McHulk in nairobi

we ended our first day in nairobi with dinner and a movie.

by the time our movie was over, it was dark. the huge fire we'd witnessed earlier in the day had been put out, and the police -for the most part- had broken up the huge mob that had been watching the process.

when we got out of our movie, we started walking the few blocks back to our hotel... until we were stopped by the police who had roped off a couple blocks of space around the building that had been burned. those blocks just happened to be the normal -and safer- route home to our hotel. the police officer -with an extremely large gun- directed us down another street, and daniel looked over his shoulder at lauren and i and michele, and said "we're taking the long way".

what would've been a five minute walk turned into one that i couldve sworn was an hour (really, it was like 15 minutes).

we were in nairobi. at night. walking through a scary part of town.

two white girls... one supermodel... and one white guy. we stand out in a crowd, but we stood out even more, as our white skin practically seemed to glow in the dark as we walked down the street.

i was a bit scared... not gonna lie... and when i get scared, i get real quiet and tense... and that's what happened.

i dont know what the other girls were thinking, but when i saw the dark streets ahead and realized we'd be walking them, every sense hightened. every shadow looked darker, and i imagined that every corner i couldn't see past contained evil men who were going to attack us the second i looked away. after a minute of thinking this way, i realized had to control my thoughts or i would lose it. so i decided to do what we all do when we dont know what's going on...

look to daniel.



okay, men... all men...

you're impressive. you men in your own way are seriously some of the most impressive creatures that God ever did create.

can i get an "amen!" ladies?

although we women may laugh and poke fun at your manly ways sometimes, there are those times when our breath just catches because you excel at being... well... men. really, it's one of the only reasons why we sit and watch y'all play sports like football.

taking whatever each other can dish out, chasing after each other like maniacs who stole each others' women, and then slamming each other to the ground (all while in tights) just to hold a piece of sewn together pig skin which is apparently the object of your affection... and all of this just FOR FUN.

man. guys, we females might not understand your motive for such things, but we can appreciate how impressive you are when you get your heart pounding, pulse racing, "i feel invincible right now, and i'd like the chance to prove it" feeling...

when that drug-like adrenaline whispers in your ear, "i've got your back if this gets ugly", and you sincerely wish -and secretly dread- for someone to challenge your committment to protect what is yours. when our safety is in question, we women encourage your utilization of all the adrenaline you've got.

i'd imagine it's kinda like being infused with the hulk's magic potion.

for lauren, michele and i... we were glad McHulk was leading us around nairobi that night.

completely silent, listening to every footstep, and snapping our heads around whenever any noise got close to us, we followed daniel's lead.

he had one hand in his pocket as we walked by the edge of a park with a huge wall of bushes on our left side, and a dark street with random people sleeping in bus station alcoves, on our right.

then he casually took his hand out of his pocket and kept walking.

something was different though.

my eyes fell on the cupped hand at his side. he was wearing long sleeves, so i could barely see it, but he was cupping what looked like the end of a piece of metal in his hand... and half of it disappeared up his sleeve. i realized i'd seen it at the house one time.

he has this weapon he carries around when traveling. it looks like a five inch metal cylinder, but it drops down and expands to a good 16 inches or so in like a second if you need to defend yourself. you just hold it in your hand, and keep a finger on the end, and if you move your finger aside, it becomes a very threatening metal baton that could easily kill someone.

daniel tensed as someone moved in the bus alcove, and we girls shifted the tiniest bit closer to him and towards the bushes as we walked by a man who was moving in his temporary home on the bus stop floor. daniel developed eyes in the back of his head i think, as we kept walking.

daniel kept his hand out of his pocket and at the ready as we walked the last (and darkest) block to our hotel, and then we were safe. i walked into the hotel lobby and felt my whole body relax. it actually hurt when my muscles eased... i was THAT tense.

i have never in my life been as appreciative of a confident man who knows how to handle himself, as i was that night.

when we girls got back to our room, the door shut and we and let out a collective "HOLY CRAP!" in regard to our intense bodyguard and his secret baton weapon.

guys? bring on the hulk...

we women approve.

fire in nairobi

we spent a couple days in nairobi before leaving for our flight to london. the first thing we experienced in nairobi was actually completely unplanned and totally random for us all.

a fire.

