Why you won’t be getting laid anytime soon.

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I am not an expert on dating advice. Writing a queer blog means I have very big shoes to fill, wearing many hats like making sure lesbians get laid and what have you happens to be one of them. Everyone or majority of people loves sex. It is a primal instinct. You aren’t getting some with that girl and you want it as a matter of utmost urgency so here is how you are blowing it, and thoroughly. Rather, I should write words you would understand; why you are a royal pain in the ass in the dating world. Annoying words huh? You aren’t familiar with annoying until you have encountered a woman who types in shorthand. That’s where I am embarking on this annoying habits journey.

I may not word this as memorably and assertively as I’d like to, but please for the love of the crucified Christ, never use shorthand. Even my ten year old nephew does not abbreviate messages. Here’s a setting:

Me: Hey
Her: Hye (yes, there is such a word apparently)
Me: (Rolling eyes) How’s your day?
Her: Jz bumn in de hauz
Me: (Ten minutes later) Okay. That is not a very bad thing I guess..
Her: Nah, tz bd! M bord 2 deth!
Me: (unspecified amount of time later) I am sorry to hear that. Have a nice day.

It is not remotely possible to continue with this conversation, a whole ten minute of my life that I will never get back. That right there is the cream of the top if you ask me. The fucked-upness of them all. Seriously, I could write a novel. Jz=just, bumn=bumming, hauz=house, tz=it is, bd=bad, M=I am, bord=bored, deth=death, (just in case you aren’t familiar with that kind of code). Which over sixteen humanoid makes the deliberate effort of typing like that? The woman in the above setting is ironically bumming in the house but for highly complex reasons, she cannot bring herself to type fully formed words like the grown up she is. There got to be some place you take the time you saved while writing that. Somebody ought to educate me. Or maybe it is something in our food. Is it a childhood issue, like lousy upbringing? Are these the famous kids that weren’t held enough, or the babies nobody picked up? For those of you who are well travelled, is this kind of twaddle found in other countries or is it a Kenyan tragedy? Surely, if you are a victim of this kind of retarded way of communicating, do whatever you got to do to stop. Go back to school if you have to.

Just because you are a lesbian does not mean you look like a walking disaster. This encompasses everything. From the clothes you wear, your hair, how you smell, shoes-it all goes together. You have to make deliberate efforts to take care of yourself. I understand we are living in very hard economic times. The taxes, soaring prices of food, everything is downright expensive. I get that. I am struggling just like everybody else. I also get the bad hair days and the extremely broke days. That’s cool once in a while. But by God, not every day of your life. If you can afford the luxury of indulging in cigarettes and beer every other weekend, you can afford a nice perfume and I clearly don’t have to spell out everything for you. Women like women who look and smell good. It is a universal principle of fashion that majority of women (straight and non-straights) dress for other women. Therefore, we notice these things. We are naturally responsive to these kinds of stuff. Don’t break a bank to look good though. Work on a minimum budget and save up the rest of the money. On that saving up note, I feel compelled to add a note here. There is a group of lesbians that try too hard to impress. We are warmed up nicely with the idea that you have a hundred pair of heels, sneakers, boat shoes, hoodies et al. Which is nice. But please, don’t be that lesbian who hits thirty without a penny under her name. I am just saying that given the option of showing off with expensive clothes, hanging out in expensive clubs and saving some money for rainy days, I’d choose the latter. You can only live off your parent’s money for so long. Plus, we shall label you for that lesbian who donned expensive shoes but is now living off donations. Save and save is all I am saying.

Be intelligent. It doesn’t matter whether you were an all E’s student or all A’s in high school. The kind of intelligence I am talking about here is not school related. However, if you are an ardent follower of the gay scene in the world, you will notice that many queer people are well read. They are ridiculously intelligent. Arts, academics, sports, name it. Chances are, you will end up with one of these people across your table. Honey, do yourself a favor and get some education in your head. The words that come out of your mouth are directly connected to the kind of people you attract in your life. We are endeared to people who know stuff, anything. Be passionate about something, be that woman people phone to get updates on warring countries, or to get your views on the controversial Lupita’s dress. You get the drift. Have your own views on life. You can’t be agreeing on everything people say. It is a major turn off with most people. It doesn’t matter whether you are in the Guinness list of the hottest people on earth or you are the chosen Daughter of Zion. As long as you have a doughnut for a brain, then many people will be blind to your beauty. Or maybe they will be attracted to you for some time and then drop you like the hot stuff you are. I am just saying, know the world around you, sweetheart.

