…And the Drum Beat Plays

She dip so, she rock so, She moves her hips in slow mo.

And the drum beats play, She bend so, she sway so,

To a rhythm that all nature know so,

She moves her hips in time

To the banging bass line,

The band begins to play

Her hips begin a new sway

He sits, he watches

Her skirt rotates, a mix of technicolor swatches

The music in his ears fades into thin air

His saliva dries as he stares

Her hips rotate and undulate

The beating drum pulsates, and her hips gryrate

She dip so, she rock so, the dance floor steady pulsate

Entranced by her dance he moves to meet her

Drawn like moth to flame

Scarcely hears as she gives him her name

Fire in her eyes

Fire in his thighs

His steps fall in sync with hers

From their eyes a silent message transfers

The smell of sweat mingles with her heady perfume,

Their bodies mentally transfer to a different room.

Legs entwine, hips do grind, chest to chest

Breast to breast.

And the drum beat plays.

The scent of sex is in the air,

Fully clothed but they might as well be bare

Hungry hands explore,

Getting freaky 'pon the dance floor.

She wind so, she dip so,

She moves her hips in slow mo,

Lips lock, hands explore under cloth,

The beat, the heat as heady broth

The aroma of sex... the new perfume

Their bodies now move to a different room.

Wet, moist, fire, steam and heat,

The drum now plays a brand new beat.

They bend so, they sway so,

Dancing to a rhythm that all nature know so.

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Afternoon Delight

Oh that I might touch your lips once more,

And touch your lips with mine.
That I may feel the hardness of your kiss, the velvet moistness of your mouth as my tongue explores,
The heat of your breath mingled with mine, the tip of your tongue on my lips,
The feel of your hand sliding down my hip, your lips and your breath hot against my neck.

Oh that I might feel once more,

Your hands damp as they caress my low back, sliding over my fabric encased buttocks,
Your hands inching up my skirt, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. Your hands lifting me, my legs straddling your waist.
The moisture of your lips trailing down my neck to linger on my exposed breasts, Your hardness against my softness,
The mingling of our breaths as your lips capture mine.
The mumbled sounds of mutual passion trapped between our entwined lips.

Oh that I might feel again,

Your arms pressing against my rib cage,
My arms wrapped around your neck, as we move up and down in sync.
Your hands sliding to my hips, holding my thrashing waist in place trying pointlessly to stem the ebbing waves,
Waves that wash me, flow over me, seize me, control me, raging tropical storm, cyclone, bright light, heightened senses
The feel of your tense muscles as my finger nails bite into your skin
your mouth never leaving mine, not even to come up for air.

Oh that I might feel once more,

The fire that burns me up within, and hear the merged sounds of our cries as we reach the point of no return.
The feeling of falling through the sky, and raising to touch the stars at the same exact time.
The feel of your sweaty chest pressed against my breasts,
The echoes of our ragged breath, the weakness in my legs, the tightness in my belly.
The giddy laughter that escapes my lips between my gasps for air
The dizziness I experience from the rush of blood to the head,
The sweet content smile that plays on my lips.

Of that I might feel

The weight of your arms as we remain for a time entangled resting against the table's edge, disheveled and unashamed.
Order restored, clothes rearranged, knowing glances exchanged as we walk to the office door,
Hasty kisses and whispered promises to reconvene at work's end.
Playful smiles to end the stolen minutes.

Alas all there is, is faded imagery,
No more us, no more we, now you and she
And for me only memory of Afternoon Delight

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Of Tall Buildings and Aeroplanes

Long time no write...well not quite a true statement! I've been writing but everything is pretty much in draft form at the moment, my thought stream is like watching a video stream via YouTube with a GPRS handset on an MTN line at the moment, or sex without climax...hiatus (or coitus) interruptus. Luckily today my brain to blog download was not a victim of network errors (i.e psychosis) and system upgrades (i.e therapy and lil purple pills) we have the new P IX processor running on the motherboard a la Mode9 so we should be good for the rest of the day.

Anyways that aside, here's a piece of trivia about me totally unknown to most mere mortals, I have an acute fear of heights aka ACROPHOBIA ([ak-ruh-foh-bee-uh] noun a pathological fear of heights (alright so I'm showing off...big deal...it's my condition so I can show off it I wanna :P)). And this I tell you either cos we're all friends here or you're a stalker trailing me through my blog (whichever it is you actually take time the to encourage my psychosis by reading my demented musings aka my blog...so I guess we're cool). Yes...I can hear your expressions of shock and disbelief (:-o)(although some people are engaging in a bout of demonic and highly sarcastic laughter, right about now...yes this I also know because...I'm psychic (and I'd be doing the same too) :-))...Ms. "Leap tall buildings in a single bound" Dang is afraid of something.

As a child I learned the wisdom of confronting your fears and tried to confront my fear of heights with mixed results. My fear doesn't impact on my day-to-day life simply because I have no business in tall buildings. However on the few occasions I've had to encounter my phobia I stay well away from windows. I am most definitely not gonna be one of those millionaires (in $, Pounds (sterling) and Deutschemark) that'll be living in a penthouse suite I can assure you of that. Last time I found myself in a hotel room with a view (6th floor no less) I spent most of my time in bed (and no it isn't what you're thinking), any time I stood up I had a case of vertigo. Glass elevators on the side of shopping malls are defo out! Me? Tiny box? Up in the air? LOL...yeah right *sniggering sarcastically*...that is so gonna happen!

Here I share my first attempt to conquer my acrophobia.

• The location: the Giant Slide at the amusement park (can't remember where, but I know it wasn't too far from Manchester).
• Mission: to jump and feel no far.
• Status: Mission accomplished NOT.

Sure I climbed up the stairs to the top of this 20 + metre wonder monstrosity totally (depends on your personal point of view to suicide attempts) on reaching the zenith I would've climbed back down the stairs too if i could but alas they were designed for upward traffic only (sneaky bastards) reminding me of that song by Yazz..."The Only Way is UP!" (by the way does anyone know whatever happened to her?).
OK where was I before Yazz...I remember...I'm at the top (having made the fatal error of looking over the edge and pausing to ponder the zen wisdom of my actions) and I'm thinking to myself as I start to hyperventilate, dizziness taking over and total organ failure eminent..."this is SO...OOOO not gonna happen!" So there I am...stuck, literally rooted to the spot and saying the prayers my Sunday school teacher taught me the prior week and seeing no salvation in sight. Tears stream down silently down my cute (and if I say so myself...heroic) lil' face (Yes I was a cute little girl before I acquired all this hawtness...Thank you very much) and I'm thisclose to wetting myself (before you start the hmmm-ing and ha-ing remember I was about seven or eight years old then so I had the right to poor bladder function...cos I know some of y'all still bed-wet till now *KMT*) I've been up here for close to an hour and hunger is setting in.

What to do? Yes that is the question! So Shakespearean at such a young age...I was a baby Keats so it ain't my fault ;-). Anyway...there I am in a quandary of mammoth proportions, there is only one way out and I'd rather face the bullies at school 24/7 than jump. To the rescue...a bloody sadist!

Yes...I am saved by a wicked yobbo who just pushes me off the damn thing in their mad hurry to commit suicide. My throat tightens, my heart nearly jumps outta my mouth, I taste metal in my mouth care acid reflux, and I scream for dear life for all of the 10 seconds it takes for me to touch terra firma. Then as i stand on solid ground I have a shocking revelation...It was FUN!!! I run back up as fast as my little legs can carry me (which was remarkable fast thanks to all the years of running from bullies during break-time) and repeat the fear cycle again. This I did five more times. From thereon in it became a part of me to always try what scares me...from roller coasters, Log rides to Pirate ships (Alton Towers had my heart), I never lost my fear, but discovered that I kinda like to torture myself! That's the kicker with me and fear...I fear it but I relish the rush that comes from confronting it and dominating it...till the next time around. Masochism at its height! (pun intended)

Now the oddity about this thing with me and my fear of heights is that I...like totally...LOVVVVVVVVVVVEEE to fly! Boeings are nice and all, but I'm talking choppers and propeller planes. I like the feeling of being so high up and seeing the human ants and tonka trucks and cars below. I like seeing  (and reaching out to touch, and for this reason alone choppers are cool) not just the clouds but the infinite wonder of God's creation in a similar way to how I believe He views it from the heavens.

