"Seriously, Julie? SERIOUSLY?????"

Though I'm loathe to admit it, the above picture closely resembled my facial expression throughout most of today.

Just think...yesterday, I was waxin' all poetic about today being my late sister Julie's 60th birthday, and how much I missed her, while waiting to board a plane to Western Kenya. Well, I spent most of today bouncing across the rain-slicked rutted roads of Bungoma District in a wildly backfiring RAV 4, desperately praying I wouldn't be seeing Julie again before sunset.

The day had started off weirdly enough. Now, I am in no way, shape or form a morning person, so having spent another mostly sleepless night huddling under my thousandth dingy mosquito net that only served to provide a breezy canopy for the greedy little bastards while they feasted on my flesh, my phone rang at 6:45 AM. After my strangled "hello," a lilting Kenyan male voice wished me a "Good morning, Rachel." At first I thought it was someone in the group I'd checked into the hotel with, but this dude said his name was Michael, and he'd met me at some conference in Nairobi.

Maybe the line was bad, or my ears were clogged, but he said the name of said conference 3 times and I still didn't know WTF he was talking about!! He kept on being relentlessly cheery until it occurred to me that unless you are fine as HELL and lying right next to me, you ain't got no danged business playin' on my phone at 6:45 AM. And I told him as much. I was all, like, "Dude, unless you can provide a bit more info, I gotsta go." It suddenly dawned on him that his prospects for a dawn booty call were fading fast, and he muttered something about calling later. Although the way I'm sure my voice sounded, I'll never hear from Homey again.

In other words, I was channeling Miss Julie. That woman could take on the crispest, iciest, bluntest tone that would fall on your ears so hard, you'd wind up with a closed head injury! People have told me for years that I sound exactly like her, and I think it's most true when I'm tired or just seriously not amused.

Anyway, I spent most of the rest of the day wondering if I had just rebuffed my only chance of catching a case of Jungle Fever during my remaining time in Kenya. That is, when my brain wasn't being jarred from its moorings in the back of that RAV 4, while some chromosome-missing mofo gunned the sputtering motor on that god-forsaken hoopty. After stifling a few screams, I finally queried the dimwitted driver about the safety of speeding in driving rain in a vehicle that sounded like it was about to explode. As the only woman in the conveyance, my question was quickly dismissed with a side of laughter all around.

Enter Julie, Stage Left.... "Frankly, I don't see what the hell is so funny." Dead silence followed, as those men contemplated cutting my tongue out before or after pushing me out of the moving vehicle. Quite frequently, I suspect that even the most evolved Kenyan men are stunned when a woman speaks without permission, or expresses any kind of opinion. But the way I felt at that moment, for 10 cents I would have given everybody in that ride a DC style beatdown before they ever got ahold of me.

Anyway, I'm safely back in my hotel room, bracing myself for another night as a blood donor, and I can't deny that I'm considerably miffed. I mean, come ON, Winky!!! Where's my birthday sign from you that you're okay and I'm okay, and that things will only get better?? That love still swirls around me, and that the best of life is out there for the taking???

Oh, SNAP...maybe Mr. 6:45 AM was your sign!! Maybe you were serving me up a hot hunk o' Mandingo meat, and I basically pissed it away with my bitchy attitude!

"I mean, seriously, Julie? SERIOUSLY?? Did you run out of rainbows or something???"