Sunday morning routine

A typical Tamale Sunday morning has begun.

Wake up, roll off pink sheets and head to laundry room. Dump week's clothing in soapy water and put to spin. Add car wash soapiness to water and wash country road dust off the chariot. Enjoy the coolness of the water in the already sticky 7am heat. Take clothes out of machine and hang out to air dry. A little sun does wonders. Immerse tired, chocolate body under shower. Apply facial peel and wait. Read Sunday paper, and remark on how good looking Obama is. Wash off peel and head to kitchen for breakfast. Cut a slice of cold watermelon and take plate of melon chunks to study. Turn on computer and check emails. Start composing first email.

Dear X,
Foreplay is intimate and it depends on the likes and dislikes of your partner...

Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement. ~ Charles Bukowski

The Indian, of half-sex fame, emailed me this morning for sex tips. There is a bitter irony here in that he is asking ME for sex tips when I am single, alone and not having sex. But this is what friendship is about. You take that Dr Who time machine and go way back to when you were getting serviced and try to force the memories to the surface so you can pen 5 long back-to-back emails, over a plate of cold watermelon chunks, to the recently de-flowered, recently married Indian who does not know his ass from his penis when it comes to sex. The emails are amusing and entertaining me this morning, but the rest of the day lies ahead and at least he has sex to make it easier. Watermelon chunks can only take you so far.

Tam's den of sin

Kate asked that we post a photo of our bedrooms. This is where the magic does NOT happen for me. The room is angled in such a way that I would never get a full shot of the room. Behind my bed is my elliptical (you can see my neon green fitness top hanging on the handles) and my bookshelf which is crammed to capacity. To the left of the photo are my wardrobe, and other such receptacles of clothing, as well as shoes and bags. And the last of the rum. To the front of the bed - my dresser (more clothes in it) and makeup and toiletries. My room is just crammed with life and today, I realised I need more space. I need a separate room for all this shit. My bedroom should ideally just have a bed and me! And maybe a man. But after the Dear John letter below, I dunno if I am willing to keep trying for the man.

Tamale cannot be silenced!!!!

Well, it happened that a friend came up to me and told me, "thanks for not talking about me in your blog." I was a bit confused cause few people in real life know about my blog. I came home wanting to see if what she mentioned was in the blog or on Facebook and came home to no journal whatsoever. Fuck me!

And so the story goes. I guess I can rant about it but I have other more pressing things. Like my URL - who the hell calls themselves Tamale besides me? I tried to get all reasonable sounding alternatives but they only offered shit like tmale20 and other such rubbish and after about 10 creative and sensible ways of trying to get tamale to still be tamale, I came up with what you see there - after pure exasperation - tam-effin-malee. lol.

And I never saved that profile photo of the brown avatar, and I will be damned if I put my own face in the little pic space, so get used to the fireball shit you see there. Get used to it fast.

Yep. The blog may have changed, but the bitch has not.

Also my heightened state of poverty this month. Celebrating milestone birthdays and New Year's and shit ain't cheap and I saw my bank balance and cringed. Notwithstanding I face unemployment in less than 2 months. Oh yes...life is good. Broke and jobless. lol.

The love life? Well, not much change there either, sad to say so the chronicles of this Third World spinster are still being written. I had a friend visiting and that was the closest thing to a love life - going to dinners and ringing in 2009 together (and I look niiiiiiiiice. it was a lovely evening) and going to the movies to see "Marley and Me", and having him hold my hand and not laugh at me as I bawled fucking buckets when they put poor Marley to sleep and the little kids wrote poems and cried for the worst dog in the world. Man, it was embarassing. I cried all through the end of the movie - a full 10-15 mins. Bawling. lol. And to make it worse, leave it to a man to not notice that while crying over a fake dog euthanasia session, my mascara had made a kinda moustache over my lips and we went into a store and into a restaurant and this fucker said nothing to me. It was only when I went to piss that I saw I had Clinique black mascara above my lips - like a damn asshole. lol But yeah, that is as close as it gets - and it really is miles away.

I guess this is my first post on this crap site. It is doing some stupid things already. How do I know if anyone reads this? I guess I am going to find the JS-ers now and get some little faces to add as stalkers...ummm..followers. Wow...is this a cult breeding ground? I feel like I should be passing out poisoned flavour-aid.

I much prefer "fans".

Oh well...Happy New Year from me.