How to be Single During the Holidays

by Kay Winders

The holidays are a great time to be with the people you love. For many people, this means spending time with their husband or wife and their children. For many, it means spending time with their extended family, including those near and far.

For singles, the holidays can be a bittersweet time. It can be both a joyous time and a lonely time. By seeing everyone else with their spouses and their children, you may start dwelling on the fact that you are not with anyone. Add to that the inevitable questions, comments, or outright pressure you may face from family and friends about why you’re still single or just when you’re going to get married or have kids.

It doesn’t have to be this way. There are a few ways that you can get through the holiday season and make it just as fun and joyous not just in spite of your single status, but because of it. Here’s how to be single (and fabulous) at the holidays:

Spend Time with Other Singles

When you spend all your time with families and married couples, you may end up comparing your situation to theirs and feeling worse about your situation than you need to feel. You also might face the inevitable barrage of questions about your single status, which can annoy you and make you feel worse.

Don’t subject yourself to that. Instead, choose to spend the majority of your time around other singles. These are people who can commiserate with you about being single — or celebrate how fabulous it is to be single.

Attend Lots of Parties

Parties aren’t just a great way to celebrate the holiday season — they are also a great way to meet new people and to take your mind off things (like how you’re going to deal with your mother asking you why you still haven’t had a baby). You never know: You also just might meet someone fabulous at one of the parties!

Of course, not all parties are going to lift your spirits. If the invite comes from a married couple with kids, chances are that the other guests will also be married or have kids. Being around a lot of couples may only remind you of your single status — or bring obnoxious questions. Better to stick to parties with other singles, young people, or co-workers.

Host Your Own Party

Don’t wait to be asked to the dance — host your own! Hosting your own party can make you feel fun, popular, and loved — all the things you might not be feeling without a mate at your side during the holidays. Throw your own party and invite all your friends and co-workers. You’ll be too busy kissing under the mistletoe and singing Christmas carols to worry about why you’re single (or if it matters).

Have a Sense of Humor

Instead of getting defensive or angry at the inevitable questions you will get about your single status — “Do you think you’ll ever get married?” “Aren’t you worried it will be too late to have kids?” — adopt a sense of humor about it. Don’t honor the questions with genuine answers. Say things like, “No, I’m too young to get married” (even if you’re 50) or “Oh, man, I forgot that I need to have kids! I better make an appointment to do that next week.”

Of course, you’ll have to temper your humor for your audience. While you do want to deflect questions and make light of the situation, you don’t want to create a holiday rumble at the dinner table.

Remember the Benefits

One of the best ways to get through the holidays when you’re single is to remember all the reasons it’s great to be single. Think about it: You don’t have to argue about whose family you will visit for Christmas dinner. You don’t have to suffer unbearable in-laws. You can sleep in any day you want. You don’t have to put up a Christmas tree or decorations if you don’t want to. You can eat pumpkin pie and eggnog every day for breakfast if you want.

Being single means doing what you want when you want. Remember that and do something fun!

The holidays don’t have to be a lonely time or a dreaded time in which you subject yourself to even more questions about why you’re still not married. Use these tips to get you through the holidays so that it’s a fun and festive time for you, too — single or not.

How do you get through the holidays when you’re single? Share your tips in the comments!

About the Author: Kay Winders is presently the resident writer for, where she researches the best way for people to pay off their debts without damaging their credit. In her spare time, she enjoys freelance writing, the beach and gardening.


I am Angry

by Fancy Face

I am angry. I have been angry almost all my life. This year I decided to deal with the real issues. Go back to where it all began; release. As part of letting go of my anger, I’ve decided to talk, and even though I remain anonymous, at least it’s a step… AND A BIG ONE for me.

You know what pisses me off?… Pedophiles, child rapists: Like how in the world with all the women running around loose, do you look at an 8 year old and get an arousal and even plan how you’re going to have your way with her. How in your twisted mind do you picture you inserting your full blown hard on in to her tiny Vagina…? What kind of sick person are you to get an arousal just by staring at her tiny tiny tits, things that do not even qualify to be called boobs because frankly they look like deflated pimples.

In what world do such people think it’s okay for you to take advantage of a child that loves you, with all the innocence that kids have, a child who cared deeply enough for you to call you UNCLE! Or is it because in all this innocence she decided to be coming to your house to help you do the dishes, because at even such a tender age of 8, she realized ‘unco’ is too busy to do dishes so she helped out. Did her undertaking these chores paint the evil image in your mind that she could be wife-able… such that you even imagine fucking the innocence out of her is a good idea?