There is a cleansing I feel that I can't put into words that the view from above gives. I even like the turbulence. Smaller crafts (boats too) remind you of the nothingness that is Man. Any second the elements could get the best of you and you have but a few seconds to make peace with God and hope you repented quickly enough before you die a highly elitist death and discover if there truly is a life after death. Macabre I know, but if you didn't know by now that I'm scary, twisted and damaged here's some advice...gratis...STOP READING MY BLOG!!

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Me? Getting Married?...Hell No!

I've noticed that more and more young women seems to be ruling out marriage as an option. I mean totally. Not "I might not" but complete and utter, unequivocably 'never in a month of Sundays' "I will not!"...and the kicker? They're all straight (well almost). I start to ask myself what's gone wrong. Who or what is to blame for the prevailing reluctance to ride all the way to the last bus stop of relationships? Could it simply be a matter of age? There is something known as the audacity of youth, the prevalent belief of the young of age in their invincibility and seemingly demi god-like infallibility, their total faith in no-one else but self. Age and time usually cures one of that folly and when the biological clock and pressure from friends, family and society in general a mad dash ensues to find the ideal (and not so ideal) husband before the last viable egg shrivels up and the words Hot flash, night sweats, oesteoporosis, HRT and vaginal atrophy form the mainstay of your lexicon.
Is it the dearth of suitable companions? Or is it the sour taste of bitter pills swallowed that still linger? Is it the placing the weight of lofty and insurmountable expections on the shoulders of mortal men (expectations of such proportions as to render even Atlas and Hercules combined powerless and doomed to failure) the cause? Do these young women have not so SMART projections and expectations of their imagined spouse. Do they seek fantasy where commonsense should prevail?
Perhaps it is simply lack of faith in the institution of marriage! This seems like a possible answer. Considering that global statistics show that you have more odds of being a divorcee than remaining married, if you don't have the nerves of steel that favor a game of craps or roulette to which skill is not a major consideration but pure sheer dumb luck (or plain old loaded dice), you might be inclined to avoid a foray into the blood drenched battlefield called marriage a.k.a community property. Again it might not be the fear of divorce or failure but the fear of marriage itself. Our parents are to blame in part here. Our parents' or guardians' marriage is the only one we have front row seats for (asides our own...if ever) and more or less makes or breaks our conceptualization of the word marriage. We are our parents' children and they our primary handbook and road map on matters of the ways of the world. Even as we age and mature and break the bounds of parental influence, our actions and decisions are based consciously and unconsciously, directly and indirectly on our level of disdain for our parentage. We either act to be...or be nothing like our parents. That said the quality of the marriages you are privy to information about taint or color your notions on the prospect. Again our culture and its unspoken endorsement of male infidelity does not prevail upon women to be bound so tightly to men, seeing as he has a virtual carte blanche to be of mischievous intent.
But again really what is the need for marriage? Isn't marriage really the deciding of two people to be emotionally connected and showin the world the strength of their conviction in each other? So why the ceremony? Isn't cohabiting much the same thing? Two people deciding to couple their lives and their assets without fanfare? At least abroad I know that cohabiting partners have certain legal protections similar to those enjoyed by legally married partners, and common law espousal is recognized. Is it wrong to seek commitment but not the attendent jewelry? Or is it a case of eating one's cake and still trying to have it?
Or are the only cards in the deck really just marriage or eternal bachelor(ette)?
Please take note that these are mere musings on my part, the musings of a much demented and jaded mind no doubt, that still hasn't made up it's mind on acquiring a Mrs. status, but I'd like to know your take on this muse.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Sex, Lies and Vodka Pt. 1

(Excerpt from a story)
10.30pm and I'm stuck in traffic! I shouldn't be where I am! I should be rounding up my 8pm date with my boyfriend and maybe getting a little brown sugar for dessert. But no...I'm stuck behind a belching cancer box that V. O. I hasn't seen and worse of all my cellphone's died on me, so I'm unable to call to cancel our date. My boss decides, at the last minute...as usual...on a friday (lousy day for traffic) to send me off to see a client in Eleme of all places. I estimate another 2 hours of limited movement and turn off the radio and select 'The Man That Can't Be Moved' by The Script to listen to, and cue 'Dark Horse' by Nickelback to follow, the beats keep me company and match my mood.
Fast forward 3hrs, I finally drive into my compound, the yard appears empty...seems my neighbors took advantage of the weekend and went to the club. Musa, the security guard, gives me a note. Michael, my very ticked off boyfriend of 5 years, apparantly spent an hour waiting for me at home after an hour long wait for me when I didn't show at the restaurant. It's seems my cell packin up was a mixed blessing. At least that way I didn't have to hear him bitch about me being late for the duration of the date. Well thank God for small mercies.
The whole relationship was starting to get a little bit stifling...what with his everyday complaints about my job, my career drive, my time and my friends. I don't know what he wants really, if I were a woman who sat on my bootylicious booty all day and waited for him to come buy me sanitary pads he'd be on my case 24/7 that is if he hadn't left me already. Unfortunately or fortunately i ain't that kinda chick. I like my great job, great car, apartment, wardrobe and generally my great life.
Anyway I open the door, kick off my shoes and head for the kitchen. A half bottle of chilled red wine beckons me. Glass filled and bottle in hand I head to the bedroom sipping as I go. The lights are dimmed and Freddy Jackson serenading me in the background, i slowly start undressing, divesting myself of my suit jacket, rumpled white shirt and kicking off my short skirt. Sitting on the bed I slide off my sheer stockings one leg at a time. I head to the bathroom and start the process of filling the tub as I seriously need the soothing heat of a bubble bath. As the tub fills at an agonizingly slow rate I head back to the room dancing to the slow beats. I've just taken off my barely there silk and lace contraption that Victoria's Secrets called a bra when the doorbell buzzes. I pray wistfully that whoever it is will just go away, but the buzzing continues. Grabbing a robe off the hanger on the back of the door I head for the front door angrily...ready to rip the person a new one...! I mean who the HELL is that at 2AM? Through the peep hole I see Jamie my friend suitcase in hand.
"J! What the hell are you doing here at this time...with a suitcase no less". She looks at me and starts sobbing. "Mel...Justin hit me again," eyes bloodshot and swollen "he accused me of flirting with a guy at the club and when we got home he hit me! I left...I can't take his insecurity and jealousy anymore!" By now we'd gotten to the parlour and she collapses on the sofa weeping uncontrollably. Now although I make all the right noises and say all the right things I have no sympathy for Jamie whatsoever. Justin and I are like 1 and 10 or better yet parallel lines. He's an ass! This wouldn't be the first and not likely be the last time he'd hit her and she left. At least once in three months my pad becomes a shelter for battered women thanks to the two Js. I've told her to leave him for good but she always goes back. Always justifying his action and layin the blame for his latest beating on his job, his mother, her...anything but him! According to her 'he loves me, he really does...it's just that he's stressed'. Huh! Some kinda loving! The last time she lost a 4 month pregnancy, the next time the bastard might kill her! The irony of it is they're not even married yet, 7 years of togetherness and she's been his punching bag for 3 of these 'blissful' years. Well bye bye bubble bath! Sayonara blissful sleep!
Inwardly pissed I lug her case into the bedroom and usher her towards the bathroom to clean up and hand her one of my nightgowns. Now Jazz is a beautiful girl with a great body and even greater job but Justin has made her a shadow of the bubbly and vivacious imp I met in college. Jazz was once the heart and soul of every party, the IT girl that everybody wanted to be friends with. People would go out of their way just to see her smile, and do anything to hear her laugh. Jazz and I had also for a brief while been lovers! It wasn't anything serious...more curiosity than lifestyle. We were younger then and wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a woman, we loved each other as friends and were close enough not to worry about exposure. So I had vested interests in my former lover's happiness. Watching Jazz soaking in the tub brought back forbidden memories of long repressed embraces. Helping her scrub her back my hand lingered ever so briefly on the base of her neck...her sensitive spot and I feel her shudder...it seems she remembers too. She turns her head to look at me...like a puppy left out in the cold and I bend my head and kiss her. Not a deep or passionate kiss...just a light friendly reassuring touch on the lips with mine. Her mouth opens, inviting my tongue in. Instead I nibble on her bottom lip. She moans softly and shivers. My hand moves to her right breast, as I get down on my knees, gently tweaking on her nipple. She opens her legs and guides my hand to her parted legs...
(T. B. C)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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TMI

