Rass Mon!

So, this story reported in the Caymanian Compass has been bugging me for some time, and begs the question: exactly when is a word obscene, and when is a word considered to be a part of the mainstream, inclusive of usage and context. My research indicates that "Rass" is actualy derived from "ass", though others use it as a general exclamation of frustration.

My personal yardstick has been the possible use of the word by my child (or children), and personally, should my son ever use the word 'rass' in my presence or otherwise, I will be sure to knock his teeth right down his throat. Same goes for 'damn'.

If one should read the article as linked, please note that I have no problem with the posting of the sign on someone's private property, and the owner's grievance is a legitimate one.

My problem lies with the element of hypocricy associated with the publication and quotaton of the sign's content in the newspaper, and the fact that it seems to have gone unnoticed by an Island that constantly flaunts its so-called Christian values. This I would expect from the Cayman Net News, but not the Caymanian Compass which often describes the Net News as the 'tabloid' newspaper. It is also widely rumoured that articles in the Compass are often subject to various forms of censorship. As the so-called Christian society that does not allow Sunday trading and for which we are subject to the embarrassing and hipocritical New Year's debacle, how can the Rass claat Compass and the powers that be justify the publication of "Rass" in the Newspaper article?

On that rass note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

'Fro.

Thong Man, & Retirees...

So, I was invited to a Halloween Party at a local sporting venue, and there is only so much that I can say about said event. I donned my trusty Swiss Miss Costume, and came to the realization that I could not become a busty Viking wench, when there was no “busting” going on. After some rather discreet (and cheap) enhancements via two of SG’s bathroom rags, I was good to go! The rags also served a dual purpose cuz when I was hot in the fete, I whipped them out to wipe my sweaty brow.

The atmosphere, ambience and music at the event were all…ahem…err….white. When the DJ started to rock a Megadeath tune (I know this because he bellowed the group’s name when he started the track), this confirmed that I was out of my natural element. Five beers later, I was still sober, because the thrashing and non-rhythmical gyrating of the attendees were all rather fascinating. They appeared to be in the midst of some form of group epileptic seizure.

Then, there was the Thong Man. The Thong Man looked like Jack Black (size and features), and was sporting a black thong, semi pulled up, allowing us a wonderful view of his butt cleavage.

On reflection, some things in life should just be left alone, as they can possibly warp body for life. This was one of them. A fat man in a thong is a somewhat haunting and morbid experience, especially when his ensemble is accompanied by a pink bow tie. Thong Man was the life of the party. He posed and worked his wiles all night, and worked up quite a sweat with his antics. Then, he became a sweaty, smelly, grotesque, beer bellied man, wearing a thong and a pink bow tie. Enough said.

Saturday, I and several of my civic minded co-workers went to a local retirement home to complete some much needed repairs to the establishment. After my previous rant about the blatant apathy that has overtaken my life, the organization of this event appealed to me, but it also cemented several facts, as to why I had regressed to the level of apathy now evident in my life.

First and foremost, was my realization that a large group does operate as a herd, wanting every decision to be made and validated on their behalf, constantly questioning what I would deem to be the obvious. Lawd, they drove me crazy. My patience was continually tried and it was all that I could do to keep a level head as I calmly responded to their inane, mundane and often obvious line of questioning. Another factor that made itself known in some instances was the lack of initiative. Lawd. If something needs to be done just flicking well get it done! Fcuk!!!!

Now that I have dealt with my repressed feelings, on to the more positive aspects of the day.

This event was very fulfilling, on so many levels. All but one of the volunteers showed up, and their eagerness to work, to get down and dirty, warmed my heart. We gardened, painted mopped, swept, and at the end of the day, we were nasty, stink and dirty. It was wonderful! As we were there, a church group had showed up to sing and to preach the gospel, and a few of us took a brief intermission to socialize with the residents, and to take in some awesome gospel spirituals. I have now signed up to volunteer once per week with a resident reading program. Maybe this is the cause that I have been searching for.

There was something fundamentally sad about the residents, countered with the realisation that essentially, they are waiting to die. They live a routine existence, some of them are abandoned and have no other visitors, but for the nurses and domestics. We were awkward and stilted around them initially, not knowing how to deal with their frailness, yet not wanting to stomp on their pride and need for independence. Yet, all persevered, and when we left, the place was fresh, clean and somewhat revived from our efforts.

Next on our agenda will be our participation in the Meals on Wheels program. I will let you know how that turns out.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

‘Fro.

Dress Up and Poor

So, dressed in my 3 piece suit and high heeled boots, en route to complete my errands during my lunch hour, I decided to stop at Wendy’s for a bite to eat. Blaming my voracious appetite on my increased metabolism rather than wanton greed, I placed a huge order, and I was quite looking forward to munching on my fries as I drove along in the car. Seems as if the fries can never make it to my ultimate destination, and when I reach, my belly full.