yeah, you heard me right... a fire. a huge grocery store caught on fire when the power to the store went out (which frequently happens here), and then the generator started up and exploded i guess. we had no idea that had happened... all we knew was there was a huge amount of smoke in the air the afternoon we arrived.

of course daniel had to go check it out... and we trust his judgement, so we were game for an adventure. he'd never knowingly take us into a dangerous situation. he knows this culture so well... he can figure out what's going on with a group of people in one glance... he's like 007 or something. pretty schnazzy.

we walked a few blocks and hit the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered to watch. i think its misleading to call it a crowd, though...

it was more like a mob.

of thousands of people.

like... every street filled with spectators.

nowhere was unacceptable to stand and watch what was happening... and in fact, the higher you got, the better. people were hanging off of each other on the barriers in the middle of the street... everyone was watching as the store burned, and it was like their version of a reality show... only this was as real as it gets.

one of kenya's prize cities was in jeopardy.

people cheered when it looked like the fire truck that was trying to get control of the fire looked like it was succeeding, and then hushed as the flames again lept out of control.

we were on the outskirts, so we walked to the safety of the somewhat empty sidewalks (since everyone was in the streets and on the road dividers getting as close as they could), and tried to see what was going on.

everything was fine... for about five minutes.

then the police showed up.

apparently it's not okay to stand on the barriers in the middle of the road, so when they charged into the crowd with their batons cracking on people's shoulders and heads, the hundreds of people on the barriers all jumped or fell into the crowd, and that in turn pushed the crowd towards us.

in a matter of seconds it was like a much too crowded concert. we put one hand on our bags incase of pickpockets (which dan had already warned us about), and looked to him for direction.

he started shoving.

when daniel starts shoving people, you seriously act like Jesus just gave you a command, and you start shoving too. when chaos happens, you look to daniel. i grabbed little lauren's hand, and kept my eyes on daniel's head since i could see over the mob of kenyans. i literally dragged lauren forward at some points i think. it was insane and SO cool.

i didnt feel in danger at all... i knew i had my hand on my bag, and i knew that dan was looking back every few seconds to make sure we were all following him. it seriously was awesome. if i ever lost sight of dan, i knew that because i was a tall white girl, he could see me and know that lauren was in tow as well, so it was great to be a tall white girl and very literally "stand out" in the crowd.

pushing... yelling... screaming... watching pickpockets steal from pockets right in front of me... fire... policemen with batons... kenyans who just wanted to be chased by police because they're bored with life...

it was awesome.

we got out of the mob and daniel stopped and turned around. once we assured him we were all okay, all four of us started gushing about how cool it was that we'd just experienced that.

once in a lifetime, people... once in a lifetime.

that night we ate dinner at a restaurant a block away from the fire that they had just put out, and the news was nothing but the fire. at one point, they showed a clip of when the fire truck first pulled up and the street was blocked by cars. the kenyan men literally were like bricks of muscle... four guys lifted a car multiple times, each time moving it further out of the way for the fire truck to go by.

within a minute, the entire street was filled with adrenaline-filled men lifting and dropping cars out of the way. there was MORE than enough room for the truck to get by at that point. daniel was sad he wasnt a part of the muscle men lifting the cars.

lauren and i and michele just started at the screen. it was THAT impressive. men + massive amounts of adrenaline feeding off of an intense circumstance? oh please... dont even get me started. they can do anything, i'm sure of it.

then we heard a huge commotion. the security guard at the front of our restaurant reacted quickly, pulling a huge iron gate down from the door of the restaurant just as hundreds of kenyans started dashing past us.

the police were breaking up the mob of onlookers.

they would break up the mob, and then we'd all watch out the windows from our seats in the gated restaurant as the bored young kenyan guys would go looking for trouble a minute after the police had chased them with batons, and they'd go running back to where the fire was only to be chased back again.

we laughed real hard when the police got on horses and the cavalry chased them past our restaurant.

they still went back for more... and then they deserved what they got.

tear gas.

seriously, we had no idea it'd been sprayed until i started plugging my nose because it burned. everyone was looking at me weird as i swore that something was wrong... and then it hit michele too... and lauren... and the whole restaurant.

we were all plugging out noses and closing our eyes. it wasnt really bad... just enough residue from outside where they'd sprayed it, that it was uncomfortable.

fire... mobs... police... cavalry... tear gas.

how much adventure can you have in one day?

never enough, that's for sure.

the shirt off his back

so... daniel's a good lookin guy.