We currently live in what is commonly referred to as the Information Age. Constantly we're bombarded by information...from radio, print media, tv, the internet...you name it. We've got information up to our ears.
Daily we're asked information about ourselves and disclose intimate details on questionnaires and such. However my current question is...is there such as thing as Too Much Information (aka TMI)? Is there a line between just the right amount and too much?
I went to the bank last month to open an account and was asked to fill a form. Some of the information was routine, where do you live, where do you work etc, but some of the questions were to put it mildly bloody invasive. How does my martial status (or lack thereof) or religious affiliation determine my ability to run a savings account? Savings! Not even a current account which has a facility for overdraft. Even for a current account, legally, my (imaginary) spouse isn't liable for any debts I as wifey incur (sadly if he runs up a big old debt and skips town I get stuck with all the responsibility). Enough of me and my banking wahala, but seriously when do requests for information become invasion of privacy?
In relationships the oft stated mantra is full disclosure, but when is full disclosure too much? Is it proper to list off the number of men you've slept with since you lost your virginity? How many is too many? 5? 10? 30? Do you need to mention booty calls and one nighters in the list? Should you give him clues to the real number of abortions you've done if the need for that discussion arises? If you run across an old fling and find out he knows your significant other, should you spill the beans or shut the hell up and hope they're not too close?
Is telling him you once dated his Dad (before you all got serious) a good idea? Especially when Daddy's not spilling. Or how about telling him you had sex with his best friend? To do or not to do?
I know honesty is essential to any relationship and I also know the Good Book says "the truth shall set you free"; "My people perish for lack of knowledge" "nothing is hidden under the sun" and all other such goodness, but shouldn't some things stay buried, and isn't ignorance supposed to be bliss? Are there things best left unsaid?
Please feel free to contradict me or add your two cents.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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The One That Got Away!

I believe everyone has that one person in their life who they think of with longing and regret. Regret over wasted time, things left unsaid, things better left unsaid. The one person who got away. The one person who has you saying "coulda, shoulda, woulda" and asking that eternal question "what if?" I have (or should I say had) one person like that in my life. The love of my life. My best friend, the one who got away.
I got a call today, a call I wish had never come, but it did. I was informed that my best friend died two days ago. I'm in a state of limbo and still hoping someone will call and say it was just a mistake. But I know that won't happen, his sister's tears made that clear. I'm writing now because I'd rather write than cry. If I don't do something I'll only weep, and I'm not ready to cry yet. The irony of the whole thing is I'd been ill too and never knew he was ill. My illness started the day his did, same thing sef. Malaria and typhoid. I got better, he didn't. What's even funnier is two days ago I woke up feeling unlike my usual self. I was lethargic and really had no zeal to do anything. I remember telling a friend that I was just feeling generally tired of life and fed up. As it was, that was the day he died, and now I wonder if that was the reason (even though I'm not one to romantize such things).
We had a very strange relationship. Very, very strange. We were friends for nearly 8 years, for 5 of those years we were more than friends. Most people (self included) actually thought we'd get married (his kid sisters still daydream). Things happened, that now when I think about it really made no sense, and even after he married someone else we still kept in touch. Even though he hurt me greatly he was still my best friend, and we could never really leave each other. Don't get me wrong. He was married, thus out of bounds, but on an emotional level we were always joined. We could have an entire conversation without saying a word. He always got me, even when I didn't get me. He was the one I could always count on, as strange as that sounds.
He was that one! Maybe the One. He was the one who'd hold my hair while I'd be puking in the bathroom. He was the one who slept by my hospital bed. He was the one I'd stay awake with all night just talking, and the one who I could just sit with for hours and not feel like I had to say a word.
He was the one I always loved, and he loved me too. I'm not talking about the "tear off your clothes" mad passionate kinda love (though there was a time we had that too), I'm talking of the "I love you as you are" kind. He had issues, I had issues, WE had issues and maybe we'd never have made a marriage between us work, but that aside if I killed someone he'd be the one I'd call and he'd help me bury the body, no questions asked and vice versa. He was my person!
Now he's gone for good. So adieu to the one that got away! Adieu to my best friend.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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From Girl friend to Girlfriend

I'm the perfect girl friend! Seriously, I am! Guys just LOVE me. I'm funny, I'm fun, I'm kinda geeky, I talk football, know what a 4-4-3 formation is and am totally fanatical about my team (for them as don't know...Manchester United is the best team ever to grace the planet), I can drink with the best of 'em (and have put many a man under the table), I'm not prone to girly girl antics (i.e I don't flicker my eyelashes and act dumb or burst into tears when I don't get my way (I have a mean left hook for that :-))). I know the difference between SOAP and soap, and also get that Ruby on Rails isn't the name of a movie, and I keep it light. All my male friends come to seek wisdom from my oracle on dating and female issues (Delphi has nought on me) and I'm more or less one of the boys. Really cool and as an added bonus I can cook (all my male friends are in love with me).
So I should have no problem when it comes to my boyfriends (as in unpaid sex workers not as in guys who are my friends). I wish! It appears I become totally clueless when I'm in relations (or is that relationships...I tend to get confused which is which). All my super cool girl-pal powers evaporate when I become "The" Girlfriend. I'm starting to believe that it is a terrible idea move from friends to "friends". You can be really down to earth with your friends, you can talk shit and not feel self conscious or bad. You can be real and not fear judgement or reproach because your friend gets you, and has no preconceived notions or expectations about you. You can enjoy sitting down at a joint and jointly scope the field, offering friendly suggestions about the correlation between gravity and butt\boob sag (depending on the particular asset of preference of the scoper), and the link between shoes and penis size.
However, the minute the line is crossed, the rules change. Jokes that used to make both of you roll hysterically on the floor with laughter now bring about what I'd like to call the "Boys are not smiling" look. The once easy comradeship that was as natural as the hair on your head (the hair you were born with, not that raggedy ass made in Taiwan weave) disappears once you've seen each other naked a few times. The evenings spent chilling with the boys knocking back the double doubles are now taboo. Your one time best source of relationship info no longer exists, let's face it you can't really ask your bf to give you advice on how to get a guy to give you a lil down town action when he's the man in question. Sure you can ask your girls but again lets face it, guys know guys better!
Many conversational topics vanish from your gist repetoire, no more talk about the fly honey you saw at the club. Or how cute that hunk's tush's looking in those (oh those) jeans. Total no-no!
Another disadvantage is that boyfriend knows you. How's that a problem? Well let's look closely. This is the guy you spent nights with giving the down low on all your underground pimpette player moves. This is the guy that was in the know that time you had a holiday fling...when you had a boyfriend no less! He knows you! Bad, bad, bad...Michael Jackson bad! Seperating your pre-dating persona from your current dating persona is at times a task. And let's face it...you know him too (dawg that he is or is that was? :-D)!
Dating is hard enough with someone you don't know, but it's like paddling a canoe upstream without a paddle when you have history. That said I still think I'd prefer dating the guy who knows I like rice and okro, that I think Danger Mouse is way cooler than Mighty Mouse, that knows I'm a mean bitch till I do my first cup of java and slept by my hospital bed when I went in for surgery just so I wouldn't wake up alone.