When I stepped into Wendy’s, I swallowed my sigh of disappointment and adopted a screw face when I saw the long line, which included several school kids that I felt were decidedly in need of a few disciplinary slaps, but I held my cool, and decided to brave the line.

Time progressed as I inched forward in the line at a snail’s pace, gradually watching my lunch hour slip away, all with the thought that I had so many errands to complete, and so little time. I trudged along like a good little soldier, shuffling along in the line, glaring at a schoolboy that bumped me as he was roughhousing, mentally cussing and fuming, but I had to suck it up, because I was hungry.

As I reached the top of the line, and the wonderful cashier yelled next, I dove to her station, already tasting the biggie fries. Knowing that my eyes were bigger than my stomach, I placed my large order and confidently handed over my debit card to settle my $11.00 bill, countenance more pleasant, as my plight was soon at an end. I even made some small talk with the nice cashier and the pleasant gentleman that was standing at the station next to me. He was a hottie.

Two minutes later, the nice cashier returned with my card, and advised that the transaction had failed. I know she never had to bellow the information so loud, as her statement resounded around the restaurant with the efficiency of a politician’s megaphone. The restaurant went silent as all and sundry gasped, and all heads turned to my general direction. The pleasant cashier was now an evil bitch.

Sirens went off at her announcement, and a disco ball appeared over my head. I was now wearing a Scarlet Letter on my chest, namely “D” for Debtor. Scandalised, I looked at the evil bitch, who now had a pitying somewhat sneering, superior look on her face, and told her to swipe the card again. The sandwich preparers and fries deliverers in the back all ceased and desisted with the preparation of my meal, as they awaited the outcome of the final swipe.

Cocking her eyebrow, as if she knew that it was a futile endeavor, she arrogantly sauntered over to the machine and swiped the card again. My armpits and my palms were sweating, and I now felt pale from the shame. The Hottie beside me was no longer speaking to me, and no longer made eye contact. The throbbing mob in line behind me were all about to riot from the long wait, as I was the only thing standing between them and their biggie fries. I listened in fear and humiliation as the muttering and sighing resounded in my ears. I prayed as I had never prayed before.

But, as I am cool and somewhat stalwart chick, I maintained a level head, staunching the flow of sweat from my armpits with a subtle squeeze, adopting a confident, arrogant and irate look, knowing this to be an error, and that good will ultimately prevail over evil. I’s gots monies. How dare they!

Needless to say, young miss returned with the evidentiary slip, marked “Exhibit A”, showing that my transaction had once again failed, and the servers in the back immediately began to rewind the preparation of my order. My fries were tossed back. My drink tossed in the disposable thingy, and they even dismantled my sandwich, and returned the lettuce to its container. My stomach grumbled in protest, as the oasis of food disappeared.

Donning the cloak of my pride, I delicately removed my card from the evil bitch’s grip, flipped my handbag over my shoulders in indignation and left the establishment with my Scarlet D flashing from my chest. I did hear something akin to snickering and giggles as I exited, but my pride refuses to dwell on this. I had a glamorous parting shot as I threatened to call the bank and give them a piece of my mind, but I know that this would not assuage my pride, the shame meted out in Wendy’s, and my hungry belly.

Turns out that I had closed my bank account from the week before, and my card was no longer valid. The bank had called me repeatedly to pick up my new card, but I never paid them any mind because they were just harassing a busy woman. Needless to say, shame drove me to the bank that very afternoon, and my new card is now in hand. I will require a six month hiatus until I can return to that branch of Wendy's, or until the evil bitch is rolled over by the Immigration Department, whichever comes first.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Death, Love and Family Pt. II

So, keeping in mind the tragic loss as detailed in my previous post, feeling discontent and restless, I went home with an ultimate objective of letting my family know that I love them, and nothing could dissuade me from this course.

As is the usual practice, my brothers and sisters had gathered at my mother's house for food and conversation after work. Feeling that I would attend to the most important person first, I picked up the phone and called my son (the Creep) in Barbados:

'Fro: Hi Pumpkin!!! How are you?

Son: Fine. How are you Mom?

'Fro: I am great. I was just thinking about you, and I called to say that I love you.

Son: Mom, you are such a Dweeb.

'Fro: [Sappy bubble bursting] What?? Where is that called for???

Son: Well, its the truth!

'Fro: Oh Yeah??? Well, you're a Creep!!

Son: Oh Yeah!! I know you are, but what am I??

'Fro: A Creep!!!

Son: I know you are but what am I?

At an end to our squabble, twenty minutes later, feeling a tad perturbed at this turn of the conversation, I continued on the blasted love quest, and rejoined my family. Confidently interrupting the conversation in order to make my grand announcement, they became my eager congregation, awaiting my vociferous teachings.

