Wednesday, July 13, 2011

The Best Week Ever!

If you fear getting overly jealous of the week I am about to tell you about, I suggest you discontinue reading from this point. This has got to be the best week I've had in all my 16 years of living (don't question that, not the age of course, but it being the best week).

Monday starts off outstandingly with my boss questioning me about my tweets which she heard about from someone. Of course, this brings me utmost joy; someone your age going to your boss complaining, for lack of better word, about your tweets. How often can someone get this lucky, I know you want to be me right now. It's surprising how someone can be so offended by what you tweet, but not offended enough to unfollow you; it's similar to smelling a pile of shit, and sitting right beside it... unless you are the said pile of shit *mutters* case in point. I,  of course, do the morally ethical thing and place my boss and all our mutual friends in a thing I like to call "No Wall Limited Profile". Looking out for the greater good, or something like that. *Pats self on the back*

Tuesday The Devil decides to reward me for good behaviour and decides to throw a party in my uterus. This was obviously very V.I.P and exclusive as Mother Nature and all her evil spawn bastard children decided to join. I almost die of death. While we are on that note, why is it that Midol costs over $1000, and add insult to injury, pharmacists are so ugly? By Tuesday Evening, I am semi-recovered and think I deserve a treat to some television. I retreat to the living room to discover the remote is missing. I looked everywhere, I even came across a rather decayed lizard in my adventure. I am yet to find the remote, knowing it was my little sister who last used it, therefore I have come to the conclusion that she has ate the remote. Yes, this is completely logical, I have done extensive research and all the evidence points to her bellaay. By Tuesday Night, I am staring at the blank TV, about to play some music on my phone. And out of no absolute where, my keypad just stops working completely. Come Pleat Ly. I went to hell and back. My BB Service is stuck in that godawful place and I can't get it out. I start to mourn. I begin speaking in tongues; Biblical tongues, human tongues, cow tongue, and so forth.

Wednesday, I am thoroughly enjoying my day without my phone and TV, it's only natural. I hop on Facebook Chat, seeing I'm obviously going to die soon anyway why not do something absolutely ridiculous. I spot the guy I have been crazy over and have the best sexual connection with, yay! Seeing that I have downgraded him to "Just Friends" level NB. Just-Friends, in otherwords, "self-denial but hey, it seems to be working" so I think we can have a friendly chat, instead we have an argument about something I tweeted about him two eons ago. Yay, another person scrutinizing my timeline, twice in one week Kareen. Kudos! What's worse, I cannot even retaliate because at that same time, one little breeze blow and messes up my Internet connection. At that particular time. So I am seething. With no phone and no internet to say a word leaving him with the final say, as a matter of fact, he had all the say filled with all the sarcasm he had to offer.

Anyway, the week's still young but I don't think it can get any better than this.
On that note, I will exchange my little sister for one FLOW remote and one Blackberry.


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Happy March - Time II

I know you guys don't like to hear from Kareen because she is the opposite of Reenz. But as luck would have it, it's the mark of a new month - March. It is mind-boggling to me because I know for a fact we were in July just last week. I don't get it.

On the first of February, I posted a blog about time and how we should manage it, needless to say, I didn't take my own advice but I took it eventually. And can I say,  I am STRESSED! I want to chuck off somewhere. I am work-laden to the point that the naughty sex messages I used to get from "Him" (with a capital H), the naughty sex messages I fully endorsed and loved with all my soul suddenly looked like more work. On Sunday, as I was in between doing laundry, thinking up new ideas for my TV class, mentally doing my Journalism essay and creating a script in my head for my upcoming musical production, I took a break to check my BBM. Lo & behold there was a message from him involving the words dick, friction, cream-up,  horny... but all I saw was chore, chore, chore, chore. My head honestly started hurting me as I imagined having sex. I almost couln't manage, I was near to tears. And it was all because of school. School should never get in the way of naughty sex thoughts but alas, they did. And this is what is driving me to be more organized because up to this point I still cant force my mind to think about anything sexual. I would love to kick back to some good old-fashioned porn and can't and it kills me inside.

On a brighter note, this makes the month of March so much easier for me as Gordon Swaby AKA @gordonswaby will have to give me my money. So back to the issue of time, something I no longer own. I am rushing to finish this blog post because I need to get to my script for my musical. I have learnt a valuable lesson of time management and how much time should mean to an individual. And this is where Kareen brings you a lovely thought relating to time management.

"If you want to know the value of a year, ask a POW who has lost his freedom.

If you want to know the value of a month, ask a mother that has given birth to a premature baby.

If you want to know the value of a day, ask a student on the last day before summer vacation.

If you want to know the value of a minute, ask a person who just missed their flight.

If you want to know the value of a second, ask a person that just avoided a car accident.

If you want to know the value of a second, ask an Olympic silver medalist."

