Frankly Speaking...

RANDOM: WFT's He On About...?

2010-09-20T15:17:00.000+01:00

Ok so I'm jobless today...well not quite jobless exactly. I have a post I'm working on but as a stop gap I have a 'lil competition for you. As everyone is doing Independence Bonanzas, giving crazy ass discounts up to 50% sef (like really...discounts? In Naija...if the business owner don't make at least cost price + 10 that discount ain't cutting it) and people are planning on extended weekends (YAY...fucking...NOT...another day wasted due to public holidays...but I digress) I said to myself ...

ME: "Dang baby...why don't you and I...also known as WE *please note this is the royal WE here o* also known as Me do something crafty to bring new users to the fold" (Shamefacedly...I admit...this conversation really did take place...and yes I talk to myself...but...isn't that normal?)

SELF: "Hmmm...sounds like a plan! How we gonna swing that?"

We thought and pondered. Well I thought and pondered, Myself just lounged like a houri in a (شيخ)‎ Shaykh's seraglio sipping Turkish coffee. Me and myself have this interesting dichotomy going on. I...that is Me...am the stronger, more dominant personality, while Myself...hmmm...X_x...*nuff said!* so basically I run the show and she...Myself...tags along for moral support...however she would readily dispute the question of whom wears the pants between us *in reality...she never wears any pants...shhhh! You didn't hear that noggin of information from moi...shhhhhush!*. Confused yet? No? Well here's guessing you're on Team Gemini (Go Gemini *fist pump*) :-D.

Anyways, me and myself and our coz "I", thanks to inspiration from twitter and all the crazies I know there *mad love for y'all...birds of a feather and all that crap* and also from all the Nigerian 'artists' who daily produce "one-" hit (?) wonders of sound that have we the listening public scratching our heads and looking Homer Simpson-ish with a priceless "What the fuck is he on about?" expression tattooed across our faces, came up with the notion to do a "WTF Does That Mean" competition. The offending word for today is 'Utunu'.

Now in my magnanimosity and in the spirit of Nigeria being 50 (and my desire to extend my fan base *devilish smiley* Muahahahahaha! >:-D) I am offering a special anniversaire gift to the reader of this post who comes up with the most interesting, funny and downright kolo definition of the target word.

Rules:

You must be following me on twitter
You must be be a follower of my blog *straight face*
You must include your twitter handle so I know it's you
You are entitled to submit a maximum of 5 separate entries. (tweets are not inclusive)
You must be resident in Nigeria
All entries must be posted as a comment *transparency is our motto*
Entries after 12 Midnight 30th September 2010 are null, void and the sender shall be shipped of to Tibet and be forced to be sex slave to a Yeti.

The process of selection is open-secret balloting *there's an oxymoronic statement if ever there was one*. There are two rounds. The first round is the initial submission and then shortlisting by a panel of expert judges *namely Me, Myself and I...go figure*.

The best five *IMHO* will then be presented to the public and the best definition as judged by the readers (via polling) shall be declared the undisputed heavyweight champion of Utunu, and will be contacted so that their prize can be sent across! Voting starts 3-Oct and ends 9-Oct. The winner will be announced on the 10th. Sounds good? Good!

Okay so get creative, get mad, get whatever...and maybe you get the "GIFT"!If you haven't heard the song 'Good Lurving' yet...>>Good Lurvin' - Lynxx ft Whiz Kid (mp3).

Now who says I ain't never done nothing for ya!? ;-)

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)

Randomly Random

2010-09-07T12:58:00.002+01:00

Hello all,
Sorry I've been MIA but I've been more or less brain-dead. Nothing and I do mean NOTHING has come to mind to write about. I could claim Writer's block but this one pass that one sef. I'm thinking more like Life Block. My life is totally uninspiring as a source of material. This is therefore a random review of the nothing that has turned to my life.