'Fro: Ahem...My dear family, I just wanted to let you all know, that I love you all very much. You are all very important to me, and I do not know what I would do without you all.

[Stunned silence / stupefied looks]

Bro #1: I do' have any money to give you!

Bro#2: [Stares in stunned silence, then mimics violin playing]

Sis#1: Wha' wrong wid you? You went to the doctor today or wha'?

Mom: Cho. 'Top yu foolihness and go sit down.

Sis#2: [Newly baptised] Ohhh...that is so sweet for you to say that! Maybe you would like to go to church with...

'Fro: [Interrupting Sis #2] Aww shaddup. I ain't goin' no church wid you. Jus' tek the blasted love declaration and shut up. The rest'a ya'll can go jump in a lake. Mommy, that means you too!!!

[Fro Storms off in a huff, followed by raucous laughter, and smoochie noises]

Behind closed doors, indignant guise discarded, I smiled.

All is well in my little world.

On that note, I shall no exit.

Ta.

'Fro

Death, Love and Family

So, I found out on the weekend that a family acquaintance had died under very tragic circumtances. Weird statement that, as I have never heard of anyone that had died under happy circumstances.

The news as it was, was shocking, and once again a tragic wake up call. He was at an after work happy-hour boat cruise, and fell overboard whislt roughhousing with friends. He apparently fell overboard and the circumstances as to whether he broke his neck or drowned are questionable and subject to rumour. He was a husband, a father, a brother and a son. He was no more then twenty four years old.

Life is so fleeting. One minute you are engaging in nice time, the next you are preparing to meet your demise. He left home that day, going about his usual routine, and in the afternoon, his wife and family are receiving that tragic telephone call.

I cannot begin to fathom my reaction on receiving one of those calls, or having to make such a call. I cannot begin imagine the pain and trauma experienced by those on the cruise - his friends and associates; those that were directly roughhousing with him. The guilt; the nightmares; constantly reliving the event.

I wish there was some magic wand that I could wave to take it all away. It has also enlightened me to the fact whether I like it or not, death will one day touch my family and friends, and I am not prepared to deal with it. I should never take them for granted. I think of his sisters and his mother, and my heart breaks. I do not know if I should leave them in peace to mourn and to finalise his arrangements, or if I should contact them to see if there is anything that I or my family can do.

I remember when my best friend's father passed away, and we were dealing with the business of the final arrangements. He spent more time consoling me than I did him. He looked at me and I bawled. He looked away from me, and I bawed. I bawled at the fact that I could not take away his pain. I bawled at the fact that I felt so helpless. I bawled at the fact that I had taken my own father for granted, and could not imagine how I would feel if I should lose him.

Sigh.

I am going to call my son, dad, brothers and sisters, and let him know that I love them. Then I am going to find my mom, curl up with her in bed, and harrass her. I had not been spending enough time with her. I going to tell her that I am sorry for griping about the cost of her romance novels that I had to pick up at the book store. I am going tell her that I am sorry for snapping at her when she called me at work to harrass me this morning. But, I can't get too sappy with her, because she may become suspicious, send me out for a random drug test, then have my brothers and sisters stage an intervention. So, I will filter it all out in small doses.

You all, be sure to do the same.

On that contemplative note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Ugly

So, I was working out in the gym this morning, when a gal entered, who had singlehandedly provided me with one of the most disturbing experiences of my life, an experience that still affects me to this very day.

Ironically, she has no idea how she had affected me, as she prances along her merry way, going about that thing that she calls her life. I had no idea who she was when the incident occurred, where she was from, or why she picked me as her target. We had never had a reason to cross paths, and maybe if we did, I could rationalise her actions somewhat. But, it aint so.

I was playing in a local volleyball tournament, and prior to the start of my next game, I took a well needed bathroom break. As I was attending to my business, a group of girls entered the bathroom, giggiling and chatting in the way of females enjoying each others' company. I peeked under the stall, noting shoes and activity, making no effort to hide my presence, and they made no effort to subdue their conversation.

In the midst of their conversation, red-shoe girl made a comment as to how #10 for a local team was "sooooo ugly". Yes, she stressed the 'sooooo', as if this was an observaton that came from the heart, and she proceed to elaborate as to said ugliness.

My heart thumped in my chest and my pee dried up, as I realised that I was the #10 that played for said team. I remained trapped in the stall as they completed their primping and conversation, and eventually left.

I was devastated. The comments were so malicious, nonchalant and irrational, that they struck to the very core of my being. I can still remember the impact of those words, and it is a moment that I can never forget. Confronting the hags to shame or embarass them had not been an issue, at the time, as shock and hurt rendered me immobile.

