Okay, I feel I need to give you some insight. The band is one personand one person nis the band. Sunshine is the waspy waist and the waspy waist is sunshine. I do the drums, guitars, keyboard, cymbals, trumpet, saxophone, zylophone and everything else. I am even my own audience.

No one does it for me, the blowing of the trumphet, so I will do it for myself. Cliche, I know, but what the fuck, I can and I will.

My boyfriend got the job of his dreams. Hella money, bigger title, bigger desk, office car and a pretty grey business card that I feel I must havein my wallet to show off. On his behalf. I know everything to do with him, so u wonder why I need his business card. But it’s grey and pretty with all those titles and phone numbers from all networks. Guys, I have an ego to stroke. Bear with me.

However, there is a down side. He get’s so fucking busy I don’t get mashed up these days. But last night, I faked it. I faked a reason for a real good one. (What were u thinking you perv?) I had no other option. I had tried all the romantic things we did in the beginning. I even role played, I brought on the sexy nurse, the cop and even tried the vampire, in vain. I tried all and got exhasuted. But I wasn’t about to see my red light life in the dumbs even before I get married.

Last night was the final straw and it had to work. I acted a skit. A Classic one. I knew I would not be too far off the mark with this one. And boy was I right.

My boyfriend is very close with his most recent ex. Of course I mind. In fact, I don’t like it one bit. I just don’t show it. I almost hate her. I almost loathe her. I almost throw stones and stomp all over her shadow when she’s not looking. The other day, I peed all over the spot her shadow fell upon. That is how much I almost hate her. Almost. I always manage to hold it in. With style and grace. But this time, I was fighting for world peace, because I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t get any. And I have a weapon.

Anyway, I sulked around for most of the evening until he noticed. I was feigning anger and thunderstorms and he pretended not to notice. I cast the first stone. I asked him if he still loved his ex and if he loved her more than me. This took him aback and he asked where it came from, and this was my cue. I “accused” him ofn eglecting me and my needs and yet he was still in deep communicado with his ex. I told him I felt left out. Trust this actress, even my tears flowed freely. I even threatened to walk out and go to my home. Then he stopped me and took me and embraced me. Text book! Of course he couldn’t see the thumbs up I was giving myself.

U know what they say about make up sex. Pity I could stay the night. I really need to move out of my folks’ house, but my mom will not hear any of it. That I will move out on the morning of my wedding.

Now I’m looking for another reason to act up tonight. Help me out here.

He started asking who was in the bathroom and if I was laying building foundations in there.I kept quiet, then he went back to ask for whoever had gone into the bathroom. Then he came back and I was still inside. I was not constipated, I swear.He kept wondering out loud about whoever was inside and how smelly it was.Anyway after a looooooooooong while I walked out.Embarassed.And he couldn’t stop laughing at me.Then he went into the offices and announced to people “never to enter the bathroom after Vicky has been there.”That it is an attack on the nostrils and they will temporarily stop breathing.

I think they don’t respect me anymore.

I was introcuded to my (ex) bf by his friend. She wasn’t my friend at the time but she knew me somewhat as we had gone to the same primary school back in the day. So when the boy saw her embrace me at some bar along Lumumba avenue, he knew he had to grab his lifeline. He was attracted to me and had kept it to hismelf for a while until he saw that there aould a link between us. He (thru the gal) invited me to have a drink with them that evening.I (being the typical campuser) went along with the gals I was hanging out with. And we ordered. Soon after that we were a couple. That’s when the trouble began. I had to fight off competetition from that bitch of a friend all the time. I knew they were good friends way before he met me but this biatch cldnt let us have our peace.

After we had been together for about 1 year, it became suffocating to be in a relationship with that man and his bitch. I didn’t like the idea of a trio and he seemed to ignore my lamentations. So I just flipped him the bird and walked. That was then. This is now. They are together and she is pregnant. I just deleted them from my hard drive. Fuck him and Fuck her too!!! Why am I still jealous when I moved on?

* “Do you always fart like that when someone shoves it in?”

* “How come it’s so BIG in there?”

* “You’ve done this with a lotta guys before, right?”

* “Next time I come over, don’t bother with the underwear, OK?”

* “You are great in bed, but your sister gives better head!”

* “My first wife was prettier, but you can screw a lot better.”

* “Maybe if you did some pushups, your boobs would grow.”

* “I’m not into relationships. Can’t we just screw, like every Tuesday night or something?”

* “Maybe if you lost some weight, I could get it all the way in!”

* “I never saw a girl with hairy boobs before!”

* “I’ve been getting these little blisters lately…..”

* “You wanna do those dishes before you leave?”

The mistakes u shldn’t make during sex!

MOVING AROUND DURING FELLATIO: Don’t thrust. She’ll do all the moving during fellatio. You just lie there – and don’t grab her head.

THANKING HER: Never thank a woman for having sex with you. Your
bedroom is not a soup kitchen.

ATTEMPTING ANAL SEX AND PRETENDING IT WAS AN ACCIDENT: This is how men earn a reputation for not being able to follow directions. If you want to put it there, ask her first. And don’t think that being drunk is an excuse.

NUDGING HER HEAD DOWN: Men persist in doing this until she’s eyeball-to-penis, hoping that it will lead very swiftly to mouth-to-penis. All women hate this. It’s about three steps from being dragged to a cave by their hair. If you want her to use her mouth, use yours; try talking seductively to her.