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Gossip Girl

Ok…first and foremost apologies for the title! This is in no way a critique, review or analysis of the series equally titled "Gossip Girl". Truth be told I've never watched an episode so not in a position of authority to do that and thus don't understand what the fuss is about, and quite frankly I prefer series that actually stimulate the brain marginally, not all the teeny-bopper Melrose Park and Beverly Hills 90102 remakes. (The originals were forgettable so why should the new ones be any more memorable?) Alrighty, I'm digressing majorly! Off the 'soap' train and into a brief explanation (oh alright my notes are rarely brief …so long ass explanation definitely makes more sense)

Many a budding (and even long term) relationships, reputations and lives have been crushed, vaporized, annihilated, obliterated even (I'm just trying to help you effectively visualize) by Gossip Girls (and Boys…the lads are no saints even with that line about discussing and not gossiping). Devilish folks garbed as angels bearing the sweetest of gifts…tatafo! Yes we all love gossip, oui even même se! I absolutely love being in the mix, being queen of the 411, having all the amebo, the 'ish' dish, the entire juicy scandalous, blush inducing details, so that I can smile snugly about what I know. However, even with my inherent love for gist I draw the line with confiding my knowledge. As I told someone once, I'm kinda like Central Bank and a broke guy; no matter how the broke ass nigga begs the bank ain't giving him sod all! So it is with my mouth and secrets. I think only once to my recall have I ever broken a confidence, and if I look at it critically I didn't really break it, as I wasn't told that I couldn't say anything about it, and it was kinda libelous so I had to ask the other person in question. Nevertheless, one-on-one, promise to carry to my grave amebo, I don't spill. If any of my friends ever run for elected position, I am skipping town, changing my name (and if I wasn't so vain…invest in cosmetic surgery and touch ze beautiful face). Sure…they're just joking about assassinating me because I know where the bodies are buried, but when push comes to shove, I…ja ein…I won't stick around long enough to find out whether that was a smile 'smile' or a big bad wolf smile (you know the one he gave granny before making her brunch)!

Once more, I digress; I tend to ramble even in my thoughts! Anyway back to the topic at hand, gossip and its impact on the lives of its targets. I'm no celebrity, not won any Oscars and generally mind my own B. I., but people tend to have more interest in my life than I do. Maybe minding one's own business is a bad thing. When you reveal nothing of consequence, people invariably start formulating and postulating theories regarding your existence and being. Everything becomes gist worthy. I don't really mind so much although it ticks me off no end when they preach their beliefs as the gospel truth, and poor suckers fall for it hook, line and sinker. Now if I a mere mortal fall victim to scandal, how much more those who actually live in the public eye and like rabbits in the headlights are blinded by media flashbulbs and live the Superstar life. The life we all secretly long for, but still derive great pleasure from watching them fall flat on their faces and having them dissected and put through thorough analysis under a high powered microscope.

Gossip is a sin, plain and simple! No blurred lines, no shades of grey. Gossip is a form of sanctimony, where we sit in judgment of others. When really have you ever gossiped without having a little prick of self-righteousness, a small feeling of "I'm better than them" as you share your fresh off the presses red-hot news? Midnight Star sang a song back in the day all about the gist factory called Headlines if memory serves me right. Now you might say it's pretty harmless, that no malice exists in your transmission of gist, or that the facts that you are sharing are accurate so in no ways libelous nor slanderous! Granted, but how many times have you heard a story you saw the genesis of, and wondered whether the gist is really about what you know? Doesn't the story always seem to get garbled, embellished and revised in its telling? It never comes back the way it went out.

An Example: Kate went to a party (sans beau) with her girlfriends on the typical ladies' night soiree, and was dancing with a guy (Peter) she'd known for practically her whole life. Now as we know dancing nowadays tends to be akin to sex on the dance floor, so lots of body thrusting, invasion of personal space and legs around hips. One of her boyfriend's friends (let's call him Jeff) happened to be present at the party and saw Kate getting her 'groove on' on the floor totally unaware of baby girl's relationship with her dance partner. Jeff kept out of Kate's way and monitored her activities at the party. The party draws to an end and peter seeing as he lives 15mins away from Kate volunteers to drop her at home. Jeff sees Kate get into Peter's car and watches them drive off. The next day Jeff gets to Sam's house (also a friend of Kate's boyfriend, Phillip) and tell him of his encounter with Kate and how she was half naked, lip locking some dude on the dance floor, and how they got so carried away they couldn't wait for the party to end before jetting off in the guy's car surely to have sex. Sam filled with righteous indignation (he caught his girlfriend in bed with the driver) feels duty-bound to tell his paddy man Phillip and spare him the pain if catching her red handed. Sam renders the same story he heard from Jeff, however in his telling from the dance floor they graduated to Kate gyrating on the said dude's lap before heading to the car for a make out session, and Kate giving the guy a BJ in the backseat of his Jeep! Now Phillip loves Kate, and trusts her without reserve and brushes aside the story as just that, but the seed of doubt has been sown. From then he finds himself questioning her about her movements, when she talks a tad too long on the phone he started to wonder if it was another man. Gradually doubt eroded the once harmonious existence they shared, and within six months, the loving couple had gone their separate ways.

Many a reputation have been destroyed by well-aimed WMD. Allegations of impropriety, theft, sexual misconduct etc have marred careers or sown doubt into the minds of colleagues and turned people into water cooler grapevine matter and personal reputation has likewise been dented by gossip and insinuations. How many times did you hear stories spread about girls in school just because they were friendlier with the boys than the girls? Virgins were called sluts simply because it is deemed impossible for a guy and girl to be "just" friends (the issue of just friends is another matter for discourse). As the saying goes "Loose lips have sunk many a ship". My take on such issues has always been if I didn't see it with my own eyes I ain't buying it (pictures don't cut it either…did I hear someone say Photoshop?) especially seeing I've had my share of soft sell magazine style reportage done!

Now, even if you did see something suspect, is it your duty to divulge the information? When I was younger and knew no better I always thought it was my duty to guard my friends' interests and tell all I knew. However, with age (and hopefully more wisdom) I have come to realize that the three monkeys (hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil) were exceptionally wise, and in telling, many a time you become the grand villain, especially if (or more likely when) the couple "kiss-and-make up", you the one-time Good Samaritan become fodder for the after sex bedroom (or kitchen floor) snuggle fests gist sessions. So…where exactly does one draw the line between doing the needful and being a tatafo? The thing is when the truth outs and the 'victim' in question learns that you were in the 'know' you become for all intents and purposes persona non gratia! Maybe it's really a case of damned if you do, damned if you don't, so you might as well be damned!