Eventually, I exited the stall, almost robatic in my movements and returned to my tournament. I was eventually able to put a face to red-shoe girl, during the course of the tournament, and in my heart of hearts, I knew that she was the 'ugly' one, possessing a raw, vicious and wicked personality, but this still could not cure the wound to my inner core. One can rationalise and explain all or the variables, but this does not cure the impact to the heart. I discussed the episode with my best friends, and of course, they offered me the necessary plattitudes, were indignant on my behalf, etc etc, but I have never forgotten, and it still hurt.

After that day, I saw said young miss everywhere that I went. She was constantly in my face, affecting my psyche, building my resentment, and I knew that she had no notion of the impact that she had had on me. I doubted that she even remembered me. I vindictively plotted her demise - not physically, but mentally - as I wanted to teach her a lesson, on the care that should be taken, when using the spoken word. To this day, I know that this was an impossible undertaking, as she turned out to be an ignorant, shallow, skanky, war mongering hag, all of which I learned from my observations of her. This type of person could not be educated, nor can they ever see the error of their ways.

Since that fateful day, I have made a conscious effort to eradicate the word 'ugly' from my vocabulary, and use it only in the context of inanimate objects and disgusting personalities. This is also a lesson that I attempt to impart on my son, and I live in hope that the lesson will stick. I have made a conscious effort to take care when using the spoken word, always remembering the hurt that I felt when those words were directed at me. "Sticks and stones...etc...," that's a load of crap. Words can hurt ten times over. I do thank the little trollop for the lesson learned, and I know that I am a better person for it. My friends laugh and scoff at my inability to say the word withought cringing, or roll their eyes when I lecture them for being irresponsible when they making indiscriminate comments about a persons physical features, but this is something that I am adamant will not be changed.

On a more shallow note, the vindictive side of me has not been appeased, as I am happy to report that said miss is no longer the nubile, swanky diva; the life of the party; the non-selective man eater. She now mash up and haggard from a hard life of partying, drinking and bed hopping, and is bordering on obese. This appeals to the vindictive side of me, as we crossed paths in the gym, and a sinister smirk crossed my face. She actually offered me a tentative smile, knowing not that I wished her ill. Ha. Jus' wait 'til I strike up a conversation. I am going to systematically destroy her, all in the guise of 'aquaintanceship', and goodwill. I goin' cut her down with a smile, each word a sharp barb to pierce the very core of her being, all spoken in the name of friendship and jest.

I will use her as my own little morbid psychological experiment; the green petrie dish, as I catalog the innumerable insecurities that I will impart during casual conversation. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, even if they know not what they did.

This is my yin and yang - A spiteful, vindictive, tactful, diplomatic wench. Screw that turn the other cheek crap. Never said I was perfect.

Ending with an evil, raucous laugh, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Afro

My New Man...

So, my Gynecologist and I have parted ways. We were just not working out anymore. We were no longer communicating, as I had felt a level of disinterest on his part, which increased my cynicism, and general discontent with the nature of our relationship.

Leading up to our separation, I often felt as if he were cheating on me, as he developed a habit of furtively accepting calls during my consultations, and rushing me from his office, though I had unanswered questions. This was unacceptable. We were ony meeting once per year, and he could not see fit to give me his undivided attention? What if he missed something?

When I questioned him about his penchant to multi-task during our sessions, he would develop what I deemed to be a condescending attitude, and attempted to reassure me that I was the only one. I knew this was not so, especially when I would wait patiently at our designated rendevous spot, and woman after woman would exit his office! He had started to double book!! Dates were cancelled at a short notice, and the trauma to end all traumas, he once interrupted my examination to answer his cell phone. This was the final straw for me, and I knew that I could no longer maintain such a self destructive relationship. I wanted it all or nothing.

How could he do this to me? We had been together for over ten years! He was there for the birth of my child! But, a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do, and I have started to see someone else. I have moved on. This does not appear to be a rebound relationship, and I do have some hope that we will be together for the long term.

Now that I have a new man in my life, my Ex keeps calling, and he now wants to talk! It is too late! He was no longer there for me! He did not give me the attention that I was deserved! He had taken me for granted, and is now affected by my absence. Worst yet, he acts as if I am betraying him by seeing another man! Little does he know that I had experimented with a woman, thinking that she would be more empathetic to my needs, but I was not comfortable with such a notion. Therefore, I have reverted to what I deem to be the natural order, and was lucky enough to find my new man.

How dare he feel betrayed?? Is it so wrong of me to selfishly look out for my personal interests? To have the constant reassurance that my annual check ups will go smoothly? To liase with a man that is attuned to my needs, and the additional comfort that I require in order to complete an uncomfortable examination? How could he! He is even attempting to be vindictive, and has yet to transer my records to my new man! I am afraid to collect them, for fear of what he will say, and I really cannot deal with the begging and the crying. It is over! I never thought that it would come to this.