true story... and i was amazed that he has such good style when he lives - and shops - in africa for all his clothes. he does it for maybe an eighth of what we'd pay in the states for such a fabulous sense of style, and is so very proud of how good he is at bartering for everything he eventually owns.

i was intrigued when i heard of the clothes markets in kitale and what they were like, so i decided to check out some of these markets and see if i could find anymore cool items for his wardrobe.

sometimes it's good to have a girl's sense of style and what looks hott or not on a guy, and i thought he'd appreciate the thought. he totally did.

lauren took me all over town to markets and second hand clothing stands where i picked out some fricking cool stuff for daniel. i got a banana republic dress shirt for him that looks brand new, and is DEEP DEEP red for 150 shillings... like $1.50... no lie. and mind you, every single thing i bought, i haggled over the price for.

i skoffed... i coughed... i hissed... i shook my fist at a couple guys... even tossed shirts back at one guy who was particularly obnoxious and pushy, and all cuz i knew i could be pushier...

and all to hear the words i was waiting for: "eh...eh. price is not fixed. make offer."

oh man... it was my favorite day of shopping EVER. seriously, lauren and i felt so cool that whole afternoon.

then... then there was this one shirt.

THE shirt.

daniel needed to own that shirt... he just didnt know it yet.

i just had to get it for him.

i'm talking UBER cool shirt. patches on the arms that listed the cali beaches, and a faded yellow color to it with what looks like a stone washed rainbow across the front. it had layered brown on the undersize of the short sleeves, neck, and hem of the shirt, and i was obsessed with it. there was just one problem.

it was on a kenyan.

i told lauren "i want that shirt for dan" and in the next breath i said to the guy "my husband would look good in your shirt. will you sell it to me?"

it took everything i had to not lose my cool right there. i was seriously bartering with a man for the SHIRT OFF HIS BACK. what the crap was i doing? i wanted to laugh, but at the same time it was such a challenge! i just had to see if i could get him to sell it to me.

it was so exciting.

the guy looked at me... and then at the shop owner... and then when he smiled i knew he would be putty in my hands. i asked what size it was, and he had no idea... i was pretty sure it was dan's size, but i wanted to be sure.

so lauren checked.

when she stood on her tiptoes to read the tag on the back of the 5`11 kenyan's shirt, three other guys walked over to the stand we were at. it was dan's perfect size, and out little stand at the market was becoming a bit crowded with men who all wanted THEIR shirt tags read by the little blond texan... at least that's what i think.

he gave me a RIDICULOUS price, but i'd expected that much. after i haggled him for about 400 shillings less than what he originally told me, he walked to the back of the stand, and took the shirt off his back for me to give to my "husband".

the guy even agreed to take a picture with me. i'll post it soon.

anyways.. lauren and i walked away and mumbled in awe at what i'd just done for a half a block before it hit me and i stopped walking just to say "i just bought the shirt off a kenyan man's back. holy crap! how cool am i?!"

in the states, this would never happen... it'd actually be quite rude... but in kenya i made a young man's YEAR by giving him bragging rights that a mzungu bought his shirt off his back, and i had the funnest, boldest experience of interacting with kenya's male population that i've had YET.

i'm impressive, oh yes i am.

white women can braid

a few days ago we went to eldoret to buy more crafts from robert, the owner of a craft store that gets their stuff from all over kenya. he has a wide variety of things to choose from that we can buy in large quantities.

it was a productive shopping day filled with buying both for TI, and also for friends and family back home that we wanted to get gifts for.

while in eldoret, lauren and ina took michele and i to the salon to get our toe nails painted. here, the nail and hair salons are called saloons.

we four girls went to the saloon (oh man, it never gets old typing that extra O in there) to get our nails painted. walking through eldoret was fun... the typical clicking tongues, and near accidents as people stopped to stare, and/or ran into the person in front of them on the street, since they'd stopped to stare at us too. haha.

we walked down an alley or two, and i took up residence on a rickety bench, and copied lauren's example. i put my foot up on the edge of the bench next to mine, and presented my filthy dusty feet to the man with the polish in his hand.

by the time he was done with my toe nails, it looked like they'd been AIRBRUSHED... he is THAT good with his tiny little design brush. i got a flower with detailed petals on each nail... it was amazing. he was amazing.

the wooden bench was in a 4 foot wide hallway where other women were sitting on rickety benches as well, waiting for their appointment at one of the 10 hair saloons that lined that same hallway.