• Moms has started again. The usual "When are you gonna get married?" discussion don start again. SMMFH. #isthatwhywearehere? Abeg make una help me beg her to free me jare! The joke is no longer funny. Is it by forced sef? I told her straight up I have no plans whatsoever of ever...EVER getting hitched. That shut her up sharpish. I think she has started prayer and fasting on my head. My coz has even started towing the 'when we go wear your ashebi' cart. My sister and her hubby have started sef. Na wa for poor lil me. It isn't that I don't wanna get hitched one day but must I settle?

I've always wondered why they call it settling down sef. To me settle means to manage or make do with...almost as if better no dey. Then to worsen the matter they added the word DOWN to the equation. It's bad enough you're managing the man...now you're moving DOWN into oblivion not UP to a new plateau. This is just me being random.

• I've come to the opinion that I'm just a pushover! Well only where Boyfriend is concerned. We finally broke up. For all of three weeks. Men! I just don't understand them and really I don't think I wanna anymore *there...I've said it! I finally admit defeat* Life was so much easier when I didn't give a hoot! Now I'm a goddamn owl *hoot hoot* RME. Anyways as I was saying we went to Splitsville NY. He broke up with me *or rather I made him call it quits* over a supposed ultimatum I gave him. I said "Cool. Nice knowing you. Adios." Was really patting self on the back for being a real trooper about it. No tears. No hysterics. Almost shook his hand as I walked him to his car. Fast-forward three weeks. In his new apartment *Don't ask me how I got there*

ME: Ok I have to go.
HIM: Okay. We dilly-dally at the door.
ME: Remember you broke up with me o!
HIM: Nah I didn't.
ME: Yeah you did. (*rewind and repeat 10 times*)
HIM: You know I can't do without you *I later read this same line on the TT #liesmentell...nuff said*
ME: (naked in bed) *X_x*.

So we're back on the merry-go-round and nought has changed. Like really FMFL. I'm so dick whipped I'm like a runaway slave that got caught and got splayed. I need deliverance o! This juju wey BF use hold me suppose don reach to expire sef *now calling NAFDAC*. Oh well let the pain (re-)begin.

• I got a BB at last and I still don't understand the hype. For me it's just a very expensive way to avoid buying airtime to make calls. Well that is IM- not so -HO.

• I had a dream about one of the peeps I ff on twitter. I shall never be able to look at him without going beetroot purple. Let's just say if it were ever turned to a skin flick they'd have to think of a whole new rating system cos XXX-rated just wouldn't cut it. Now praying I have an opportunity to get him pissed *aka legless aka shit-faced aka wasted ok you get the picture* and try out the scene concerning furry handcuffs, PVC, shower fixtures and ice-cream. However I am worried about the link between Erectile Dysfunction, premature ejaculation and alcohol so I guess I'll just have to talk the pants off of him :-). Ok too much info don't wanna scare him off in case he *by some fluke of technology* gets to read this.
PS: I've just realised that the BB doesn't recognise the words erectile and ejaculation or maybe it was the combination with the words dysfunction and premature. Hmmm!

• My two friends got hitched. I almost *almost mind you* leaked a tear. Met up with some members of my twit-fam and even recognised one of em by their avatar. Why is this surprising? Her avatar is a booty shot. Very compelling ASSets I must say *o ya feel free to groan. Even I groaned while typing that weak ASS pun :-D X_x there I go again*

• Wayne Rooney allegedly paid a hooker £1200 a night *math cap on* that's like N305,000 a session. Now re-evaluating my career choices *osho free don end from henceforth*. And na who be the maga wey talk say ashi no be work? Did I mention she sold her story for a further £400k *do your own mathematics here the zeros are giving me migraine*

• I've decided that I don't like children. Strange considering I have three of them *well my kids are cool* but really kids suck. It's my uncles and aunts that have me on this tip. Gramps died in June and they're there squabbling about a bunch of BS. Meanwhile the man was bedridden for 8 *yes EIGHT* fucking years and they never came to see him. Even till now none of them have even been to the mortuary to confirm that it is really THEIR father there. If this is the reward for giving life and raising children maybe barrenness isn't such a bum deal! Anyway I jump and pass. My children shall never cause me such grief. However...retirement plan will definitely cover such a contingency. Once again I say...kids suck.