I’m angry. I’m angry at horny dysfunctional house girls who think that they can get satisfaction by fucking the boss’ baby every day when she’s away at work. I’m angry that they get to get away with this because the nine year old child is too scared to speak – because you made her kneel down every day to ask God for forgiveness after fucking her to you fulfillment. Don’t watchmen love house helps? Or was that child the safer bet because she wouldn’t get her pregnant? And isn’t the joy of coitus the penetrations? How is humping a little girl’s pussy any satisfaction?

I’m angry… Angry at that teacher in Boarding School who thought it was appropriate to caress a student’s butt in the name of preparing it for caning … Feeling her tiny ass with your hands, are you looking for cancerous lumps or something? Doesn’t your wife at home sort out your needs? If not I’m sure there are many women out there wiling to sort you out? A student, surely what kinds of demons dwell within you!

I’m angry that this child did not have the courage to speak to anyone when all this happened because she was afraid; afraid of being judged, afraid of not being believed. Afraid because, as Africans we have not raised our children in this manner – to dialogue, about things that disturb them, things they go through every day.

I have forgiven, but not forgotten. And frankly I do not think such acts can be forgotten. You learn to live with them, to block it out each day and act like it never happened. But I got tired of pretending all is well with me; because on the outside I was this bubbly person, but on the inside I was broken, hurting, furious…. DAMAGED!

So I’m sorry if my anger bothers the world… But the world hasn’t exactly been kind to me either. My only regret is that it bothers such people, people I care about- for such people I chose to deal with this anger, asked God for help and let it go. Let it all go because walking around with such burdens took a toll on me. I want to be free. I want to believe that there’s a reason and a purpose this happened to me, and one day it will all make sense.

Someone told me that everyone has their own time of healing/ dealing. Some take a day others a lifetime. We are all different. But I know and believe that someday I’ll look back and not be angry; pain yes, but not anger. And that day is coming because I finally decided to accept what happened and move past it. All I need is TIME. As unknown wise man once said;

‘”You cannot put a Band-Aid on every boo-boo you’ve made, some just need time to heal ~ Unknown”

About the Author: Fancy Face is a very good friend of mine who wants to remain anonymous. If you think she should grace this space again with another post, let her know in the comments section.

Knee –jerks from a Burlesque Writer

By Akhatenje

  1. Read bad books.
  2. Read very bad books.
  3. Read good books.
  4. Read very good books.
  5. Do not kiss a published author’s ass, especially if you have not read his or her book.
  6. Prudishness is not your friend. Do not be a prude.

Prude: noun (disapproving) a person that you think is too easily shocked by things connected with sex.

Prudery: noun (formal, disapproving) the attitude or behaviour of people who seem very easily shocked by things connected with sex.

Prudish: adjective (disapproving) very easily shocked by things connected with sex.

-Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary-

  1. Do not embarrass yourself with bad grammar. Good grammar matters. Forget what the idiota who failed English tells you about language being a versatile slut that can be pimped with abandon.
  2. Edit your own work. Do not ask, “What is the work of an editor, then?” Editors will lick your boots if you submit clean copy.
  3. Take advice and criticism like a man. Do not scratch it with your nails like a woman.
  4. Buy an English dictionary at Bookpoint on Moi Avenue…or any other bookshop. But I highly recommend Bookpoint because it smells and looks as disorganised as a real bookshop should, ladders included. Dictionaries have words. A writer lives on words.
  5. Talk to your demons. They have good story ideas.

About the Author: Akhatenje is crazy (in a good way). There are bad bloggers, bloggers, good bloggers, poor writers, writers, great writers and akhatenje. I am not even worthy to pick the lid of her pen if it falls. Very few are in her league and if you doubt me, look at some of her work here. While you are at it, you may want to look at spikey 58 poetry contest here and here.

Spikey 58 Poetry Contest

Dear poets,

The first Bullet Pen poetry contest is here. This is in conjunction with and in pleasant memory of The Princess Project Kenya and in honour of the benefits of collaborative writing which include our good friend Stephen Derwent Partington who donated copies of his book to The Princess Project Kenya.




Three times peace!

Peace is the theme of this Spikey 58!

Submission Rules

  • Poems, only, should be submitted to this contest.
  • All poems should carry the theme, peace.
  • Each poet submits one poem.
  • Language: English. If a poem is written in another language, it should be accompanied with an English translation.
  • Font type: Book Antiqua
  • Font size: 12
  • Do not justify your poem.
  • Email your submission to as a Microsoft Word 97-2003 attachment.

Deadline for submissions is 23rd November 2012.

The judges of the contest are Stephen Derwent Partington, poet, poetry editor and author of How to Euthanise a Cactus, and Kevin Orato a poet who reads too much poetry for his own good and has developed a commendable aversion to performance poetry.


PRIZES: The best five poems by the best five poets will each win a copy of How to Euthanise a Cactus by Stephen Derwent Partington.


