who am i?

"I write for the unlearned about things in which I am unlearned myself." - CS Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms

Thursday, June 7, 2007

F me pumps


i love this song by amy winehouse titled f**k me pumps, but trying to retain a little prudish dignity because it was expected of me,i'd bite my tongue a thousand times before blurting the title out and quickly explaining that its not what it sounds like. luckily for me my friend van saved me all the drama when he gave me a well digested lessons of the 40s explaining to me 'fuck me pumps' means a 'high heeled, ankle strapped woman's shoes circa 1940s causing one to walk in a pronounced, seductive, strutting motion, made popular by actress Joan Crawford', well that was a relief, i can imagine how much those in the know loved to see me squirm when i tried to talk about one of my favorite songs. the song goes like this

When you walk in the bar, And you dressed like a star, Rockin' your F me pumps.
And the men notice you, With your Gucci bag crew, Can't tell who he's lookin' to.
Cuz you all look the same, Everyone knows your name, And that's your whole claim to fame.
Never miss a night, Cuz your dream in life, Is to be a footballers wife. You don't like players, That's what you say-a, But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire.
You don't like ballers, They don't do nothing for ya, But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller.
You're more than a fan, Lookin' for a man, But you end up with one-nights-stands.
He could be your whole life, If you got past one night, But that part never goes right.
In the morning you're vexed, He's onto the next, And you didn't even get no taste.
Don't be too upset, If they call you a skank, Cuz like the news everyday you get pressed.
You don't like players, That's what you say-a, But you really wouldn't mind a millionaire.
Or them big ballers, Don't do nothing for ya. But you'd love a rich man six foot two or taller,
You can't sit down right, Cuz you jeans are too tight, And your lucky its ladies night.
With your big empty purse, Every week it gets worse, At least your breasts cost more than hers.
So you did Miami, Cuz you got there for free, But somehow you missed the plane.
You did too much E, Met somebody, And spent the night getting caned.
Without girls like you, There'd be no fun, We'd go to the club and not see anyone.
Without girls like you, There's no nightlife, All those men just go home to their wives.
Don't be mad at me, Cuz you're pushing thirty, And your old tricks no longer work.
You should have known from the job, That you always get dumped, So dust off your fuck me pumps

doesnt it just remind you of at least one person in your circle, i could tick of at least a dozen of names in relation to this song. sadly thats what our society has turned us into, especially where so much is expected of you if you want to be in the in crowd...young girls sleeping with old men or sometimes rich young married ones just to get a pass to the 'in' party and well say to your friends "i slept with p", what an achievement for them, or to buy herself a fendi b, cos suddenly the whole fashion scence sees it as a crime not to spot one.i see them on nights i bother myself with hanging out, they're there in lacasa, you can spot them in baccus, newscafe....name the hot spots in town. its pathetic really.

forget the message amy sends in the song though, i think shes got exceptional talent, cant get enough of her, i listen to the whole frank album over and over again. you should too. ciaociao!

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

serial blogger.


i just got this book titled "101 things to do before you're old and boring" and so here i am, creating my own blog cos the freaking book ask me to. i'm just 21, and i'm pretty much proud to say i've ticked some of the to do's off... i have to admit that some of the stuff are pretty lame, goffy and maybe senseless, but i'm doing what i can cos its fun and sort of twisted... i see other meanings to some of the task and they make me think about my life.
so here i am thinking to myself what this blog should be all about...should i be completely honest about my life or should i live a new perfect life here?....the imaginary life is the best you can get... though its sad to know somewhere deep down in your thoughts that you'll always have to wake up to face the reality of life(trust me on this, i should know cos i'm the queen of fantasy land, try as i may as queen, i havent been able to change this fact).



i'm a serial blogger.... i think thats what goes for people like me who happen to be a little bit confused...on a journey of self discovery...aw...pardon me if i sound drab. the whole deal is, i love to blog, i'm probably registered in a dozen sites i've forgotten all about. i can justify myselfy though, blogging is like having a new best friend, i can rant and rave about anything and everything even nothing, to a whole bunch of faceless people, i don't have to look them in the face when i tell my dreams, which can be sometimes a bit on the off side. i could also tallk about messing up without looking them in the eye and seeing the obvious disappointment. now i'm blabbling ain't i?



anyway this is my first blog on this site, i once hated the name inyamu when i was little and wondered why everyone seemed to love calling me that instead of the very english name which i loved then but recoil at now... i think i'm evolving with the world since everyones going ethnic cum afrocentric i just had to go with the flow and love the name inyamu...... so here you go 'inyamus eldorado'

the good thing is i get to use inyamu and still get to be as anonymous as i want to be:) yipeee
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