even with the 20 or more women watching, i was just astounded by this man with the magical talent at painting nails. there was no massage... no oil or lotion or fixing of the crappy foot callouses that we women hate to admit that we EVER get, because they are just OH so feminine, eh? nope... none of that. just the painting of nails... and i felt like a queen when he was done.

in kenya, it's the little stuff that makes you feel girly... especially if you're dripping sweat and feel filthy.

as i paid the magical man 50 shillings (.75 cents) for his great job, he moved on to ina, and i sat there letting my nails dry.

a lady in the hair saloon across from me caught my eye, and told me she wanted to braid my hair. the hallway went quiet as the 20 women sitting on their benches waited for my answer... little did i know how i'd throw them for a loop when i replied with "oh... no thank you, i can braid my own hair."

holy mother... you wouldve thought i just said i could do brain surgery right then and there in that little hallway. the women started murmering, and the nail guy stopped painting inas nails, and the saloon lady said "your own? you can braid your own? not good though, eh?"

i must admit, i got a little sassy on the inside and thought of a comeback, but instead just decided to demonstrate.

right there on my rickety bench with my wet toe nails that were drying, i started french braiding my long, straight, highlighted hair. you know when you see multiple people stick their heads out on the side of a door, but you can only see one body? thats what it looked like from my seat.... just kenyan women striving to see the white girl braid her hair from their wooden benches lining the hallway.

some even stood to get a better look.

when i was halfway done, the saloon ladies from each shop had stopped what they were doing, to watch me. seriously, their customers had their hair sticking straight up with ungodly crap that looked like a mix of baby powder and vaseline, in it... and their hairdressers were holding hair dryers that were still on, and just pointing them at the wall. some came into the hall or stuck their heads out to see what i was doing.

when i was done, the lady who had offered to braid my hair came over to inspect my job and she just clicked and murmured in swahili to the other ladies before asking what my "smart" braid was called...

i told her it was called a french braid, and i couldve sworn as i walked out of the hallway with the girls a few minutes later, that the same saloon lady was trying out her new kind of braid. i wonder if her customer had requested it, or if she just decided that she would try to imitate me...

that's the "smart french braid" that the white girl taught her.

who knew i would be a trend setter in africa?

"she doesn't satisfy me"

by the title of this blog, you can probably guess that i had another interesting interaction with a kenyan man.

yep... in the market.

the kenyan market is basically like a flea market in the states. if you've ever been to one, you know its pretty chaotic. everyone shouting and trying to get your attention and have you buy their goods. at the market, we go to one lady... mary. she owns a huge part of the market, and she has many women working for her to sell different fruits, grains and vegetables.

mary loves me... really, all the market ladies do. they want me to marry their sons and have huge kenyan babies. although im sure they all love having lazy, obnoxious husbands with wandering eyes, i think i'll pass... thanks. sounds like a good deal, eh? yeah.

lauren and i love sitting there picking out our goods while riling them all up by telling them that most men in america know how to cook and clean and do laundry. they just say "really? no... no. really?"

oh... and tell them that the majority of fathers in america (we would LIKE to believe) take an active role in their childrens' lives, and they think that's just impossible. so with all these conversations, you can get a better idea why i balk at the idea of ever flirting with - let alone MARRYING - a kenyan man. i can count on one hand the decent ones i've met while i've been here.

in the market, men usually walk through with huge boxes and sacks on their backs, so it's common to say a greeting (or four) while we sit there and chat with the ladies. this day was no different... except for one thing.

a tall african man - we'll call him Guy 1 - was standing right across from me, leaning against the nearest fruit stand (mountain of fruit and sacks about 3 feet taller than he was). for the first five minutes, he didnt move. he just stared at me. i'm used to it, but he was obnoxious about it which is NOT common... usually the men here are passive lookers and just shout something as i walk or drive by. they never just blatently keep staring when they know i'm aware of it (that i can see).

so Guy 1 gets up while i'm talking with rosemary, my favorite market lady, and tries to make conversation with me. do you know what my immediate thought was?

"entertain him, hope... you need a good blog".

so i did.

he asked me where i was from, why i was here, and a bunch of other stupid stuff before another guy - Guy 2 - walked up and joined our conversation. really, Guy 2 just walked up and greeted me... but Guy 1 gave him a death look and walked back to his leaning position against the fruit stand.

i answered Guy 2's greeting, and glanced at Guy 1 who was still watching the exchange intently. i said loud enough for all the market ladies to hear, "you are jealous that he is talking to me, yes?!" and the women ERUPTED in laughter as Guy 1 loudly denied my accusation.