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Delayed Devotion

Even the most cynical of us would like to believe that maybe we're wrong and true love exists. We want to believe that some times the fabled...happy ever after can happen! However...for the realists among us, we know that the probability of winning the £42 million Lotto or finding El Dorado is greater than that of finding true love. Thus we make do with finding something like love, any love (true or not)!
That said, once found, love rarely lives up to its much touted hype (although I'd love to meet the guy who writes LOVE's PR). It causes psychotic delusions, mental discord and a host of other health problems. The expected camaraderie nonexistent, the anticipated spiritual oneness a ruse, and after awhile its only redeeming virtue...sex...starts to suck, and eventually dries up much like the Nile during a drought! However, we keep trying, whether in this relationship or the next one.
In the course of the love match, complacency sets in! We tend to take those closest to us for granted the most. Our efforts are concentrated on satisfying others outside the union, maybe because we believe that our partner'll understand. After all you're theirs so why should they be antsy and pissed when you're not always emotionally there? You've told them you love them, and that should be enough! Shouldn't it?
Unfortunately it isn't! Sure you said I love you, sure you're faithful, but saying I Love You and showing I Love You are two totally different things. As the saying goes 'actions speak loudest'. When you talk the talk but don't walk the accompanying walk, problems are bound to arise. As human beings, we constantly seek validation (and yes confirmation) from those we admire and love. We thrive on their approval and admiration. Whether we like it or not, or even admit it to ourselves...this is the simple truth.
The title of this piece is courtesy Duffy and her song Delayed Devotion in which she blasts the former love of her life for his nonchalant, lackluster attitude during their affair, and scorns his attempts for reconciliation now that he has woken up from his relationship slumber to realise she's left him for good. His declaration of devotion, alas, came much too late and love had turned to hatred. It would be nice if she stopped there, but our girl gathers steam and in a Lily Allenesque volley of words promises him such torture that by the time she's through with him he'll need to pack up shop and find another town where someone might talk to him! Bitterness at its best! For some unfathomable reason, relationships have a way of bringing out the worst in folk, especially when it doesn't live up to expectation, which is more often than not, but poor deluded love starved fools that we are, we keep trying!
Procrastination, putting off what could be done today til another day, has been the Achille's heel of a lot of relationships. Devotion delayed is as good as no devotion at all. As Tracy Chapman declared in her song 'If Not Now...' a love delayed for the days to come is as good as none. Don't put off giving love when you can and should, and really pay attention to your partners needs and really listen to (not just hear) what they're saying.
Frequently people wake up one fine morning to find 'outta the blue' that they're alone. It's never outta the blue, there is always a warning signal, always a sign, but alas...we're usually too busy with outside stuff that we never put enough effort into the inside stuff.
Pay heed, else you might find yourself listening to Ray Parker Jnr singing 'i tried to warn you...a woman needs love just like you do' in your ear, cos she's gone!
(Originally Posted: 7 May 09)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Not Really Poetry

Whispered words, stolen glances, forbidden thoughts, reason nought but endless white noise.
Thoughts left not spoken, tension built, passions aroused, chance encounters designed by choice.
Attraction heightened,
belt buckle, zip, hook, pantyhose down, lips
entwined, parted thighs, all reason confined, wrongdoing denied.
Downcast eyes, regretful sighs.
Dejection, rejection, leading to eventual despise.
(Originally posted: 13 May 09)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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The Other Woman

"Imma tear her eyes out...oh that man grabbing bitch", "Imma beat her down and give her an ass whopping she won't forget no time soon"
I'm sure a lot of us women have made those statements (or something close at least...even if it's just in our heads) about the interloper, the intruder who's had the effront to step to our man and pee on our patch of lawn without as much as a by your leave. We've all rained abuse, drawn rain and invoked fire and damnation on the souls of poor misguided trespassers, even if eventually we apply maturity and handle the real culprit...our men!
However this isn't about the other woman who peed on your patch, this is about when you unwittingly (or deliberately) find yourself wearing the costume of the other woman. I've had this experience a couple of times: once I dated a guy for about 4 months, even spent weekends at his house, all things nice, until one weekend I arrive and see pictures that I'd never seen before, wedding pictures!!! The guy'd been married for about a year plus and his wife was in jand to deliver and was due back on Monday. Well to say I was gobsmacked is putting it lightly. The second time I dated this guy for a couple of months but we never ever seemed to get to his house. Warning bells should've gone off immediately but I was like well by the time we close from work it's kinda late...and if he had a girl he'd tell me. Well he had not just a girl, but a fiancee and they were living together, needless to say that affair died a tragic and very sudden death. The third and I believe (and solemnly hope) last time I got to reprise the role of the other woman was in my very own relationship. I wasn't the intruder here, it was my relationship, groomed, nurtured and invested in religiously over the years, five to be exact. I'd been there when he was down and out. When he'd been out of work I'd contributed my widow's mite, even slept with him on the floor when things got so bad that he had to pack back in with his folks. I did the time. Sure we quarrelled...I mean what couple doesn't occasionally? But I really thought we were good, his family liked me, his sisters are still my peeps (even went out with one of them two weeks ago) and everybody knew us as a couple. He finally got a new job, and the pay was far out! And then he changed, someone I saw on the daily during his time off, now started givin me the "babes...I'll get back to you" speech. He started throwing tizzy fits at the slightest provocation. Looking for fights which I refused to give him. I knew something funny was going on, but I was like...chill...we've been through this before, and we worked it! The next thing I knew my coz brought over an invite for a traditional wedding, my beau and some chick he'd known all of three months! To add insult to injury the chick decided to disrespect me by calling my ass 24/7 with leave my man alone calls. I think I handled the matter quite maturely, I didn't retaliate, I didn't make any noise, I just shed the requisite tears and life went on. I don't know how to keep grudges (well...not really) and believe that all relationships serve as a school to teach you wisdom and prepare you for your eventual life partner, so after enough time and water had passed under the bridge, we became friends again, and started talking again but strictly above board. Then madam started hunting me again. Now I know I should really just cut him off but I hate people forcing my hand, and despite what went down we were friends even before we started dating. So...now once again I am the other woman...even though my hands are clean!
(Originally posted: 14 May 09)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Benefits?! Yes Please!

Ok...when did you guys send out the memo? And why did no one bother to send mine along? Or is mine on its way via snail mail (and with all the technology abound I don't know who was fool enough to use snail mail in this day and age)?
Alright, I guess you're wondering what's got me so ticked off? When was the embargo on sex signed into law? I thought that was just Kenya or wherever. I don't know whether it's just me but I thought one of the benefits of being an active party of a "committed" relationship (RE: Commitment Pt 1 for more of my views on this issue) was the sex? (Alright...1 minute to laugh is all you're getting starting now!)
I'm quite serious...wasn't that the only tangible fringe benefit of being one of a twosome? Yes...I know alot of my readers will gasp in protest and say a relationship is about more than sex, that it's about togetherness, mutual compatibility, and all those mushy warm fuzzy feelings. Ok...I concede in part, but really...isn't sex an incentive somewhere in the mix? Don't get all sanctimonious with me...YOU! I've never been a moralist, always a realist, so why should I start being a goodie two shoes now?
Maybe when I was younger and in my free loving phase I wouldn't think twice about looking for stress relief where I could find it, but I got sold a dud and was told that a relationship was the one place you could get 'all you can eat' guilt-free sex with consistency. So I tossed out my vibrator, hell I even got rid of my booty call! But now I raise a hand in protest and holler as loud as I can na lie o!.
Don't get me wrong I like the late night chilling, the companionable silences, the discussing how your respective days went (even though at times it can be a challenge stifling an inappropriate yawn), the pretending to like the dumb gift he got you on your birthday (if you're lucky that is and he even remembered), the fact that you don't have to drag your best male friend along to events were a plus 1 is a must or heavens forbid turn up stag. All benefits of the relationship. But let's cut to the chase and get to the nitty gritty...it's the sex!
Now...I am by no means a nympho (although by Chike's dating definitions I'm an Easy Nymphomanic...how cool is that?), and I do prefer a little sophistication when it comes to gettin my freak on, but I want what I want when I want it...and right now I ain't getting it! They should really make people sign contracts before they start dating...you know like as you start you have to pledge to do the deed at least 3 times a week (pls note no upper limits exists, grind til you kaput) unless by mutual consent, and a fine should be placed on erring parties, because if that were the case I'd be a fucking millionaire (no pun intended...well not really :-), but you get my drift). I make no apologies...I'm a hoochie...for the right man.

