wana wana zenawoch.313 days to go

  •  So my mother tells me – like in a scene taken right out of a Peter Russell comedy – that I am getting older and should be giving serious thought to the future and I am not doing that and am not serious about stuff till a point has been reached that it has become too difficult to tell whether I am joking or being real. It is safe to say that the entire family agrees on one thing: that I am a hopeless joker who needs some serious intervention if anything good is to become of him. So they want to hook me up with a certain “nice girl”. And how did I handle this situation?  I told my mother “you have carried me in your womb for nine months; fed me, bathed me and put up with my temper tantrums from the time I refused to be breastfed to when I shunned my studies and was given to sleep; so uncool, that time you whipped my brother and I bare-assed with the cord of the iron for not having kept an eye on our little sister when she went outside the house in the rain and got soaked – you can see for yourself the  fine stubborn girl she has turned out to be  and should realize that there was nothing we could have done at that time to deter her; etc etc. this is just an abstract of your immense contribution to my being; but never, under any condition, will I let you pimp me! Cuz that is my job!” The thing is, it was me all along who has been goading my moms and pops about the girl and now that they finally offer to help, I refuse it! But they were adamant that I should call her, and I had to come up with a plan in order to get out of doing so. I told them to give me a year and if there be no change by then, then intervene on! Note to self: wow dude! You are supposed to be a biologist of the modern ages yet you still believe in spontaneous generation?! Time, they used to believe time was all that was needed for maggots to appear from rotting meat. No putting in seeds, no efforts, only time and bam! A girl friend! Answer to self: You would be glad to know that, spurred on by the time frame I have imposed upon I and I, I have been able to ask a friend if she was “wooable” only to disastrous results, heartbreak, the works,  which have been chronicled in my e mails to the same people who are supposed to be reading this post, results which I will not be going into in detail in the interest of interest.
  • The sister I was telling you about, obdurate she may be, she is a genius! I remember she was the one who schooled me on how to tie my shoes. Bad student that I am, I have been recently-for the last ten years or so-having trouble with my laces, making pit stops here and there to retie them. It was seriously affecting my social interactions: I would be walking with friends and suddenly I would stop and “please don’t wait for me; I would only tie you up; sorry I cannot go chick-hunting with you fellas what with my problematic shoelaces and all”. It was getting unbearable and after all those years, I turned to my guru. The answer was simple – hating myself for not having told her about it much sooner. Now they stay tied like a blissful marriage.
  • I had to travel to Addis Abeba at night. The other passengers were rushing to take their places in the minibus while I, trying to be a gentleman, a gentleman who in his head was cursing the other people for their “sigibgibnet”, held back and watched them step all over each other. But when the dust finally cleared and I tried to find a spot in the minibus, a spot for which I have made a deposit, that spot was nowhere to be found. So I tell the guy who did the “reservation” that the thing was full and he answers me, a bit disappointed by my sluggishness, “bota yaz biyeh alneber?!” My mistake for thinking that seats were going to reserve themselves; same problem from a couple of paragraphs earlier. I was reminded of how many British passengers of the Titanic perished because instead of trying to save their lives, they were busy being courteous, letting the damned Americans scramble for the lifeboats. But people make wrong moves: some guy siyankelekilew left his place and got off to do some stuff and I pounced. When he got back to reclaim his spot, my neighbors and I greeted him with a look that said we did not know what the hell he was talking about. He had to resign himself to a kursi (or was it a jerry can?) for the duration of the five hundred something kilometers. Forgive me Lord! He got his revenge though! He was arguing that he had paid the fare while the redat did not seem to think so. The blood sucking opportunists! They demanded an extra 30 birr once we were in the car and all set to go. I have a sneaking suspicion – I don’t mean to question the integrity of the man from whom I stole a seat and condemned to a very uncomfortable night – that the man saved  from 130 birr upwards, and he deserved it. The Lord works in mysterious ways!

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Tilish is like “Oh no! Not the countdown again!?”

30. Menebeb

Depressed, clueless, apprehensive ……. a few words to describe the way I’ve been feeling since the holiday came to pass. What’s stressing me?  Well, I have an assignment to submit, an exam to prepare for and a project to pick up from a slump ; not to mention that girl I have yet to tell how I feel about her.  And how am I faring on all those fronts?  Not good! Not good!  

 

 My days are spent, for fear I should do some actual work, working on a sloooow computer with a lethargic internet connection to match. Whatever amount of time is left, I spend on the thoughts and hopes of her dropping me a line. 

You must be thinking “It has been 11 months and loser has not yet given up!?”