Be independent. Again, no one has invented the word I need to emphasize on this one. It is okay to need help, it is okay to be vulnerable, it is okay to borrow money from people when you get broke and you desperately it. The highest number of citizens in Kenya are unemployed, no means of livelihood whatsoever. I get it. But for christ’s sake don’t be too needy and clingy about it. Borrow money only when you need it, and return it back while at it. There’s very little that puts as much strain on relationships and friendships as the constant habit of borrowing money. You become that woman that people avoids, people will vanish out of your life. You will die alone, you will spend your life thinking you were cursed, the works.

This list is only the half of it. There is enough to wake the dead but being a Monday morning, I know you have other more interesting things to do with your life dear reader. You are free to use these tips, by the way. You know where to send the royalty cheque.

Blessed week.

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What endures?

(Title plagiarized from Dust by Yvonne Owour)

I highly recommend the book, by the way. Measureless talent.

There is this lesbian blog I follow and the couple just celebrated their tenth anniversary. It got me thinking. Clearly God show up with the formula for permanent lesbian relationships in some whereas in others, he grins and walks away and it seems the prime candidates are in this country (in the latter). You will need a strong heart, lungs and bones for that ten years stretch. Look around.

By look around, I mean mutually exclusive couples. They don’t cheat lust or flirt with other women or any other conventionally accepted manner of cheating. Which is basically everything including hugging other women. Those emojis you send a girl that is not your girlfriend equates to cheating. In fact, the whole having a phone while in a relationship is a total sham. You know those whatsapp groups? euphemism for breaking up relationships en masse. I am not crazy about them but there is no-way no-how anyone will convince me that things with such impressive following don’t come with encrypted content and the decoding phase is when you first and fast sleep with the queen bee. Like hell, there is always a queen bee. High school never ends.

A large number of lesbians have had heterosexual relationships in their lives. Chances are one woman in a lesbian relationship started as a heterosexual woman. Those who have been in lesbian relationships exclusively are few and far between. This right here is problem numero uno. To put a finer point to it, this is the mother of all problems in lesbian relationships.

I was having a very adult conversation with a woman who has been married to a man and together, they have grown kids. They are now separated because of irreconcilable differences one of those being the good old deal breaker; cheating. Both of them did cheat. A younger (and leaner) woman for the man and a younger (and leaner) woman for the woman. The leaner in bracket was a word used by the woman in question so seems this particular couple is hot about lean people. Anyway, this good woman finally solved the final dilemma that is her sexuality and came to terms with the fact that it rests in between another woman’s legs and boy, she is ‘seriously living the life’ as she puts it. Now, she can finally do what she wants.

That last sentence got my brain frying. She assured me that she didn’t take up this woman as a rebound as she has always been a lesbian (but could never act on it). That’s not what I was crazy about actually, it’s the pernicious belief that could be the death of us all; suddenly it’s okay to hang out with the girls until the wee hours of the morning; suddenly you cannot wake up in the morning and make breakfast for your partner; suddenly you can touch another woman’s hair because it is ‘harmless, honey she is just a girl’. First let me burst that bubble for you. In fact, we better call it a more dangerous word like a hand grenade. I won’t sugarcoat this for you. Here, we work twice as hard.

Why the double standards? What makes you feel less threatened and safer here? For pity’s sake, lesbian partnership aren’t merely for entertainment. Forgive me dear reader for stating the obvious; yes we do have loads of fun here (hell, all we do is party) but unless someone debunk these stereotypes, our relationships shall continue being the joke of this earth is all I am saying.

It is politically correct for me to say that if a woman can afford the luxury of worshiping a man like he is Gautama Buddha himself, then by all means all rules applies here. A relationship is a relationship in any standpoint. But here we complement each other; time is long past when women were servile housewives. Also, the muscularity/subservient myth in lesbian relationships should be broken down for the sham that it is.