PS: the author will start accepting applications by 30th June. Multiple applications will be rejected, and a full medical report by an approved hospital is required (ECG a must).
PPS: This is a result of Candida, Chike and James's bad influence.
(Originally posted: 14 May 09)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Relationship Junkie

Aight...before you even say it...let me say it for you...there she goes again! Yes I'm back on the back of my usual and highly loved whipping boy...the relationship! I have nothing against relationships...look at my status. I exist in some sort of relationship although nowadays it tending more towards a relationship with myself.
Anyway looking at my relationship calendar recently, I was shocked to find that I've hardly ever been single for any tangible length of time! The longest period of time ever with me existing in a single state was close to two years, but I'm beginning to think that was solely based on the fact that there were no 'appropriate' men around (and anyway I really don't think I was looking too hard in all honesty). But seriously I don't think I've stayed 2 weeks without a man, sometimes I've even managed to get a replacement within 2 hours. Anyway my musings got me asking...am I a relationship junkie?. Is there a part of me so hung up on being in a relationship that I can't function effectively unless I'm one half of a twosome? Is there something about me that makes me unable to 'walk alone' or is just my desire not to wind up like someone prophesied (you know yourself...and I ain't letting that go no time soon) dying from an overdose of arsenic unwanted and unloved? Now to the Ms. Independent that I is, this line of reasoning had me screaming a very impassioned Hell no!!! but even I can't fight the evidence.
Like most people I have my addictions, I drink coffee like it's water, I have an overly fond relationship with Coca Cola (more of my caffeine addiction), I've been trying to kick my nicotine habit for God knows how long, and I have a fetish for underwear. All well and good. I'm also moderately OCD so I tend to be compulsive when I have a bee in my bonnet. Also...all well and good. But has my addiction prone and compulsive personality made me seek a new addiction...the relationship? Or is it a sign that I am not as independent as I once thought and require a constant state of codependance?
Now this thought got me looking at other women around me, to see whether my fixation was odd or if I was the norm, and this is what I found. Although alot of women exist in some state of singlehood (and longer than my 2 week average) it usually isn't by any choice of their own. It's not that they don't want the ...and the animals went in two by two it's just that the men of their choosing are unavailable. Well this could mean that they're more choosy than I am or it could just mean that more of the type of men I desire are readily available. Whatever the reasons women naturally gravitate towards relationships, men it seems naturally gravitate towards relations that somehow end up as relationships.

(Original posted: 15 May 2009)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Little Johnny

A little more non-poetic poetry (or something like it)

Little Johnny was a good boy no doubt,
So his mama said and so it remained til he found what life was all about
He met a girl that rocked his world
And into an abyss he quickly was hurled
She gave him her love, her body, and all she had to give
Whatever she did Little Johnny was quick to forgive
She fucked around...big daddies, fine dandies, alhajis too
Then she'd come crying and say '...but you know it's you I love...don't you boo?'
He still couldn't see the truth from the lies...maybe from all the tears he cried
She had no heart, no love, no truth, with every 'I love you' she always lied
One day she left, took her bag and cleared without a trace
Till one day Johnny found himself in a place staring into space
Life slippin through his fingertips, lab report his only focus
Prayin to the Lord above for a miracle, a little divine hocus pocus
'Love's a lie' he screamed and fist to sky started to rave
For her kinda love had led him to his early grave!
(Originally posted: 19 May 09)

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A Day like Any Other

This is an excerpt from a story

"Brrng! Brrng!! BRRNG!!!" The alarm rang out shrilly at 5.30AM and long beautifully manicured fingers, attached to an equally beautiful slim hand, stretched out from under the thick ocean duvet cover frantically searching for the snooze button to turn it off.
"Oh God...I hate Monday mornings," Guinevere Omolara Adeniyi, otherwise known as Gwen amongst friends, muttered to herself as she woke up this Monday morning and brought her head out from under the covers, "why do mondays have to come around?!" She turned on her side to look at her still sleeping fiance, envying him his ability to sleep through every and anything until his body's own internal clock went off like clockwork at 6.30 when he'd jump right up and be ready to roll in five minutes flat. It infuriated her like hell...she needed at least thirty minutes in the shower, and three cups of coffee before she could be ready for anything.
It was wet and cloudy, a typical Port Harcourt day, rainy season or not, and it suited her 'I hate Mondays' mood perfectly. She counted to five in her head and sat up quickly before she changed her mind and went back to sleep. Her jet black hair flowed down her back and her perfectly sculpted breasts rose as she stretched, the duvet bunched around her waist, giving her the look of an ancient goddess coming out of the sea, the color of the duvet aiding the vision.
"Well, no rest for the wicked...or for those that want to get paid" she exhaled under her breath as she pushed the covers aside and walked in all her naked glory to the bathroom.
"Damn...I hate Mondays"
Thirty minutes later she was dressed and in the kitchen of her apartment sipping on a triple espresso and checking her Blackberry to make sure she had her schedule down pat. Already she'd received fifteen emails from the offices in Boston and Calgary and had to reply all before lunch, and that was just the start. She flicked her slim wrist, looked at her Rado, and noted it was now quarter past the hour. Draining the last of the coffee from her oversized Harvard Alumni mug, she headed for the door, car keys in one hand and leather briefcase in the other, and briefly paused in the hallway to give herself a once over in the mirror that traversed an entire wall, and liked what she saw.
Her severely cut man-style charcoal grey blazer, crisp white T. M Lewin shirt and ash coloured flat-front trousers gave her just the look she wanted...kick ass business tycoon. She wore minimal makeup, just foundation and a light bronze tinted lipgloss. Her gold loop earrings were small and tasteful and the only other jewellery she wore was a charm bracelet given to her by her father for her sweet sixteen, fourteen long years ago. Her hair was secured in a very strict, no nonsense 'schoolmarm' bun and her wire-rimmed glasses were the final touch to the ensemble. What she didn't see was that the severe nature of her outfit actually enhanced her beauty, and the masculine cut emphasised her obvious femininity.
Guinevere wasn't what you would describe as a classic beauty, actually taking her features individually she was quite imperfect. Her nose was a tad too pointed, her eyes a little too far apart and much too big, her forehead a bit too high, her lips a smidge too full, and her chin too small for her long oval face, but taken as a whole, she was breathtakingly unforgettable. She had the look of a fashion model...tall and graceful, but voluptuously curved and she walked, or rather floated, into a room with such unconscious poise and sensuality that men found it hard not to take a second, third and fourth look. What made her even more beautiful was that she was unconscious of the fact that she was the one they were looking at.
The white shirt contrasted perfectly with her latte coloured skin, and its open collar brought focus to her swan-like neck. The tailored blazer did not actually hug her but seemed effortlessly to caress her torso and gave a hint at the body that lay beneath. The slim pants elongated her already long legs, making her seem far taller than her none too shabby 5 foot 9. Her only concessions to feminine vanity were a cloud of Christian Dior's Addict and a pair of, obscenely expensive but ever so sexy, charcoal grey lie leather 3 inch Malano Blahnik maryjanes. Shoes and perfume were her only passion outside work.
As she drove along Evo Road with the 'Morning Drive' on the radio chattering in the background, she contemplated her day and dreaded its close. Dinner with her uncle was always a trial and that was on for tonight.
Her assistant greeted her with a bright 'Good morning, Boss!' that set her teeth on edge and handed her a stack of papers that needed her signature, phone messages and the morning papers, already reviewed and all relevant articles highlighted to make reading easier. It was clearly going to be one of those days.
She quickly went through the stack of messages, dashed off a number of emails, and was so engrossed that she didn't immediately hear the knock on her office door, nor hear the door open.
"Ms. Adeniyi! Mr. Fettelli from Portobello Construction is here...conference room or here?" Ndidi said as she put her head through.
"It's 10 already?" asked a startled Guinevere, not having realized that time had flown so quickly, "alright...in here then"
A sharp rap on the door and Alessandro Fettelli was walked in by Ndidi and at that moment the world went into slow motion, as the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen walked into her office...

(Originally Posted: 19 May 09)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Why Your Man is Mine!