• I'm gonna start divorce procedures soon against a lot of my friends. This random post should serve as notice to them and if they fail to receive the notice...well...tough luck cookie! *as good friends they should be stuck on my blog like a stamp to a letter innit?*

Before you complain about this post been bereft of purpose or point I did tell y'all I had nought to write about so I'm just rambling randomly with no rhyme nor rhythm to this post. And that is that.

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)

13th Sept 2010:
ADDENDUM:
Some people complained about the use of abbreviations in this writeup so here is a brief translation of the lexicon used.

SMMFH: Shaking my muthafucking head
RME: Rolling my eye(ball)s
X_x: Eyes covered (in shame)
BB: Blackberry
TT: Trending topic; a topic of interest on Twitter
FMFL: Fuck my fucking life
BF: Boyfriend
IMHO: In my humble opinion
NAFDAC: Please google

Untitled Pt 2

2010-06-17T10:23:00.000+01:00

Fourteen hours earlier

Sean 'Seun Oluseyi is a man who gets noticed. He never consciously or unconsciously sought attention but always had it thrust rather rudely upon him. A number of factors were responsible for this attention, his lineage being the key one, the son of a former President and a one-time supermodel, his face has been in the papers from almost the moment he could crawl.

His good looks were another. At six foot four, his presence was imposing. He obviously took care of his body as evidenced in the way his clothes hug from his torso, and his muscular frame. His stomach was washboard flat and his gluts well defined. His face was chiseled, his chin square and strong, his nose straight and aristocratic, and his lips were full and unusually sensual…a gift from his mother, and when he smiled his dimples added a boyish charm to his appeal and toned down his blatantly sexual magnetism. His skin clear dark chocolate, making many a woman want to nibble on him. His hair is cut low in a no nonsense fashion and his only eccentricity being a tattoo on his left bicep, a souvenir from a drunken night with his fraternity brothers while in university in the States. He was the kind of man that made a woman either want to bed him, wed him or mother him.

Today he dressed for business. Looking lean and ready to take on the largest conglomerate, he looked debonair in a charcoal grey single breasted Armani suit and brilliant white Thomas Pink shirt. The suit jacket was open and his grey Gio Franco Ferre tie showed and his cufflinks winked when he moved to view his watch. The watch was expensive, as is everything about him.

He was currently seated at a corner table in the highly fashionable and very exclusive Sushi restaurant called Arigato. In a feat impossible for mere mortals, he sat on a cushion on the ground, legs crossed yogi-style, and managed to look commanding. Sipping a warm cup of saké, he was was engaged in a conversation on the phone and was giving instructions to someone with regards a meeting with a presidential advisor scheduled for the next morning. An interested observer would have noted that his voice was a pleasantly deep baritone, and betrayed traces of a Trans-Atlantic accent, evidence of his American education.

The shoji surrounding his table was left open allowing him an unobstructed view of the restaurant floor and he again glanced at his Rolex noting that Bims was late…as usual! Bims…Abimbola Akintola, his fiancée, love of his life and childhood sweetheart. International cover girl, face of Elle, Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, and budding entrepreneur with her own couture fashion line. She was the daughter of an Army General and a Bulgarian au pair. Beautiful wasn't a word that did Bims any justice, it was too bland an adjective. Mesmerizing, enchanting, alluring, goddess, all words that had been used to try and capture her essence, all words that fell pitifully below the mark.