I place the blame squarely on ourselves because we expect too much if we begin our relationships on a trial and error method. Tried and true formulas have proved that the insidious expectation of expecting God to show up along the way is expecting a tad too much.

If you’ve read Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert you will understand just how much work the ten-year stretch I talked of call for. Prenuptial agreement in our country might be illegal for us but we can apply the same formula for our relationships. We got to make do with what we have to make it work because we need more archetypes in these relationships. Our relationships should endure.

Why I write a lesbian blog

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I will go ahead and make a horrible fool out of myself and write a very serious post. Before I started this blog a year ago, I had toyed with the idea of writing about my daily happenings, but then it hit me that I don’t have a life hence will run out of ideas in under one month max.

Glory to God the highest, his son gave me a sign. In his own commanding voice he asked, how many more endorsements do you need Queer Kenyan Girl? Do you actually need me to drop on earth again (urrgh those fuckers!) and speak to you about how big a lesbian you are? I was thoroughly shaken. You know, this was God’s voice and all. I would want to imagine it was. Or maybe I was just hallucinating. I drink way too much coffee. I mean, what will happen when I ran out of lesbian stories? Because trust me, there are not many left out here. Lesbians practically spend their lives behind their screens, or holding tight tiny notepads writing things that actually make sense.

See, I am my worst critic. No big deal with that actually. Thing is, you will find no prose or thesis of lesbian history here, nor activism, neither journals of how lesbians should take over the whole world. I can tell you dear reader, it’s just pure melancholy and doom. That’s what you signed up for. Please don’t say you were never warned if two years from now you are expecting me to post statistics of lesbian divorce rates in a state in I don’t know what godforsaken country. Say your adieus to all hopes you had in me.

So really, why do I go to all the trouble that is writing?

A reader asked me that, and then another. Before I could get the time to act all grown up, kids in high school started writing to me asking for big sister lesbian advice. Shit just got real. It is like the universe has conspired to finish me.

Is somebody allowed to not have a reason for doing something? For instance an answer; I write because I realized hey, I could do with those amazing typing speeds! God. That’s the day the world will finish me no doubt. You are not living this life if you haven’t memorized all Mother Teresa quotes. It’s sacrilege to even mention such a name here. Oh, be very inspiring and sh!t. You are the adult here! Growing up is seriously underrated. Anyway, this post is all kinds of reflective. I have in fact very little sense of reflection. Feed me with humor and my stomach will sit balmy in the corner of people who don’t take life seriously… (Now I am stalling).

Question: Do I love women? An emphatic and unequivocal, Yes! This reason by itself towers above all the rest. Like-the-class-is-over-you-can-all-go-home-now-yes. Does this motivate me to write? Is it reason enough to cost me endless all-nighters? Do I get inspired by women? Hell-fucking-yeah! Women make me exceedingly happy. Duhh, my law of attraction revolves around them, I just can’t fight it..oh how I could go on..

My posts are written against a background of moaning women.

Forget about finding muse in coffee shops and in the woods. Just download audio of female voices (God bless the interwebs) and you are our next J.K Rowling. I am all types of weird.

I write because I am not a talker. I am so very socially awkward. I could be a hermit but then again I would go quietly mad if I lived in a confined space with no pizza. I make up for my non verbal skills through writing. My mess of letters has made me correspond with women all over. The small joy of a woman telling me they look forward to my posts. Another one saying I write well. I am not tooting my horn, no, on the contrary. Honestly, I said here in a past post that I am not a writer. Just because I can put words together doesn’t make me one. I undermine myself; and yes, it is totally a self-esteem thing because look, five therapists on my phone’s speed dial! I am trying to make a point that it’s the possibility that someone will actually take time to write to me because of a particular post I have done that makes my blogging life orgasmically interesting.

I write because I have met a few wonderful and amazing women in the year or so I have blogged, in real life. I am finicky about people I meet up with. Writing a lesbian blog is like a veritable minefield; you just never know who uses what pseudonym; whether they are an actual human being and if they are, they are not desperados who will decapitate your head and drink your blood. My sexuality is a closely guarded affair and writing is a way of connecting with these women, giving myself to them since I wouldn’t have met them otherwise. They inspire me to keep writing, the proverbial grease in the wheels. They are jaw droppingly incredible and I would sacrifice anything for their friendship is dear to me.