One day I heard two chicks (Ms A and Ms. B) talking about another girl (Ms. C). The conversation had to do with Ms. C's boyfriend who had a thing with Ms. B. Ms. C confronted Ms. B on the relationship. Ms. B was giving her homegirl, Ms. A, the lowdown on how she dey 'scatter his dada' and his how his boo Ms. C had no game. This conversation generated the little ditty below. :-)

And she's wondering why her man is mine!
I wind like a tight ass baseline,
a fly mamasita with a dope ass waistline.
Packing such heat, rocking that steady beat, like I'm on a drum line
, he's yours no doubt for this time,
but I do it so rightly that now he's beggin to be mine!
Girl don't be hating cos i'm steady gyrating
And let's face it...this ain't high school debating.
What's to debate?
Ain't my fault if you couldn't participate or that it's me he feenin to date!
If I got the 'good good' who do we blame?
Is it my fault your bedmatics are lame?
You call him Papi
But it's me he's calling Mami!
Ain't my fault that I'm on top of my grind, queen of this game!
But it is my fault that when he's with you he be calling my name!
I give him moments like Destiny's Child
I have him screamin "girl it's u gonna bear my child"
You and me?! No contest!
The boi be calling me 'Mi likkle Empress'.
This war ain't even fair, like comparing a Beetle to a Ferarri.
If this was a spy game, you'd have to call me Mata Hari,
I bring it like it's voodoo, like I'm some type of guru...so give a salute to...the Guru Maharaji.
Come let me school you, I promise not to fool ya.
I'll school you for free, learn you how to be a freak like me, teach you how and make a pro outta ya.
Bring out your pen and pad,
Let me teach you and turn you to a good girl that done gone bad
I'll teach you why your man steady paging me
Begging me to let him call me his lady.
Let me show you how I made the man addicted
Let me teach what I with his d**k did!
Let me teach you why I'm wrecking shop and why he calls me Ms. Candy
Let me introduce you to my bag of tricks which I always keep handy
In Linguistics I got an 'A' in Oral,
With him Imma gettin 'A's in plural.
In your movie I'm A-listed, the Big Kahuna, the lead star
When they roll the credits you'll be wondering where you are.
Ain't seen your man in 2dys? Come...let me show you where he laying.
Giant slayer...I ain't, but girl...your man...I'm nightly and ever so rightly slaying!
When I work it...I work it to perfection, between you and I, I'm his No. 1 selection.
Damn...I hit it so good he wanted to throw away the protection. If we asked him to vote, girl I'd be first lady dominating in that election!
For you he sings Kardinal Offishall...'You can't be my no. 1'
For me he's beggin let's make it official, but i said 'honey that ain't on!'
But don't worry, I don't want him to keep
Just a lil longer mayb, cos when he works it, the brother goes deep!

(Originally Posted in Facebook: 22 May 09)

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Bi, Straight or Gay?

Ok I'm back! Been off the note train for a bit but been sorely lacking in inspiration. Not that i'm really inspired right now, but the mind is a muscle and if not exercised it suffers atrophy, and a sick twisted mind like mine is a terrible thing to waste ;-). So to escape the realms of the congenitally brain dead I'll endeavor to write.
Since i've been gone lots has gone down. I'm officially single and got my player jersey back :-) so applications can start coming in now ahead of the earlier announced June 30 open season. I added a year to my age on Wednesday and have my foot a little deeper in the grave. I had a far out trip to Gidi, did the celeb paparazzi thing, got a guy to strip for me (only his tee mind you...I liked the shirt and he obliged).
The trip was great on the networking front but I struck out major league on the macking tip...seriously...strike 1, strike 2, strike 3 and you're out!...I have no game! ROTFL! Not even a booty squeeze! :-(.
However the trip got me starting to wonder if I'm a latent homosexual! Aha...knew that'd grab you by the nuts. I could go all Jamie Foxx and blame it on the alcohol, but doesn't alcohol just lower your inhibitions? Why am I on this train?
Well I went all Katy Perry during my trip and smooched some random chick in a nightclub, unfortunately I was too drunk to remember much about it apart from the fact that she was FINE, and I know I hit on another chick at another club, but she said I wasn't her type. I got hit on by another chick the next day and for a moment seriously considered inviting her to my telly the next day!
Now that has me worried! The first incidents could be blamed on imbibing too much of Russia's finest, but the second? Stone sober?
It could just be a manifestation of my natural curiosity about gettin with a woman. Or it might be the effects of my current sex famine and I'm just horny. LOL. It's not that I haven't thought about it before, but maybe because the opportunity has never really presented itself I've never had reason to seriously contemplated it. Now however, the opportunity presents...so do I act upon it and add it to the list of crazy things I've done in my life or take a chill pill and not start something that I might find I like a whole lot more than the regular? And let's face it...getting head'll never be an issue again. ;-).
Homosexuality is a big ass no-no in our society and most others but people seem far more tolerant of girl on girl action. And I ask why? Same sex is same sex whether male on male or female on female so why the discrimination? A lot of guys I know are hoping to sing Ray Lavender's "My Girl Got a Girlfriend" ditty in hope of a good old fashioned menage a trois but shouldn't what's sauce for the goose be sauce for the gander too? And shouldn't acceptance of one equal acceptance of the other? This is just me thinking out loud while my angel and my devil fight for my eternal soul over my bi-straight-gay musings!
Now I know majority of my male friends'll be like 'Can I watch?' if I ever decide to flip the switch and start tappin instead of gettin tapped (and the answer to that is a very empathic...Hell NO!!!).
(Originally Posted in facebook: 05 June 2009)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Not Quite Poetry (Love Network)

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Reply delivered

Tender endearment rendered from frenzied lips
Tongues lock, arms entwined, tangled limbs, discarded linens
Hastily tasting, Madly embracing, reason erasing.

Erection, eruption devoid of protection.
Tender goodbyes, new assignments designed.
Telephone rings Telephone drops

Loving words reconsidered.

Network disconnected

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Light Up Nigeria? Pt 2

Break time over and our lesson continues, now where were we? Oh yes...quoting the GDP guy.
Let's take it from the top again so we don't lose the flow!

"…the more the efforts are that have been made in the power sector, the more troubled things seem to become. The more money is spent on the sector, the more epileptic and unreliable the performance of the sector appears to be."

How true the statement! N27billion was allocated to the power sector in the annual budget (asides from its own internal revenue of about N25 billion) yet as I write, workers in the power sector are currently on strike protesting for improved funding, improved wages, actually improved everything. The government clearly has no faith in their investment, especially considering that they also earmarked $2 billion in taxpayer money for provision and maintenance of generators for the Federal Government and its agencies. Hey you…stop rolling on the floor laughing! This is not funny and it’s made more ridiculous by the fact that WE (yes! We!!) supply light to neighboring countries (some of whom have celebrated a decade of uninterrupted power) and we can’t even power the residence of the Presido! Ok…NOW you can roll on the floor! Meanwhile those in charge of the sector gladly boast of increases in revenue generation. It’s quite elementary really…reduce output (thus reducing overhead) and charge more for services not rendered, et voila…instant increased revenues!
Now we’re (sorry Government IS) still bull-horning the “Giant of Africa” slogan for all who care to listen (and to those that don’t i.e. the average Nigerian on the street) but really how giant are we? Now…as I said earlier…power generation is strongly linked to GDP, where do we stand in Africa with regard to energy generation capacity. According to The World Conventional Energy Supply, 2004, Africa's highest supply in descending order of magnitude as follows: South Africa has 30,020MW capacity; Egypt has 14,250MW capacity; Algeria has 6,188MW capacity; Libya has 4,710 MW capacity; Nigeria has 3,960MW capacity and Morocco has 3,592MW capacity etc. i.e. South Africans have 10 times more energy than Nigerians. Population-wise South Africa has approximately 44 million inhabitants, and as I said, Nigeria has approximately 140 million. Is something wrong with this equation? (I’m actually scratching my head here). Ok math time (calculators out children!) Nigerians have roughly 11W per person…and the average light bulb needs 60W to work! Hmmm!!! Again the equation is baffling me! It’s a K. O (not even a technical one, the 1-2 combo very a la Ali) and South Africa takes the belt!
So how can we regain the championship belt? Simple! Provide adequate power! Now to the class work…if the power situation improves, and the $117 billion (N6 trillion) that is spent annually in Nigeria on diesel and generators is invested into the Health or Education sector, or infrastructural development what are the benefits? Let’s see. Firstly cost of living would fall drastically, cottage industries would flourish as the cost of doing business would drop, industries with huge employment and revenue generation potential such as manufacturing and textiles, could effectively and efficiently function (huge overheads having disappeared), and more businesses (and more employees) equal increased tax earnings. Income generation diversification would naturally follow as more export would mean reduced dependence of oil revenue (which as we know is receding rapidly…like Nicholas Cage’s hairline). This means more money in Government’s coffers. Environmental degradation would reduce (no more CO2 emissions from generators), and if gas (of which Nigeria flares 97% of what she produces) is the primary source of fuel for power plants it would further reduce, and conversely save the planet for our generations unborn and generate more money for Government. It’s a win-win situation! The people are happy, the Government makes money (equals happiness)! So for homework, answer this question…why doesn’t the Government just do what it must and #lightupnigeria?

