment was for 9am, Monday.

At about 8 something, the call to remind me came in, but I was in the throes of passion with slumber.

I would have probably gone and had the RCT (someone give me a lab coat already!) done, but a report on the internet claims that being asleep during dental procedures is the leading cause of subsequent dental procedures. Plus, I wouldn’t want to give the dentist the wrong idea. “Oh look at me! I am not afraid of pain. I can sleep through the procedure! Do your worst ‘oh-surgical-mask-wearing-mortal’. “ That shit is not good for PR.

My teeth hurt like a bitch last night so I am seriously contemplating getting the silly things removed. Everyone says there is no such thing as a permanent Root Canal thingy, and though we are pals, my dentist and I, I would much rather run into him at social gatherings and not when the environs have all this gadgetry making angry noises.

The RCT is this Thursday…. coincidentally, so is BHH.

Oh, lest I should forget, The Maurice Kirya Experience is on tonight at Rouge.

Lucy will be there doing her thing, show some love.