It will take me quite a while to break in my new man, to familiarise him with my needs, the primary of which is that there be absolutely NO SMALL TALK during my examinations, for reasons that should be obvious to all and sundry. It took him a while to grasp this concept, but we are now getting along fabulously. He treats me the way a woman should be treated. He is kind, sensitive, and gentle, and turns off his phone when we are together. He does not scoff at my list of questions or research materials, and he is quick to advise and to update me on health issues that are affecting women today. He talks to me and apreciates me. So what if money trades hands at the end of our sessions? Is this not a liberated society? I pay him to keep me happy, and in turn, I support his high maintenance lifestyle. He is my kept man.

Maybe I do feel a pang now and again for my Ex, but I know that this is the self destructive part of me that is feeling this yearning, and that it must not be realised. I know that I shold not give him another chance, for why would I want to return to an abusive relationship, which often left me feeling exposed and inadequate? I stayed because I was comfortable. We had built a rapport, and history was on his side. But, history inevitably paves the way for the future, and the only thing that is sure in life, is change.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Afro.

Dear Verdant Isle - Bim / August 1st, 1995

Oh, wondrous island in the sun,
Proud, arogant pebble of the globe;
Status factors obvous to everyone,
Darker deception apparent when probed.

Sandy white beaches, critically acclaimed,
Beautiful, sunny gem of the sea;
Tourism and finance, for which it is famed,
Brings rapid development, and a drastic fee.

Prosperity apparent, our industry thrives
Tourists and financiers to be retained;
The expense of which history and culture dies,
When lost, never again to be attained.

False culture, hailed from the North,
Epitomised through music, travel, and T.V;
Crime and passion, negatively brought forth,
Waiting for the impressionable to see.

Confused youth, complacent with their fate,
Education inadequate to stimulate ambition;
Physical development surpassing the mental pace,
Problems which necessitate a difficult solution.

Oh, verdant land of soft fresh breeze,
Lauding the imperialist national anthem;
Darkness apparent when assets freeze,
Our shame to be sung as a requiem.

Oh, wondrous island, clinging to the crown,
Independence a repugnant and scornful thought;
Your position in the world assuredly renowned,
Disregarding reasons why revolutions are fought.

No comparable historical upheavals,
Or revolutions distinguished through time;
Relatively young and newly revealed,
No primary monuments to be shined.

Settled people, complacent with their slots,
Threatened when the melting pot boils;
Wanting the prosperity accorded their lots,
Despite which, they shun the vital toils.

Bim / August 1st, 1995



Afro

Time Off For Deviant Behaviour

So, the other day, my friend gave me a hail up, and invited me to watch some indoor football with him, because one of his brothers was playing on a team. Having nuttin better to do, I agreed and figured that I could take some mental notes, in order to hone my skills for next season.

We arrived at the venue, and started to lime with all and sundry, preparing for the start of the match, when a group of fellas entered the arena, and started to participate in our lime. Now, I have come to realise that I am sometimes prone to blonde moments, or rather, I am often shocked into oblivion by the happenings around me, cuz to my shock and dismay, it took me a while to process the fact that the new attendees to said lime, appeared to all be inmates of Her Majesty's Northward Prison!!!

When the information did register, and logically, I am assessing if there was a prison break, my shock must have shown on my face, because my friend gave me a nudge with his elbow (WHICH HURT!!!), and I managed to snap out of my revere.

Now, as I am sitting there, taking in the happenings, some of the fellows hailed me up. "How you doin', 'Fro? Long time no see!" Turns out, I went to school with quite a bit of them and ironically, I am sure that my policeman brother would probably have had something to do with their incarceration, a state of affairs that made me quite nervous.

I smiled innanely, and proceeded to make small talk, all whilst inching myself away, and preparing to make an excuse for a discreet exit. But, as I am slowly makin my way out, I met up with my friend's brother, who I knew was still serving a fifteeen year term in prison, for robbery, assault, gun possession, and I do think that some form of attempted murder may have been in the mix, but I am not certain. On seeing me, he gave me an exuberant hug, and started to catch up on old times. He regaled me with stories of his incarceration, his pending appeal, why I had not come to visit him, etc, etc.

Little does he know that I do not even know where HMNP is, and I would like that state if affairs to continue.

On further enquiry, it turns out the HMNP had entered a team to the football tournament, and the prisoners were allowed a temporary supervised hiatus from the prison, for participation.

Now, I am an avid proponent for the retributory aspect of incarceration, tempered with elements of rehabilitaton, if possible, but I just cannot seem to identify the logic behind their participation to this program.