Guy 1 came over to me to try and make my voice lower i think... but nice try. i'm a hepner... being loud is what i do... and when i'm being fiesty with an obnoxious man? oh please. you all probably heard me in america.

Guy 1 and Guy 2 had a grumbling exchange in swahili that i couldnt understand (and that the market ladies would not translate for me) before Guy 2 relinquished his position in front of me. Guy 1 had apparently made his intentions known. i had a feeling i knew what they were grumbling about, and i kinda hoped they'd throw down right there in the market.

intriguing... i think i found the one thing kenyan men are not passive with each other about - who gets the american supermodel.

i like stirring the pot, and especially when i am not going to be around a group of people for very long... so i said loudly, "you want to marry me, don't you?" and Guy 1 looked shellshocked before quickly stuttering "yes... yes!".

i asked him if he was married, and he pulled out his left hand that he'd been hiding in his pocket. "yes... but i will divorce her for you" he answered a bit quieter, looking around to see who was watching.

everyone was. have i mentioned that i SO love being the center of attention?! yup. true story.

"divorce her?" i said. "well, i would not be okay with that... she would be so sad. you should only have one wife anyways. it's not good for a man to marry more than one wife... plus, one woman is enough for one man to handle anyways!" oh man... the market ladies watched in quiet amazement that i was talking to a man like this, but i knew i was their hero since they were beaming from ear to ear.

apparently, even kenyan women get a bit jealous and insecure when their man has his eyes on another girl. i dont think kenyan women were consulted when their men decided they were too horny for just one wife.

tar and feather... that's all i got to say.

so the beaming market ladies were silently watching for Guy 1 to respond to me... and in my wildest dreams, i couldn't have planned what he said next.

he bent down and whispered a bit too loudly in my ear "no, no... my wife... she does not satisfy me anymore."

oh it took all i had in my not to just slam his arrogant, fat head into the tomato rack right then and there. instead, i quickly decided to use my confident personality and too white skin to my advantage.

i guffawed loudly (good word, eh?) and said "oooooh! i don't think you should be telling me such things!! maybe i will tell all the market ladies what you whisper in my ear... i'm sure they would like to hear what you think of your wife, no?!" oh man... he jumped back so fast. he covered his face with his hands as Guy 2 looked on in glee that he would be the one to marry me now, and Guy 1 said in terror, "no, no, no... you dont do that!"

too late. rosemary had overheard his loud whisper. in a matter of seconds, she'd shouted in swahili to the market women what Guy 1 had told me, and they went into an uproar. there was laughter and mocking and clicking tongues like he was a wayward child... it was so great.

have i told you how much i love rosemary? oh she is my FAVORITE.

Guy 1 looked like he'd been spanked, and sulkingly took up his leaning post again. Guy 2 walked over to me, and knowing that i already had my good story for my blog, i promptly let him know i would never marry a kenyan because they do not treat their women well. he glanced at Guy 1, and i think he sized up how well he'd be able to handle the supermodel's quick wit. he decided it wasn't worth it.

he moved on to lauren.

hahahahahaha. she told him she had a husband (daniel... he's our fake husband in case of obnoxious men), and that he could call daniel if he wanted to talk to her. Guy 2 walked away...

... only to come back with his phone. ugh. lauren gave him a fake number and sent him on his way.

rosemary and all the market women told me i was a good talker, and i informed them that i was just fiesty. after i explained the meaning of the new english word, they agreed... i am very fiesty. then they told me kenyan women are fiesty, too... but with their children, not their husbands.

oh. my. gosh. too much.

we rented a taxi (just a small car with a driver) to take us and our groceries home, and Guy 1 and Guy 2 followed lauren and i at a distance until we got in our car. i think they thought i'd change my mind and come running back to pick one of them because they were just SUCH a catch for any white girl.

suckas.

road crews

eldoret is a town that's about a 45 minute ride from where i'm staying... and on the worst roads you've ever seen.

seriously, they will be in my nightmares someday - i know it! the roads we travel on are filled with holes at least a foot wide, and sometimes 3-6 inches deep. they are so fun to drive on... SO fun.