The shortlist will be published on this website on 30th November 2012 and the winners will be announced on 7th December 2012.

FIERY RED WARNING: Friends, nuclear family members, boyfriends and/or girlfriends, children, cats, dogs, fishes, cows and robots of Lesleigh Inc staff should not participate in the Spikey 58 contest.



(c) Lesleigh Inc

Underwear Talk

By beenduta

I am in a matatu, seated between two young girls, who are talking to each other. I might as well have been a chair or (personal favourite) a ball of air. I wondered why one of them couldn’t move so that they could say whatever they wanted to comfortably, instead of shifting words to and fro, right in front of my face. Their weaves had a shine, made worse by the neon lights in the jav. They had very tiny tops (barely covering their derrieres) and these sheer stockings that would tear at the slightest touch. How they pulled off keeping them intact was beyond me, considering the appearance of the matatu, but I digress…

After singing along to every riddim playing on the stereo, the conversation kicked in.

You know, I need new underwear,” One (let’s call her Joy- she laughed a lot) says.

Me too. I no longer have going-out underwear,” replies Mariah (Pronounced Mrs. Cannon’s way)

She had me at going-out underwear. The urge to interrupt was profound: What do you mean by going-out underwear? And who is your mother?

Before you judge me, my mother taught me to always have clean and presentable underwear every day- whether you are in the house, or you are going to the market, or worse, when you are going to the hospital for an injection. No one knows what will happen along the way. To use her words ‘you may fall down right in front of your future father-in-law, with the hem of your skirt over your head.

So here I am in a jav, listening to two youngins (they looked nothing above 22) talking –no, shouting over the music- of going-out underwear. In my mind, I am rummaging through my underwear drawer: check, check and definitely check! Then I am reminded of one Crazy Nairobian’s Types of Underwear and I understand the ‘going-out’ underwear.

When I am back to reality, Joy is saying something about buying a number of thongs and cotton boxers. Mariah is busy nodding her head, swishing her perfumed weave over her bare shoulders. At this juncture, I have just about had it. And as if the universe hears me, a passenger some seats in front alights- see what wearing good underwear does to you, girls (insert diva snap) – I run and ‘grab’ that seat before someone else does.

As the matatu moves, and an old guy gets in; I look at the girls, look at him and I feel a sense of profound pity.

About the Author: Beenduta is a writer and a poet. You can find some of her work at Bee Illustrated

Chasing Cars

By Wendy

You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it!” ~ The Joker

Greatrnk told me I could write about anything! I could rant about the MPs and their greed but who wants to talk about that? Unrequited love is a universal experience – let’s talk about that.

Did you ever hear about how David and Victoria Beckham first met? She was watching a football game at a pub and noticed him on the pitch. He was watching the Spice Girls perform and she caught his attention, and then a common friend introduced them. That was in 1996. Fast forward, 16 years, four children and life on two continents later. Sigh.

I met a man over the internet. He was giving a commencement speech to the 2012 graduating class of his alma mater. Soon after, I found out about the website and the short-film franchise that he and his friends co-founded and run. And then I met all his other friends, and learned a little bit more about the work that they do. And I felt like I was part of the circle – yes, the new girl, who’s still struggling to keep everyone’s names straight, but nonetheless included. You know, the usual dating sequence.

Then I learned something that should have been obvious from the get-go — I was not the only one going gaga over him. You don’t get to doing awesome things without creating a following – of several million! Somewhere someplace, there’s a 14 year-old girl, or twenty, with several posters of him on her wall. I can see the little pink hearts all over the damn thing. It makes me sick – in a way-to-mess-my-fantasy kind of way. Reality bites. I don’t like it.

In light of this realisation, I’ve started questioning myself and my achievements. He has been out of school for six years. Yes, he may be trying to figure out the future, but it’s a different kind of figuring out. He has six years of watching an experiment flourish. He’s very well-traveled. He’s smart. He’s cultured. Oh and he’s sorta kinda like a big deal (remember, a following of millions). I, on the other hand, just graduated. I’m working as an intern and not even in the industry I hope to be in! I get a modest survivable stipend, but definitely not that kind that allows for travel or cultural activities. I’m still trying to figure out the difference between a side hustle, a 9-5, a hobby and a career. Not to mention how indecisive I am about everything. Oh and I’m sorta kinda like a nobody.

In the beginning I’d used the Victoria/Beckham example to console myself. “You know, all I need is to put my work out there and he’ll find it, fall in love with me, and just like David and Victoria we’ll walk into the sunset. (Yes, if only life was that easily engineered.) And then, even if that happened, what would I do with him? Like I said, he’s brilliant; I’m still discovering my brilliance. He’s established; I’m as established as a dandelion that landed on a fast-flowing river. Really, what would I bring to this relationship?!