The gentlemen that I identified on the team are all career criminals (including my friend's brother), therefore, rehabilitation is out of the question. If rehabilitation did serve as the justification, why engage in such a program, and not a community oriented program? Send them to revamp the local retirement home; send them to clean litter off of the streets; have them engage in some invaluable community service, and not a football competition.

What galls me even further, is that the registration for this program is CI$1500.00, paid for by the Government! What a load of crock! Furthermore, they are reaping the additional benefits of being able to have relatively unsupervised visits with their friends, family, chillun, and baby muddas, all without having to formally log in at the prison! Is this not a slap in the face for their victims?

Last season, the indoor competition ended with a rolicking brawl, for which the participants were 'nice' 'wholesome' working boys. It was evident that the tournament organisers were ill prepared to deal with a brawl of that magnitude, which now leads me to wonder how they would expect to deal with prisoners that have nothing to lose.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Afro

Rolled Over

So, my son's Nanny, care giver and family friend, SQ, who has been in the employ of my family in excess of eight years, and on island for tweve years, is being rolled over by the Cayman Islands Immigration Department.

Yep. They have unilaterally decided that SQ's services are not essential to me and my family and to the island as a whole, and therefore, she is to depart the island as she is no longer eligible for the grant of further work permits. Adios. По-русски. adeus. さようなら. Arrivederci. Auf Wiedersehen. Vaarwel. Au revoir.

Yep. Thems the licks.

Let me break down the notification scenario, and as I do, please pay careful attention to the dates as listed:

SQ's work permit application was submitted in December of 2005, for the renewal period December 13th, 2005 through December 31st, 2006. We had not heard anything on the status of our application for renewal, but were trudging along as normal, on the basis that all was well.

I have now received a letter dated September 16th, 2006 advising of the approval of her work permit application for the period December 13th 05 through December 31st 06, which further advises this was the final work permit grant for SQ, and that she is to return home as and when her work permit expires on December 31st, 2006.

It has taken them 9 months to approve an application, for a term that has almost expired!! Essentially, she now has 2 months to get her stuff in order, and to return home.

How cold and callous is that? This state of affairs has concerned me so much, as the dates highlighted above have aptly displayed the ineptitude of the Immgiration Department, and its possible impact on a person's life. This is unacceptable.

It is nasty and disgusting, and I was sure to call someone at the Department, to give them an earful, but the problem is, they really do not give two shits. The government is a Monopoly, the Department is inefficiant and littered with rude, uncaring civil servants that are unhappy with their lot and has no one to answer to, and their Supervisors are obviously leading by example.

I liked the concept of the Roll Over Policy, but had always felt that the government was ill prepared to implement the policy, as is now evident with my receipt of said letter. We may still blame all of our trial and tribulations on Hurricane Ivan (that Rat Bastard!!!), but it is obvious that the Immigration Department and the respective decision making Boards are still playing catch up, and are ill prepared to deal with an issue of this magnitude. Frankly, I am embarrassed and dismayed.

With the implementaton of this Roll Over Policy, I did have a problem with those who would be deemed 'essential staff', as I had visions of organisations amending their business staffing plans and job descriptions in order to bring certain individuals within this definition. Promotions for th sake of promotions, the allocation of sophisticated job titles, all in a bid to define a foreigner as 'essential'.

I had a vision of the face of Cayman changing even further, as Caucasians that dominate the legal and financial sectors, would quickly claw and manipulate their way into the 'essential' staff definition. They have the means, motive and the opportunities, and are not afraid to kis politicians asses as necessary.

The domestic helpers, construction workers, landscapers, and mechanics, all essential skills required to keep us functioning, would be sent home with inadequate warning and preparation. What of those who ask me that fundamntal question, "Do you want fries with that?"

Caymanians are surely not clamouring for those jobs.

Post Office boxes are now viewed with horror and trepidition, as many are afraid to clear their mail, for fear of what may await them. Sigh. The sad fact is, SQ's issue will be resolved, and can be explained as an adminitratve error. I can only begin to imagine how others that are impacted by this inefficient and uncaring administration would feel, having been tossed out at a moments notice.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Out.

Afro

Charles "The Killa" Whittaker

So, Charles "The Killa" Whittaker has won some title boxing thingy or another, in an alleged exciting encounter somewhere on the island, this past weekend.

Now, not being a boxing afficianado, I really do not care one way or the other as to who has what, and the consequences thereof, nor do I know the said Mr. Whittaker, but I do know that when I saw the headlines, I remembered thinking: "Charles, I am proud of you."

Charles has been relentlessly pursuing his boxing dreams despite insurmountable odds, and I personally believe that his fist raised in victory and the placement of that gawdy, tacky belt, around his waist should be his personal vindication, and a feat that should silence all of his backyard critics. Today, I had to deal with one of those backyard critics, who has demonstrated the crabs in a bucket mentality by callously stating "He so ol', why he doh' go si' down."