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Am I the only one that gets frustrated when I can't find someone on BBM? Even the persons that fill their BBM names with symbols and all sorts of atrocious manner of evil  get tired of themselves. I almost sure. Naturally, I've taken the initiative to edit most persons names to the ones I'm assuming you were born with. Now what I can't edit are your facebook names such as "Melissa IAmFucking Atrocious BecauseIAmHaveANameLikeThis Johnson" I won't delete persons like this, I give them one of two options:

Option A
I gently place them in my No Wall Limited Profile
No Wall gives you access to all my profile pictures, selected photo albums & videoes and as the name suggests NO WALL


Option B
I fling you into my very exclusive No Profile Limited Profile.
Let me gladly explain what this is. You get the splendid opportunity of being my friend, however you see no wall, no photos (neither Profile or albums), zero - very little videoes. But hey, at least you are my friend, right?

I do this because if you have one of these names, it simply means you are underaged. I am not saying I am overaged. You are just underaged. It's basic algebra. I do not want to be your friend. In all seriousness, I realise this trend is rather popular with the young'ns. All my little sister's friends that have dared to request my friendship all have names similar to this. And if not, they are rampant with letters like Z's and Double-Quadruple I's (Reenziii). And they're rampantly updated statuses resemble this sentence-structure pattern. I am in my 20's and you apparently are not.

Now, 2 weeks aback, I am sitting down with my friend at school which coincidentally happens to be a university. A girl passes us and my friend goes "Do you know that girl's name is BENZ PUNANI" on Facebook?" I almost died of hallucination. Because this one was extensive. This girl looks about my age. Which I am not about to share via the World-Wide-Web. Who knows how long the Internet will be around? What if my kids stumble upon this blog after my death? "OMG, Mommy's been saying she was 21 since the day we were born! That lying cocksucking bitch!" Hey, I'm just saying, you never know.

So Benz Punani passes the seat several times so I tweet: "Every time this girl passes me I feel strange as fuck. Because I know her name is Benz Punani on FB. What is she doing in her 3rd year?" And you know this goes straight to my Facebook for my 1800+ friends to see.

Lo & behold, I sign unto FB that very afternoon just to see Benz Punany requesting my friendship. This is no coincidence. Someone updated Ms. Punany herself. I am yet to accept it, I've just left it there to frolick. Therefore I saw when she changed her name from "Benz Punany" to "LovingMe IzInevitable Duh" And yes, the word DUH is fully a part of this name. So she was Mrs. Punany-Duh... And I use "was" because she's back to being regular old Benz Punany. I don't know or care why she was divorced.

You can always say it's your Facebook. You want to be named whatever. Even if it does make you look brainwashed. All I am saying is No. Just No.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Happy February

Hey guys, I just want to wish everyone a Happy February. It's the mark of a new month and if you're still here you have a lot to give thankful for. If you didn't accomplish all you could last month, try it this month. Remember everyday is a new day.

I don't feel like being a wise-ass in this post. So I'll just be Kareen for today. Reenz will be back tomorrow.
A lot of people don't know Kareen. A lot of people know ReenzW. I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Anyway, February marks the end of one month in my task of not having sex for a year. I must say, in retrospect it wasn't that hard. I've made it seem that way just to be funny. It's not that hard because I am yet to see the person that makes me melt when I know we're in a 500 km radius of each other. And when I do see him - that is the true test. But I must commend myself never-the-less. So *pat, pat* Kareen & ReenzW (for she is the real serpent in this picture)

February also marks the end of one month I have completely wasted. I've started January on the wrong foot and ended it likewise. My procrastinating skills are sharper than a double edged sword. Everytime I get this way, I take myself back to a paragraph I always forget the words to but it works everytime. To my fellow procstinators, I will share it with you:

There is a bank that credits your account with $86,000. However it carries over no balance daily.
At 12AM it deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use during the day.
What would you do??? Draw out every cent, of course.

Each of us has this bank. It's name is TIME
Every morning, It credits us with 86,000 seconds.
Every night, it writes off whatever of this we have failed to invest.
It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft.

Each day it opens a bew account just for you.
Each night it burns the remains.
If you fail to use the day's deposit, the loss is yours.
There is no going back. There is no drawing against the "tomorrow".
You must live in the present of today's deposits.
Invest it si as to get from the utmost in health, happiness and success.
The clock is running. Make most of the day.

Time waits for no-one.

Sunday, January 30, 2011


So here I am. On my 25th day without sex *pause to takes a bow* Thank you, thank you  you're far too kind. And might I add I think I'm doing a mighty great job. Not to say I am a big whore and can't keep it in my pants but I am a big whore and can't keep it in my pants.