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Light Up Nigeria? Pt 1

On Monday, 14th of July 2009 a revolution occurred. No shots resounded, not AK 47s or mortar bombs in sight. No state of emergency declared, no martial music played on the radio. Nothing! Not an outward sign exists to herald the birth of this coup d’état that started like a whisper and is gradually rising to a roar. This roar will soon become a deafening crescendo if its momentum continues to grow. Several events have taken place during the last few weeks (and months) that I have chosen not to write upon. Primarily because they had been adequately treated by more competent and experienced bloggers, or simply because I had nothing further to add (I’m not the kind to blog just for the sake of reading my own text, that’s what my diary’s for). I was most recently nearly (thisclose) tempted to write after the DRAB vs. 9ja youth debacle (my Twitter and Facebook friends will understand this reference) but Bankole Wellington (aka Banky W) wrote a very eloquent rejoinder in defense of our youth. However, Light Up Nigeria (#lightupnigeria) requires special treatment.
It’s apparent from the first paragraph (for those who do pay attention to my yammering) that once more I have jumped on my tiny little soapbox and started with my ant-like ranting, as is always the case when the words “politics” and Nigeria are mentioned in the same paragraph within earshot of me. What in the name of the gods am I on about this time (and could I get to the point already…yes, yes in my spare time I read minds too!)? I’m talking about a new movement that is gaining ground care of the Nigerian youth movement via the social networking forum Twitter.
The premise behind the movement is to primarily protest the epileptic (and near non-existent) power supply situation in the former Giant of Africa, the much abused and pillaged but still beloved land of my birth (if not my upbringing), Nigeria. The government would have you believe that we are still giants on the continent, but alas WE the people know the truth (and the rest of the World is getting the picture too). The person that started the movement’s momentum is El Dee the Don a popular musician in Nigeria apparently after he almost lost a relation during childbirth, due to…power outage. It isn’t as if that’s a new occurrence, or that power outages are not a permanent fixture in the life of the average Nigerian (actually having power is more or less a special occasion…kinda like birthdays and Christmas), but as the saying goes, a certain time arises in the life of a man where he says enough is enough! And seriously, ENOUGH is ENOUGH. With the aid of his twitter family the movement started. People started attaching the #lightupnigeria hash tag to every tweet and picture, stating their reasons why government should address the perennial power problems, within the space of two days the #lightupnigeria hash tag had reached No. 18 on the worldwide tweet topic list, and more people are joining the train. The stars came out to shine and light up the area, with celebrities such as M. I. (Jude Abaga), Banky W (Bankole Wellington), Tosyn Bucknor, Andre Henshaw, Kel (Kel Ohia) et al joining the movement and soliciting support from their tweet posses.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such zeal for anything asides from money among the youth in my country, and it’s always seemed to be a case of “e go better” with everyone sitting put in the typical “siddon look” posture, waiting for a hero to come save them. In all my ‘soapbox’ chronicles, I’ve always advocated taking personal responsibility, being the change rather than waiting for the change to happen. At last, I see it coming to pass in my lifetime.
Now for those of you not in the know you might wonder why the agitation, after all hasn’t this always been the way of the world (in Nigeria that is)? Let me take you to school briefly and give you a history, economics and political science lesson in an abridged form. Don’t get panicky when you see figures like $117 billion (is that nine or twelve zeros at the end of that?) or other such sums you only hear about on TV or see in the papers, why panic? Our government isn’t worried, so why should you be?
Nigeria has a population of approximately 140 million people (hence the Giant of Africa pseudonym (totally on account of population)) and is the 7th largest producer of crude oil in the world. We’re rich right? *buzzer goes off in response to that statement, signifying error, invalid command entered* Well according for those in the know, we are DIRT poor (not just ordinary poor) with between 75 -85% of the population living below the poverty line (personally I figure it’s more like 95%, but what do I know?). Industrial growth is near 0 and the few businesses we have relocating to friendlier hubs such as Ghana. Why? Inadequate power distribution and the high overheads incurred running generators 70% of the day. The energy demands of the country are estimated at 25000MW, the reality…the country’s current output is roughly 3900MW (of which 2400MW are self-generated!) and in the last decade roughly $16 billion (yes dollars, not naira) has been invested in the power sector and nothing has happened. In the words of the author of a study conducted on the correlation between power generation capacity and GDP:
"…the more the efforts are that have been made in the power sector, the more troubled things seem to become. The more money is spent on the sector, the more epileptic and unreliable the performance of the sector appears to ...

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The Five-Year Plan

I sat down recently and contemplated my existence and as usual it was a depressing event. I checked my prior year and the years before and asked myself what had I done with the time that I'd been granted. For those that are wondering why I waited till now to do this, it's quite elementary Watson (to borrow from the Great Sherlock Holmes)...my "new" year commences on the day of my birth, in this case 3rd June. Anyway that piece of trivia aside, I reviewed my goals and objectives and found I'd consistently fallen short of the mark on all of them, and let out a wail of frustration.
Some of the goals I'd set for myself were very un-SMART (for the non-management degree holders this means Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timed). They lack concrete description, could not be quantified, were highly unattenable and totally unrealistic and had no timeframe attached to them. And pursuit of such goals is the path to the loony bin. Other goals were totally out of my control and depended on others for their fulfilment. More loony fest material. I thus sat with a pen and pad, the requisite cup of java, mobi turned off and a "Do not disturb" sign boldly displayed on my front door, and slowly began the change process.
Change is never totally an external phenomena, it tends more to be an in-out process as opposed to an out-in one. Sure, certain external events can promote change to an extent but fundamentally change occurs when you make the decision to, and my life was definitely due for a change. My external catalyst for change was my "boyfriend" who after 7 eventful years now told me he wasn't likely to get hitched to me (I had to ask! Times a-wasting, my hairs a-grayin). Talk about a kick in the ass! This got me thinking (at last...do I hear you chanting)! What was I waiting for? I have no major commitments, I'm still young, still have all my hair and most of my teeth and I'm still a hottie (yeah, yeah, I know, I know...modesty becomes me)...so why was I putting brakes on my future? Because I was waiting on a proposal that I now know isn't likely to materialize? Good question. I finally realized I was holding on with tenacity so I'd have an excuse if I failed to fulfil my potential.
I drew up a list (surprisingly it was very short) of what was "wrong" with my life, what I needed to do to change the wrong (still working on that one), what I wanted to achieve with my life (even shorter) and then how I intended to get there as well as put a timeframe on each activity.
The first thing I decided that I would do more of was take risks. As the saying goes "nothing ventured, nothing gained" and if I don't take chances I only have myself to blame when I swallow sour grapes. The first risk I took was to submit some of my writing to a magazine. My facebook followers and friends had always told me that I should take the writing gig seriously but I always brushed it aside as friends being friends and blowing smoke up my derriere. I guess fear of flying also played a role in my reluctance, the fear of falling flat on my face and receiving rejection slips. This time I said "f**k it, what's the worst that can happen?" and took a shot by following up on requests for freelance writers for an internationally based magazine. I just submitted my first articles and my by-line could be coming to a vendor near you pretty soon (fingers crossed they publish the drivel I sent).
Number two on my list was to see exactly where this Entertainment gig would take me. I'm now in the process of signing on two new acts (actually three if I count my actress) to my artist management outfit (and registering the same) and am set to audition as the anchor of a new TV show billed to take off next quarter.
I've still not finished drafting my five-year plan, but I think I'm making inroads on breaking the past five years jinx!

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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