Now I have to break up with someone who doesn’t even know I exist because he’s just too good for me. Maybe in some 6 years, I’ll have a better grasp of my life. Maybe then we’ll be perfect together. Right? Argh, bad-fudging-timing!

About the Author: Wendy aka Karendi_ is an otherwise focused young person, she promises. But her mother warned her about the one man who’d cause her to do things that she’d be ashamed of. Maybe this is the one.


By ascofu

Okay? I am attempting to write another word, there! I have just done it. So, I was busy asking God why my DM (inbox on Twitter, FYI) was not functioning anymore. There used to be times when I would have conversations on end with many a tweep on many things, useless and useful (yes I also talk about useless stuff, don’t let the specks fool you), but of late there was a drought of sorts on the DM front. So, as I was saying, I was ranting about it, then I get a DM from the one and only Greatrnk, who, I guess everyone needs to know, I first thought he was a snob in 2007 ( but I guess that’s just first impressions, he is lucky it did not last, LQTM). He asked me, like the great bloggers before me to write about anything. I tell you that has got to be the hardest thing you can ever tell someone. In your mind you debate whether to write about relationships (which I can comfortably say, I can be a marriage therapist) or about politics in Kenya (where I am so pissed at characters such as the Minister for Medical Services, and his pathetic responses to the plight of the average Joe) or even US politics (not that I am an expert, but me thinks that Donald Trump with his daily tweets about how bad Obama is should have been the GOP candidate).

Well, I guess here goes nothing, right?

2005 is the year in question. I was in Form 4 (please stop calculating my age). Form 4 West is the class I was in. Our class was considered the waste of the school and being a provincial school in Rift Valley Province meant a lot was at a stake. 4pm, February 16th was a Wednesday. Wednesday was our day for letters to be read at the assembly ground. We would all gather, just before being dismissed to go to our different clubs to have letters read out.

I just heard my name being read out, and I see a few eyes look my way as I go to pick the letter from the Entertainment Prefect. I looked at the stamp, it had been stamped Eldoret. “Eldy, sasa nani ni wa Eldy?” I thought. Then as I am walking back to the end of the line, where the rest of my classmates are, I hear my name being called out again. I hear a few whistles, and I am now getting stares from a few guys, I am not exactly sure whether they are jealous or if it’s just something else. This one has a familiar handwriting; it’s the girl from across. I am smiling on my way back to my friends.

The letter from Eldy gets opened first. Its Ruth. She is the Organizing secretary of YCS in Hill School Eldoret. I met her when we were at the YCS rally (of course I am the CU Organizing Secretary, but Gilbert, the YCS Chairman and my close friend, and I are always in the same events). Ruth is tall, lissome is the word I know better describes her look. She wears specks like me (at first I thought that it was a coincidence, but I think chicks who wear classy specks look hot) and then we are so alike, she is very outspoken (not talkative, there is a big difference, Okay, my OCD is showing) and of course, which boy does not want the girl from Hill School who has the best English accent.

At the rally, we are “put” in the same group (of course because Gilbert and I are organizing guys into groups). Okinyo, Miss Okinyo (as she preferred to be called), the YCS patron comes up to me and says in her high pitched voice, “Wambua, I am glad you came for our rally. I am so lucky to have you around here. Come closer so that I can give you a kiss.” She probably did not exactly say that, but who cares, she is quite a catch, I do not care what guys say about her being the Deputy Principal’s side dish. I digress, so me and Ruth. We presented on behalf of our group of why prostitution is justified in our society. We looked like we were finishing each other’s sentences. We get to Q and A time and we get a boy from our rival school ask, a very stupid question and we (Ruth and I) zima him like the presidential ambitions of Pastor Pius Muiru.

As she leaves, I give her our P. O. Box hoping that she writes back, and well, I am holding the letter in my hands. I am feeling so extremely confident that she even calligraphed hapo juu ya envelope. It’s like me name, only its Chinese. My girl from across is probably delivering the missives from across. Sijui who says what to who in my class, kwanza the dedix to Form Threes won’t even fikia them. Why would we encourage those kids in Form 3 to start hitting on our women? I hope she has written a long letter like Ruth. Its not that I am comparing the two chicks, why would I even do that?. I just want to see if she still scented the letter like she used to when we first met (btw Ruth has scented hers). I scroll quickly down to the end of the letter to see the dedix to me, she put Mariah Carey- We belong Together, Aaliyah- I Miss You and Soledad- Westlife. Si she knows me in and out!

Okay, now which letter should I read first? It matter, you know.

About the Author:Ascofu is in the process of writing a novel and a motivational book to be launched soon. He is a photographer at Higher Heights Pictures, an artist and a businessman all rolled into one. Do read his awesome blog at Ascofu At Work