but get this... according to the kenyan people, if you check with their government that stretch of horrid road is "new".

the government put a ridiculous amount of money aside to pave the road between kitale and eldoret, and their books say it is "new", huh? not so much... only 20 miles of road were paved and the rest still remain untouched. THAT is how corrupt the government here is. its ridiculous.

once we get on the road, we see an interesting sight. since certain corrupt people have pilfered the money for the road to be fixed, the kenyan people still have to do something about being able to travel them... so the kenyan kids get a bit creative.

yep... you heard me. the teenagers. young boys transport dirt from holes on the side of the road and fill up the potholes in the road. then they put sticks with pieces of clothing on the holes (kinda like a flag) to show that they just worked to fill them up.

when you drive by these boys, they jump up from where they're sitting on the side of the road and rush as close as they can get to the vehicles driving by, and they shout and point to the holes so the drivers of the vehicles will pay them money for filling them.

sometimes they receive a few shillings from passing vehicles, but not much. we get so close to hitting them when we're driving by, that sometimes i have to close my eyes and hope we dont run them over.

the interesting thing is that those kenyan boys probably make up a good portion of the men here that actually arent lazy and take some initiative.

kenyan dental floss

now, to understand the jist of this story, i need to help you understand a bit about my friend daniel's personality... and although an intimidating task, i think i'm up to it.

umm... how do i explain him? okay, so sometimes he... nope. crap.

wait. okay... he likes "joking" with people. really, all the guys in his family do... they like to see how gullible the average person is. if you ask a question, they'll give you a bogus but totally believable answer, and wait to see how long it'll take you to question it's validity. they think this kind of psychological manipulation is oooooh so funny.

whatever... they're lipparellis. enough said.

since i got here, i've been asking questions about kenyan culture ALL THE TIME, and i think sometimes dan gets tired of explaining. when that happens, i can usually recognize the gleam in his eyes as he gives me an answer that totally makes sense, but really is completely untrue... just the shock factor that he likes going for. usually within a few seconds i come to find out he's just messing with me, but he thinks it is hysterical. luckily, i'm not the only one he does it to.

we all have suffered through his "jokes"... but payback is a bummer. nah... really though, there are four girls here, and you gotta feel for the one american guy amongst so much estrogen.

not even kidding... with the four of us girls combined, we could probably float a hot air balloon just by blowing into it sometimes.

someone give the man a medal for putting up with us.

anyways... back to the lunch we were having. we walked into the "restaurant" and grabbed a table. i noted on the way to our table that the fly-covered fruit salad was not looking so hot today. someone had forgotten to put the lid back on the bowl.

appetizing.

the popular foods here are so weird, but some of it is palatable for the american taste buds, so i dont mind. instead of ugali or sukamawiki (no idea how to spell that) or some kind of weak soup that the kenyans call "curry", i usually get chicken and chips.

basically, chicken and chips can be whittled down to the following: you know american KFC chicken? yeah... its not anything like that. you get a piece of what must've been a very malnourished chicken's LEG (and that makes you wonder if it was hit and flattened by a matatu before it was sold to the restaurant), and three fourths of your plate filled with the most disgustingly oily french fries you can imagine.

i know, i know... but it's that or the "curry"... and lord only knows what animal died to became broth for that stuff. i'll take my chances with the chicken and chips.

so this day, we ordered and were sitting around laughing before the waitress (non english speaking kenyan) brought us a little side plate with our napkins (i mean serbiettes... napkin is the word they use for pms products here), utensils and... floss.

i thought it was this restaurant's equivalent of a toothpick... maybe they gave us floss because they ran out of toothpicks for us. not so much. it was probaly just a random string that fell off our waitress's shirt.

i looked at the plate and said "oh... is this floss?"

and daniel said "yeah... see?" as he imitated how you would use three inches of too thick string to floss your teeth.

quickly, i realized they had only provided us with one piece of floss, and i thought that was weird... so i said "really?"

walked right into that one, didnt i?

lauren and daniel were laughing so hard it took a good 10 seconds for daniel to gasp out a "no... not really!" as i realized i'd been duped again.

the non english speaking waitress brought me my roadkill and oil fries, and i mumbled "i hate everyone" as daniel put the random piece of string (or kenyan dental floss) aside so he could focus on gnawing the gristle off his piece of roadkill.

he didnt choke on it. that was sad.


daniel and the kenyan dental floss