Happy Birthday Angela

She’s not your average 25 year old, she wears long cardigans and sighs a lot – it’s like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She has this resigned look too, more times than often you will find her palm resting on her cheek as she stares into oblivion. Only that her oblivion is a glowing computer screen with an open excel spreadsheet dotted with numbers. She seems almost unapproachable when she slouches on her black seat trying to make sense out of the numbers. At times you will hear the occasional cuss followed up by a quick apology – I’ve heard numbers don’t lie so I try to imagine what truth her numbers whisper to her.

She wears her hair in a pony tail. There is something about pony tails that say I am reserved don’t come near me I don’t need your small talk and you’re ugly. You can’t approach a lady at a club wearing a pony tail because you have this idea that they are not daring and they look intimidating. I don’t know if this is science but people prefer women who let their hair down. There’s something about them that screams free spirit and I can handle your bullshit as long as you buy me drinks. So she wears hers in a pony tail and when she walks on the streets she has one arm tightly holding her laptop bag (she doesn’t do hand bags) and one hand clenched into a fist close to her side. Want to know why the chicken crossed the road? It probably saw her.

You know how people claim their times of day? Like how someone would say they are a morning person? I don’t quite exactly know what time of person she is – did that sound okay? Because in the morning you will find her staring into her excel spreadsheet with a mug of coffee right next to her. The first time you meet her you would not even think to say good morning or even a simple hello. She has black earphones resting in her ear and a scowl that seems permanent. She gives of this ‘don’t fuck with me or I will punch you in the face then stab you in the eye then pour this hot coffee in the wound’ type of vibe. But I am not a stranger so I can pester my way into a good morning and a hearty laugh. If I could describe our interaction, Dee Dee and Dexter would capture the moment – only she is Dexter and I am Dee Dee.

Her age mates, well most of them, are out ‘living’ life. Some you will find at the club holding a glass of wine because some third rate column in a magazine called it the height of sophistication. Never mind that for most of them; you could blend cheap vodka and add loads of Ribena – they would not know the difference.  They will adorn layers of make-up and adopt an accent. They will parade the club in their high heels and short dresses in packs like an episode of gossip girls talking their way into the V.I.P only because the bouncer is a sucker for blaring cleavage. Some of them have met the ‘loves’ of their life and are getting married. A few already have children, a husband and are living the Kenyan girl dream. Others are career power houses scaling the heights in their professions and buried in books looking for social recognition among peers. They will rub their achievements into each other’s face. It’s not rare to find one of them loudly talking above the music dangling a pair of car keys claiming they just called their “guy” to come drive her home. I don’t know what they are more proud of, the fact that they have a car or that they have a guy who on a Friday night is on her beck and call to come drive her home instead of going out and painting the town the color of her lipstick and possibly lingerie. Guys, seriously, if you are reading this and that is you please go find Caitlyn and ask her to give you her balls seeing as she doesn’t use them anymore. On a really far-fetched note; I read somewhere, probably in a weird man magazine, that to make anything awesome all you needed to do was put boobs on it – don’t get out pitch forks and tires yet I don’t even own a closet but you must admit had you not known who Caitlyn was you’d smash that. But not her, she is not obsessed with the newest club, suffering from baby bump fever, trying to find Mr. Right, or in a hurry to splash her achievements in the face of her friends. There is some form of complexity in simplicity (do I sound like Confucius?)I think the most make-up I have seen her apply might have been a lip balm. When you talk to her you get this telling that she is saying the truth and when it is in jest she will laugh then apologize then laugh again and probably laugh about it the whole day. When she laughs she loses it, she will just laugh and laugh and laugh and you will stare blankly because it stopped being funny when it became about you. She’s just that kind of person.

I have seen her let her guard down a few times, she’s big on being little when it comes to alcohol. The occasional glass of sweet red here and the off jello shot there and she’s good. She has boundaries and she rarely crosses them – well until I came into the picture. I was that photo bomb that made the whole picture explode with personality, I am not blowing my own horn here ask her. I can’t say I have been the best influence but neither have I been the worst. While everyone saw someone closed off to the world I saw an untapped resource of fun, laughter and super awesome conversations. Her demeanor was by all means deceiving. No she is not uptight, or reserved (okay she is reserved) she has that can-do attitude and offers some of the best criticism you’ve ever had.  So don’t let the ponytail, cardigan and grey khaki soccer mum pants fool you – she is a great person indeed. Happy birthday Angela!

Yes she was wasted. She should get this hammered on her birthday too


4 thoughts on “Happy Birthday Angela

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  1. wow! Angie, just stay mum. someone’s got you all figured out and I pretty much like it! #therackster, I love your work, the narration, precise description… thumbs up! You should have been the journalist I keep chasing. And thanks for keeping that beautiful smile on my Angie’s face glowing…


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