I write because we are not many out here. Lesbians are natural story tellers. The stories that stalk a lesbian’s life are way too many to not be written. I looked around the Kenya lesbian blogosphere and decided to jump into the bandwagon. There gotta be loads of us telling these stories. Write your own story the way you want it we are told. (queer is me). Is that even proper English? That, I will leave to you grammarnazis. Also, blogging in our social scenes is regarded as an activity for people with too much time in their hands, a pure form of madness. It is a measure of showing just how ratchet you can get. Being all bored and ratchet is totally a thing nowadays peoples.

And finally, after I heard the voice I had mentioned earlier, I said unto My Lord, I am not worthy that you should pick me as your servant, but whatever you say I will write.

Authors note: Caffeine side effects: Hearing voices that disguise themselves as God. Google it up.

A lesbian, incognito.

For the purposes of full disclosure, I support lesbians who live closeted lives (being a victim myself) as much as I support all out lesbians. I hope that we can be in agreement here for once that we don’t necessarily have to live in the closet/out tick box. The entirety of your sexuality should not be dictated by the society or your partner for that matter. The lesbian in the closet versus the out lesbian is not a comparative listing, it is not a goal we should all achieve, it is not a contest where we are promised some brownie points at the end of the sexuality race, it is not a seal of stability, it should also be your very own battle to fight.

Battle is a strong word to use, but it has been made to seem as such. Battle so draining we are seen as the-partners-who-don’t-bring-their-all-into-the-relationship. Seriously?

I know what you are thinking. I am saying this because I am closeted and ashamed of my sexuality. You are right on the closeted bit (which I have disclosed of course) and very wrong on the shame part. You guys, I would eat my lesbian life and take it out on a five star date. Keep in mind that lesbians are generally frugal women and going for five stars dates is no mean feat.

Inasmuch as it is liberating to live outside the closet, inasmuch as I love the feeling it leaves in my mouth, it should not be a mark of the ultimate lesbian love story. Sacrificing everything for my partner is one thing, showing this through coming out to the society and family is another. Lesbian relationships have been reduced to are you closeted or not check boxes. You are not lesbian enough if you can’t stomach reading a coming out to your family speech. The proverbial victim-villain story.

I wish people would trade families for a year or two. (And I dare you to survive a week in mine). Maybe then, we shall all learn that it’s not all bliss behind the closed doors. There are so many things that my closeted life offers, and maybe that’s why I have decided to stick with it. I have toyed with the idea of coming out to my family. However, by process of elimination I have found myself on the closeted standpoint time and again. Maybe I just need more time, or maybe I feel safer here. And maybe I sound very selfish.

Participating in we don’t bring everything to the table talks is in my opinion, very retrogressive. What I actually do bring to the table is far much important. It should be about surviving together as partners in not so friendly environments. It is already harsh out here; being looked down upon by fellow lesbians because I have not joined the exclusive non-closeted lesbian club is extremely dejecting. We are lesbians. Period.

Moving on

 

I should preface this post with intellectual stuff like I lost my writing mojo, writer’s block yada yada. I am not a writer so I won’t say those things. Also, I am not intellectually inclined. I just like women (Go Fig).

This is what; I have been nursing a heartbreak. I should have put that in Broadway 72 to emphasize my point. See, I say things matter-of-factly and I have never known how to perform histrionics.  Say for instance I found a Bugatti Veyron parked in our compound with my name on it, (which sounds blasphemous to Volkswagen peeps) I will just get in the damn car and drive my troubles away. No stripping naked, taking selfies or twerking on it.

I am sure the upper middle class have a name for this, because it is a disorder. Everything is a fucking disorder.

We have mastered the art of doing everything else apart from dealing with heartbreaks. Everyone has to come up with their own coping mechanism. From comfort foods to memorizing every chapter in the Bible.

Hell; we will even go to church and plant the seed of non rejection, get the anointing oil in a bottle and because we are not well versed with these pulpit theatrics, we will drain the oil down our throats and end up looking like Masonic agents in front of the heaven bound congregation.  Very desperate times.