Ignorant heifer. Needless to say, she will no longer vocalise such a thought in my presence. Come to think of it, she may not speak to me again, but I really do not give two shits. Please refer to previous post on "Schtupid People".

Anyway, I digress...

Charles has worked hard, and I am sure that he has made his own personal sacrifices in chase of his dream, all without proper facilities, and government and corporate sponsorship. It has been over fifteen years, but I will always remember reading periodic articles about his progress overseas, articles no doubt submitted by himself to the newspapers, as no one here was following his progress. Longevity in Caymanian athletes is very rare, as they are often distracted or diverted from their course, either because of the lack of support, proper facilities, training or funding.

Charles is another one of those Caymanian athletes for whom we should wonder "what if": What if he had received the necessary support, backing and training from an early age, where would he be now?

Now that Charles has reached the "ripe" old age of thirty two, and has attained a personal following, the government and private sector are crawling out of the woodwork like termites to claim him, to utilise him as Cayman's own PR machine, as a method of putting the Isands on the sportng map. I do hope that Chares now has the necessary savvy, to use the leeches to this advantage, as a measure of securing his nest egg for his inevitable retirement.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Ta.

Afro

Jungle Fever

So, a bredren of mine has now committed to a new relationship, after a one year hiatus. A really cool and down to earth gyal, if I must say so myself.

On receipt of this information, I started to rethink Mr. Man’s historical dating patterns and have come to realize once again, that all of his significant others have all been “Big Country” Caucasians, but for his high school sweetheart.

More power to him, one would say, but I am rather confused by the fact that he has always professed to love women of colour, but nary a one could be found in the mix. When I finally called him on it, he proceeded to expound on the fact that more often than not, he knew the sexual escapades of the ‘local’ girls, and more often than not the ‘local’ girls had historically been involved with a first, second or third cousin of his. Please note that ‘local’ is not limited to black.

Now, in meeting said Caucasian females, more often than not, Mr. Man’s meeting would result in an immediate overnight encounter (Notice my political correctness here? ). Anyway, after several of these encounters and hanging out, somehow a relationship would develop.

Now, this is where I am further confused.

If someone, male or female fell into bed with you immediately, human nature being what it is, would you not entertain the possibility of a trend on their part??? One may notice my use of "Big Country” above, as these women (as I have mentally listed those known) have been from Austrailia, the United States, Canada and Europe. There was even one from Africa!! He cannot even justify this choices on the basis that they have a Caribbean background, which he claims is important to him.

Is it not safer to know the sexual proclivities of your partner? Can you not make a more informed decision about a relationship on this basis? He prefers not to know, and though he claims to ‘wrap it up’, you can never be too careful!!!

Playing true to type, new gal is Caucasian, and once again, we engaged in a debate about my aforementioned observations. He has heatedly defended his choices, but I will not change my mind. I even went as far as to remind him of three wonderful local young ladies who were interested in him in the past, who did not have sordid reputations, for which he was nonchalant in his dismissal of them, though he was seeking companionship at the time.

I can also remember his being offended in the past when someone would make a comment that “He only likes White Girls”. Now, if it is a fact, and the numbers speak for themselves, why be offended? He does not even rationalize how people can arrive at this conclusion.

I have realized that choices are specific to an individual. For example, I do love a dark chocolate man.

If his preference is for a Caucasion female, more power to him. My problem lies in the fact that he tempers his preference with bullshit.

Do not say that you cannot find a nice local girl,
Do not regale me with the stories of a local girl’s sexual exploits, when you have engaged a one week fcuk-buddy who has the same propensities, if not worse, and the fcuk-buddy had evolved into your girlfriend.
Do not relegate with the defensive propaganda surrounding your choice, when the numbers speak for themselves;
Do not relegate me with tales of the difficulties of your significant other not understanding your culture or your family, as this arises because of your preference.

Just shut up and reap the consequences of your preference, such as they are, and acknowledge your hipocracy.

On that note, I shall now exit.

Out.

Amphibious Encounter

So, I restin’ up good, good from my Friday Night trauma, elevating my still swollen knee, when I feel piece’a coldness on mi elbow. When mi look, mi and a frog eye mek four!!! Lawd’a’mercy, he stare me right in the eye, with that piece’a ting on he neck expanding and contracting as if he saying hello!!!

Lawd, mi throat still hurtin’ from the screech, an’ mek me tell ya, if he wha’ my prince, I sure as hell hope that he put me on he life insurance, cuz I can tell ya, we were just not meant to be!

That mo’fcuker is dead! D-E-A-D !! I upped and killed he dead, dead, dead!!!

In a fit o' vexation after the screech, I grabbed a shoe and squished he rass! ! Guts and entrails splat all over the floor. When I done wid dat, I grabbed the bleach and pour it ovah he carcass, jus' to mek sure! Only a likkle bit o’ bleach was left, so I had to use Tilex an' Sno Bol to mek up the difference!