COMING TOO SOON: Every man’s fear. With reason. If you shoot before
you see the whites of her eyes, make sure you have a backup plan to ensure her
pleasure too.

SLAPPING YOUR STOMACH AGAINST HERS: There is no less erotic noise. It’s as sexy as a belching contest.

NOT WARNING HER BEFORE YOU CLIMAX: Sperm tastes like sea water mixed with egg white. Not everybody.

NOT COMING SOON ENOUGH: It may appear to you that humping for an hour without climaxing is the mark of a sex god, but to her it’s more likely the mark of a numb vagina. At least buy some intriguing wall hangings, so she has something to hold her interest while you’re playing Marathon Man.

Then this one time I went to buy the pill and it was not in stock but the seller asked me how long I had been since I last did it and I told him it was less than 24hrs and he said since I have a grace period of 72hrs I cld go back there in the evenin or the next mornin and he’d have them in stock. On my way to work the next day I passed by the pharmacy to pick up the pill and they man told me he brought some in evenin but they were sold out. He said, “I tell you people are really chewing the thing live these days all the ones I brought were bought in no time. I think the thing is sweet I tell you.” I was embarrased so much more than I usually be when I go to buy it and it is in stock. Anyway, I bought it in wandegs.

His tone and the words he chose to say to me may make him lose this customer.

I beg to differ. Size may matter, if only we are talking in terms of ciggies and pens. As one who has had the “opportunity” to encounter both very (VERY) big and normal/average, I can safely say that I was seconds away from being anaesthised (Spelling) and needing stitches after an encounter with Mr big stuff. Mr average on the other hand was perfect and he could use it really well, unlike Mr Biggie who just thought that by having a big one all his work was done. Nigga, I don’t drive stick shifts and while we are at it, I don’t ride Fuso lorries. I’m a Rav4 person. Big enough to accommodate me and my tiny family. And small enough to fit in any parking slot. (Pun really heavily very intended).

I had one, I repeat, ONE “encounter” (and I will call it encounter because that is what it is) with the tata lorry and even walked away midway.It was like child birth. Only this time the child was fighting to get back inside. Reverse of life. He even suggested the use of LUBES. I resigned- Sika sex. He was so shocked that I turned him down and up to now he claims that we have some affairs to finalise. I will let him dream on but I wont get torn apart before I even make it to the labour ward.

Peace.

There is an Arab/Indian guy that lives next door. For a while now, my friend has been complianing about this guy having too much sex. And who can blame him, he gets none while the dude next door gets it left right and left again. He says they make too much noise that it makes him sick. And he adds that it isn’t the kind of noise one would like to hear from a couple that is going at it right in your earshot.

One day when it got too much for him, he asked the guy to tone it down because it attracts too much attentiona nd it’s uncomfortable and inconviniencing. Then the guy apologises and all is well. My friend then asks what sort of tantric they employ because the girl screams so hard and it’s all so intense.

And the guy answers that in his culture the women aren’t allowed to have any sex before marriage as they are tested for virginity at marriage by their mothers in law. But because she wants to hold onto the guy for fear that he may run off, she lets him play ball in the backyard.

So he really gets it left right but not centre.

This one was about the fact that from birth, women and men are raised to be perfect for the opposite sex. Right? Right! They say that when a baby girl is born, one of the first things she starts to play with, aside from the jingly noisy things, is a doll. A baby boy plays and falls in love with toy cars and trucks. Well, according to the sayers, this is because people are subconsiously training the baby girls to think about two things.

1. Being as beautiful and slender as the dolls they see.

2. Growing up to have children

Believe it or not, I fell for this. It makes a bit of sense. Somewhere in there, if u read harder, u will find the point.

The boys however are being taught that they have to look forward to owning this “toys” someday in the future, as this will be a pulling factor. That is why baby boys’ first word are normally “vroooom” or “pipip” and baby girls’ first word is normally “mama” or “baby”.

That is why when girls grow up, all they care about is being andlooking good. Having the straightest hair, the best pink nail polish, the tiny cute handbags and watches and dainty little shoes. Sometimes they wear hair bows and tiaras. Just like Barbie.

While the boys grow up to be ruffians. They get all dirty and muddy and they fight like dogs on heat. Lending credence to the fact that good girls like bad boys.

My little nieces and nephews like to play about with their toy cars and dolls. Last evening Damian got one of his sister’s barbie dolls and sat her in the passenger seat of his ugly monster truck ~even if the driver’s seat was empty~ and drove it around. Of course Barbie was smiling. When I saw this, I had an epiphany.

It got me wondering what thought goes into setting up an email address. I mean, if this man could have thickwhoop or bobthicka as his username or (whatever they call that bit) then there is no telling what else he brags about. This one is likely to brag about knocking u and how good (or bad) it was. He’s also likely to tell (lie) everyone abou tthe fact that he gives you the most intense orgasms that make you spasm on after the climax for about 1 hour.

I have an email address with a french word-Monami-for friend and a very significant year in my life. Big deal. You don’t see me blowing my trumphet about my honeypot on my dot com. Or my sexyass and my six pack. I am pretty (I hope) but I leave that to the opinion of the other party. Ok granted, I blow a horn about my waspy waist in my tagline, but that’s what we are called. The Waspy waists. That’s right, I’m in a band. Sunshine and the Waspy Waists. Yeah, we do gigs and stuff. Go on, cuil it.

So, as Bob and his thick whoop made it to my trash can, so did thuglife, Mr2damngood, hottstuff and pretty ricky (the group).