Irately I say unto thee: no, not that girl!  Though she remains to be a sensitive case, if I may add in a softer tone. Just yesterday I ran into her and ……. tachycardia!!! (It was inevitable that I would pick up on some medical terms.) But it was not like I got “that old feeling” or something.  

Shit happens; old habits die hard and I am web-promiscuous. A.k.a I have been e mailing another female whom I think is some kind of wonderful. As opposed to the former, she wrote back for a while. And when I was thinking that it was going great, she ups and blows me off.   As far as she was concerned, may be it was  going not so great from the get go. 

Now I am trying to recover from the setback I suffered going about love the only way I know how to.  

Methodology aside, another aspect open to debate is what I expect the outcome to be – should there be any outcome, that is.  The next (as in the first) girl that comes along, I think of marrying.  Of course we have to pass through the propers first –date …..have sex (*) ………get tested for HIV ( ene lay reagent eyabakenachihu new)  ……..have more sex to celebrate our negativity .

Legend: * = * 

And once we get married, hopefully  the sex  keeps coming in the commensurate amount. Gots to make up for lost time. 

It sure would be nice to get married and stay blissfully married, content in the knowledge that you are with the one person that makes your heart beat slow and fast, all at the same time.  I think it could be done and I have my enat and abat to testify for that. Today is their 42nd anniversary. They did not exactly say the words in the opening sentence of this paragraph –I heard it somewhen somewhere on a movie whose name and plot I fail to remember. Still, they are pretty happy. 

Guys, to you I raise my keyboard and mouse in unison!

I wish that my wedding could be a low key affair: nothing too hectic as in I do not want any kind of ceremony or party. I wish my conceptual significant other and I could spend the day maxing and relaxing on a beachfront somewhere; somewhere like St Kitts and Nevis……  

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Their deputy prime minister was here for the celebrations. The leaders of neighboring countries I had no problem understanding the reason behind their presence.  It is like senbete or buna tetu and while they are at it, one may ask the other to stop supporting one’s enemies. 

But St Kitts and Nevis?!  

Now I would think that people from the Caribbean have to be the ultimate party animals. Then again, it may be that we command admiration from yet another country from that part of the world. Well, right back atcha ! Heaven willing, I am getting hitched in your country. 

This morning I told my mother that Mourinho quit and she went “Wiy, ya kezgkazgaw?!” Then she went on to add “……,gentle ….” explaining who he was to my father. My father, at first, thought that I was going to speak about Meles : with all this talk that he will not run for the next election. He was asked about it and answered it in a lengthy roundabout way in which the words “metekakat” and “mesfafat” featured prominently and the gist of which appears to be “I ain’t going nowhere:: ”

 Yes: Jose was gentle – in a kezgkazgha kind of way. And he will be sorely missed- by Chelsea fans J . I like him though and think he could do a great job on the Ethiopian national team. Forget about Portugal, Real, Inter, Spurs …….. With all the money that he is likely to get/keep on getting from the untimely termination of his contract, it should be no object. He must be hungry   for a new challenge and I am sure we will prove to be more than a challenge. And should he insist on getting paid, we can always look Al Amoudi ways. 

Yoseph yimrihano leItiyopiawian  weleAfrica Wanchan yeAlem Wancha!  

Speaking of managers, Arsene Wenger was talking about how he does not like reality shows like big brother. He reckons that they make people famous for sitting around in a house the whole day doing nothing: as opposed to actually working hard as footballers do to earn the status. I think he is right. I also think that blogs are popular for the same reason. Granted they serve as an outlet. But I suspect there is an undercurrent of hunger for popularity in bloggers’ minds that makes them bare most facets of their lives to complete strangers –facets that, in the good old days, were meant for diaries alone. It is like who wants to be the next Ann Frank. Forgive the bold and inconsiderate comparison.

We keep writing about the mundane and hope someone somewhere will be interested. 

I know I fit the above description.  

I do not know about the co-authors of this here blog, but I want to be famous for my blogging prowess. I want people from all walks of life and walking on different parts of the planet, not the least of whom his my latest fixation, to stumble upon this site and fall in love with it. And hopefully, the latter will get to realize that albeit a bit demented, I clearly am  a tender loving thing. 

 

I want millions of visits; not the one thousand one hundred sixty one it is standing at present – a significant percentage of which ,I fear , is a contribution of random redirections. 

Oh! You two have not checked the blog stats?  The number of visits to andthree has been plummeting since the end of May.  I am ready to do all kinds of raunchy stuff to up the numbers- porn posting inclusive.

I want to be read, damn it! 

And whatever happened to mr. “man of few words” ? 

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