Hmprh. If you goin’ do a killin’ mek sure you do it right. Not like dem horror movie thrillers, whey deh give the villain one wack, and den run screaming into the sunset, or run to hug and kiss. Idjits!!

When you smash a perpetrator, deliver a final run through, jus’ to mek sure! Shoot an extra bullet ; give an extra stab ! Den, poke ‘em in the eyeball to see if deh flinch!! There will not be a sequel for this som'bytch!!

Screw that chain of life / food chain bullshiit!! I say kill ‘em all!!!

I mindin’ my business and he have the audacity to place his slimy, cold, wart ridden, nasty self on me???? The unmitigated gall!!! The nerve!!! Death to ‘im and he kind!!! This means war with all those of the amphibious and reptilian families, who I know are all related to this mo’fcker!! I goin’ fix unnu! Armed with my bleach and ten foot radius squirt gun, I goin’ reign death and destruction on all a’ unnu! This is the final solution!

Den, I tell mi brudda ‘bout mi trauma, and Mr.Man have the nerve to laugh at me! He lucky that I'm a dainty, delicate, and sensitive creature, otherwise, I would’a use the same shoe and squish he rass too, and tell him two words when a'done ! Hmprh! I fix him, though!!! He had to get rid of the body! I know that he did look squeamish when he was scraping up the guts and gore! Dah wha’ he get! I would'a move before I touched that crap! I killin' 'em, but I ain't cleanin' up. Froggiecide! Lizardcide! (No Snakicide, cuz I jus’ not messin wid dem. I goin’ delegate that task!) Death to them all!!!!

Had to tek a bath an' bleach and scrub mi arm where the rat bastard did lan’.

On that note, I shall now exit. I feel like scrubbin' again. Rat Bastard!

Out.

Afro.

Lady Lions!!!

So, the Lady Lions are now the division 2 champions for the indoor five a side football league!!!!

We had our big final on Friday night, and I must say, all week leading up to the big game, my stomach was cramping, and nerves were killing me. I was OK when the Lady Lions were consistently in last place, and the underdogs for the tournament, but all of a sudden, we are in the play-offs and fighting for a championship trophy!

How the hell that happened, we have no idea !!! We entered a team for the lime and beer, and next thing you know, we are in a championship match. Did we make it simple? Nooo, there had to be drama. I almost crapped my pants. Tied at one all at the end of the game, we went into overtime. With no victor declared at the end of the overtime round, we went into a penalty shoot out. Still tied at the end of the penalty shoot out, we went into sudden death. Lawd.

I had a really nasty thought about a girl that played for our opponents, prior to the game . I felt really bad for having such a thought, because it was rather petty me. But, I gotta share this because it is so scandalous!

Anyway she weighs about one hundred pounds soaking wet, is about 4’9” tall; she has a slight mouthstach and beard, and she has no breasts of female curves to speak of. When I saw her, I thought that maybe the Lady Lions should protest her ability to play in the female league, until her gender was confirmed . Yes, I did feel bad for the thought, especially after speaking to her and realising that she was really cool, and I was being petty. Need I mention her baritone, at this point?

So, during the game, whilst young miss was attempting to control a ball with her hip, the ball deflected from her groin area. Now since I have been playing, I had seen this move completed numerous times, but I had never seen a woman curl up in the fetal position, holding her crotch, after effecting this move!

Is that not highly suspicious??? My entire team stared in stupefaction as she writhed on the floor clutching her crotch, but the messages transmitted by our raised eyebrows were quite clear. Needless to say, as we assessed and sussed after the game, the common consensus is that some form of hermaphrodite thingy may be going on with the lad….errr…young miss. My apologies.

Needless to say, we won, and went out to celebrate in we stinky, sweaty clothes. It was wonderful. We worked our way to a local hang out that was hosting a Miami Carnival kick off function. They did not want to let us in because of some dress code crap. After negotiating with the Manager who caved when he saw the size of our entourage, we went inside. In hindsight, the place was lucky that we graced them with our presence, cuz we were the only people there!!! Idjit.

Lawd, I danced and pranced as I have never done since…since…since…well…in a long time. It was also relaxing to be out in a mature environment where I did not have to worry about schtupid young idjits fighting and mashing up other people’s nice time!

Anyway, that is all done now, and I am now reaping the after effects . I woke up to a huge headache , and my knee is so swollen, that I cannot walk. I used this as an excuse to stay in bed all day, sleeping, reading and watching the telly.

I think that the dancing and prancing mash me up more than the football game did.

Sigh. It was worth it!!!

On that note. I must now exit. Gotta refill the ice pack, and get some more Tiger Balm.

Out.

Afro