Now the above paragraph was written from the 25th of January. I wrote it. Saved it. Took a break with wishes of coming back to it. But I got so distracted masturbating for the past 5 days that not only did I forget about it but I am entirely out of cum. I could dedicate this blog to all the extreme bondage lesbian-rape porn I've been watching but instead, I am dedicating it to my future husband. A few nights ago as I sat aimlessly. because, yes, I have been doing this a lot as of late. I came across Protoje OnStage and might I say, I plan to breed him. I plan to somehow steal his sperm and plant it in my uterus. I care not. I watched him on OnStage and by his 3rd sentence I SPREAD MY LEGS! And by 10 o'clock I knew he was my soulmate. And by midnight I had planned the wedding to a "T" Too bad I woke up by 9AM the next morning. Best believe I listened to Rasta Love all day doing the laundry. And talked to myself using Arguments as the background music for the scenario in my head depicting how I was going to tell my father that I was in love with a rasta man. I somehow couldn't get around to my plate being sorted with ital food and "my hair stop comb & it start to pleat" part but hey A+ for effort, right? And I know Protoje will look on the inside instead of my outside. Isn't that what Rastafarianism is all about, though? Inside spirituality, swaying to music while doing the Rastafarian sign, putting lighters in the air and what-not.

If all else fails, I've said it before, my Mommy knows how to make a mean BBQ tofu, I will learn it, lace it with oil o love mi, invite him for dinner. By the time him finish dinner, the night will be young and it will take us... wherever. Preferably upstairs. Or on the kitchen table.

On a serious note, if I do see this man on the road in public, I care not. Being watched whilst having sex was one of my many fantasies anyway. OK, I'm joking (for those who tend to take me serious)! However, this man is destined for greatness. I was never a roots-reggae fan but he has converted me. I am a big believer in pirating music but his album deserves a million buys. Apart from this, his OnStage interview was classic intelligence as his points were rather intriguing. I am also a fan of how explicitly he explains himself and his sentence structure was on point. Protoje defines eloquence, intelligence, and talent; forget tall, dark and handsome; he is the total package. I'm not sure if I was the only one that recognized this or if it was my imagination but during the OnStage interview, he was making a point and Winford Williams was about to interrupt, but Protoje slightly held his hand up in the motion to say "Let me finish my point" yet his voice remained on the same level in terms of decibel and tone. My heart skipped a beat. I loved it. I love him.

And to my maties Shernette Antoinette & Jennice Boswell of Kingston addresses. I will find you!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

I'd like to dub this week The Instead-Of-Week, for example, yesterday instead of going to my 8AM class, I stayed in bed staring at the ceiling. In order to keep this up with this behaviour, I continued with it this morning. Therefore, instead of attending my 9:30AM class, I stared at the ceiling and bonus - rolled around in the bed. No. Really. I literally rolled around in it. And I am doing it once again, whereas instead of doing my "In 1500 words how has digital technology impacted the post-production process? Include references & examples from our local media and production houses (CVM, TVJ...)" assignment, I am blogging. Really? 1500 words? What ever happened to numbers under one hundred? What ever happened to fucking lecturers and getting an A before he reads the second sentence of your plagiarized work? I could give you a joke about this particular lecturer. Hypothetically speaking of course, he has absolutely nothing to do with this lecturer that gave the homework quoted above. Absolutely nothing at all.
Time: Last Semester
Place: Media Lab
So me, Jody & Tiffany are here with the lecturer. He's young-ish and Tiff's coworker so it's somewhat a casual setting.
Lecturer: Jody, have you done my course yet?
Jody: Did it already with Mr. Alert.
Me: Well I'm doing it next semester!
Lecturer: Ha! I wish you luck!
Me: So yes, do I sleep with you now or later?
Let's number sign this one GoodTimes. Unfortunately there was no sleeping with then. And most certainly wont be any sleeping with now. If you didn't get the memo, I Am Going 365 Days Without Sex! Hey, unless he wants to give me the A now and mi trus' him the sex and give it to him in 2012. Only problem he looks so meek & mild. And the type of good bloodclaat, blindfolded, hands rope-tied, choking, hair-pulling fuck I want when this dare is over, I am sorry but that lecturer can't give me. So I'll go back to my fool-proof plan of getting the A (or B+ to B-) the old fashioned way I've always been getting them.

Now, what we need to talk about today is the Dementors that have been frolicking in my room. On Tuesday night, I had my window open. All of a sudden a cold chill enters my room and last time I checked Jamaica's done with cold fronts and I knew right there and then they were Dementors! I'm not sure of their purpose because they haven't dragged me off to Azkaban or sucked out my soul. Nor have they raped me (Yes, I am complaining). Whilst I slept, that very night, I swear to God, one brushed its finger on my lower right back. Instead of jumping out my sleep, I struggled to get up. Struggled like someone was on top of me. So yes, I am quite convinced Dementors are cotching in my fucking room as we speak. I'd say love to say I saw them but really do you think I'm fucking stupid? Everyone knows you can't see Dementors if you're not a witch or wizard.

Moral of the Day: No, it's not "Lack of Sex makes you delusional", but it's "Close your windows before 1AM"

I love you all (Well not really)