You can never tell with people. There are those who were created to make every day of your living life miserable. You know what, Just suck it.

I have read so many books in the last two months. It is the perfect distraction, my heart is not a strong a muscle. The fact that I feed it with chocolate and pizza most of the time doesn’t help it. A good book alters my life in a way I cannot explain. I will uproot my life and live inside a character’s head as long as the book last. I will put a face to her name and imagine that she was my girlfriend. Full disclosure: I have weird fetishes.  

Frequent readers of this blog really know how to look out for me. I have mentioned before that I am not a bright person. A certain reader took this to mean that I am totally dumb. So she offered to tutor me during my spare time. I am not sure what she had in mind. I am in a frigging university for god’s sake.  I could be studying typing lessons but at least I made it to the list of university goers. Am I cool, or what? It is never that serious guys.

So to stay with the topic in hand boys and girls, a break up is hardly something I feel the need to shout from the rooftops but just like the highly unstable nature of farts, it will always happen to the unexpected of souls and who else to write it better than yours truly?

Heartbreaks are like homing pigeons. They always return. I have coined this phrase to look clever to the reader mentioned above. Predictably, failing miserably. Maybe I should just let her tutor me.

 

Have a peaceful weekend. With the kind of horror Kenya has experienced for the past one week, calmness is all I can pray for you right now. I love every single one of you. 

Will the real relationship please stand up?

To say that I always have it easy as a lesbian is downright crazy.

Curious researchers have probed, poked and dissected lesbians relationships and concluded that yes, this is quite a walk in the park. In fact, it is such a slow leisurely walk that you can all bring your fancy barbeques and let’s all have a party in here.

Humor me, please.

When I try to reminisce my love stories, I get a whole different picture it’s very hard to relate. Not that I have had many relationships, but the little I have experienced has come in all shapes and flavors I almost never recognize myself when they are over.

As a small girl, weddings fascinated me. I was a flower girl in many of these. While donning a little white dress, nobody could talk me into not believing in living happily ever after. I believed in my prince charming sweeping me off my feet and living with me in his castle forever after.

Though the gender of the prince has changed, I wonder whether the story has remained the same.

I agree that when it comes to PDA, we have it easy. But that is as far as it goes. There are queers and quarks, those with secrets and checkered pasts, those in love and those flaky ‘lesbian’ straight women with multitudes of personalities. You might turn into a pretzel pleasing her, but she will go back to her heterosexual nest anyway.

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There are issues plus a zillion others in lesbian relationships.

After we are done recycling the small circle that is our community, we are left in the mercies of our not so eager to see us happy families. Not many of them would understand why their beautiful daughter would torment her soul getting heartbreak after heartbreak from another woman.

I mean, look at the sea of all the tall, dark and handsome men. It feels sort of like the voodoo, very difficult to explain unless you are in it.

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Though there are some robust lesbian relationships around, picking them in a crowd is very difficult, it is like explaining to a four year old the meaning of twerking. They find them eventually now that the videos are all over on Youtube! Look at what we have done to our children.

The average lesbian relationship around here lasts anything from one day to maybe seven years max. By the time the partnership is over, you have trekked to Masai Mara and hunted all kinds of rare meat in the jungle for her and most probably, you have been disowned by your family. You have fought the daily signature fights with courage and resilience. You have survived the wilderness of PMS for two and finally, this has culminated into a therapist inducing break-up.

The formula for strong relationships still remains elusive; every one writes their own stories. A woman will tell you of a girlfriend who got miraculously pregnant, others will tell tales of how she ran away with her first lover and others will pay homage by inviting you to their weddings. With an opposite sex of course.

I ask myself, but what suddenly happens to that first cosmic kiss. What became of the lightning bolts of lust and love she melted our heart with, what of the nights and days of deprivation to remain true to her?

These are the street we wander, and there is nowhere to go but forward.

We are willing to be discriminated upon, because in order to call ourselves lesbians we had to be swept off our feet by women, we went against all odds and lived lives that contradicted all the previous myths, about what is expected of us and what is normal or right.

Because those are our love stories.

Have a rocking weekend! #TGIF