Sean loved her to distraction but the issue of her tardiness was always a sore point between them. The years spent in a British boarding school hadn't cured her of the 'Nigerian time' syndrome. Many a time in a lighter mood he would tease her that she'd be late for her own funeral, at which she'd wrinkle her button nose and stick out her tongue at him, reducing him to laughter.

Suddenly a loud hush fills the room and Sean smiled. Bims had arrived. She general generated that kind of effect when she stepped into a room. Hushed awe! Men, women, children were always momentarily knocked back for six when she entered any venue. She practically glowed, making one mentally double back in wonder…as if in the presence of an ephemeral being…an angel. Today she didn't look like one of God's messengers but a cross between a Victoria's Secret angel and a Hell's angel.

Her five-eleven, size six frame was encased in a pair of sprayed on leather pants that left little or nothing to the imagination, a charcoal grey lace and satin camisole that kissed her braless breasts like a lover's lips. She wore no jewelry other than large gold Gypsy hoops, a thin gold necklace, a Ladies' Rolex (the twin of Sean's) and her engagement ring. On her feet she wore 4-inch dominatrix inspired, bespoke sling-backs made of the same fabric as her camisole, one of the designs from her label. The hair style throws Sean for a moment. Mims had long, wavy, brown almost chestnut hair that falls below her shoulders, but that wasn't the case today. Her hair was short, styled in a futuristic asymmetric bob, cut razor sharp accentuating her oval face, and dyed so black that under the soft Japanese lanterns it looked practically blue and further reinforced the dominatrix look. Her makeup was equally arresting, thick long lashes done up with blue mascara and eyes thickly lined to make her eyes bigger. Her eye shadow was a mix of black and grey and she completed the look with blue-grey contacts. She definitely had the sexy vamp look down pact and he rightly assumed she must have just left a photo shoot.

She sashayed across the floor towards him with the grace of a ballerina and all eyes followed her to Sean's table. She effortlessly flopped into a lotus, reached across and kissed him passionately totally disregarding of the watchful eyes around. He puts his hand against her nape and drew her closer as a Geisha hastily closed the shoji to give them a little more privacy. His other hand cupped her breast and she moaned against his mouth.

The kiss finally ended and her hair left slightly awry. Sean brushed away strands of stray hair from her face and gently stroked her cheek in a gesture both innocent and suggestive and she inhaled sharply. The smile on her face twinkled mischievously and her nose wrinkled in a manner that turned his heart in his chest and put knots in his stomach. He was actually torn between desire and laughter, the minxish look on her face, playful and light-hearted was in complete variance to her sex kitten attire. Laughter won the day, desire would have to wait till later, well at least till after lunch and his rich baritone could be heard from across the room mingled with her pixie laugh.

"Bims, love!" he asks when their shared laughter finally subsides, mild exasperation written on his face, "Why do you constantly do this? Hmmm?"

(TBC)

My Week, My Birthday and My Trip to Brazil

2010-06-17T10:16:00.000+01:00

I'm back…YAY me!!! Don't act like you didn't miss me all this while. No-one to thrill you and enliven your day, nay … month, in short your total existence with meaningless banter, too much TMI and insane attacks of verbal dysentery. J It makes you a better person sef to admit it…you know that right? You did? You're such a wuss! ROTFL!!! Ok so seriously…I missed you too, I had no-one to give me instant virtual gratification. :-* So onto the business of the day, however I warn you this post was written nearly two weeks ago, but crappy internet has prevented me from posting till now so enjoy your flashback.

Ok this week's been a beehive of activity or rather forming activity I should say. This week was my birthday week…Yay I'm a day closer to being senile…LOL! Anyways it started on a slow note but read for yourself.

Monday 30^th May

Today was a public holiday so I did what people generally do on public holidays…lounged away, slept, woke up, ate and went back to sleep…yeah that kinda day and this time baby girl did not forget to raid the piggy bank *don't you just hate when a public holiday hits and you've forgotten to go to the bank the day before? And to crown it all you ATM card stops working!* so I splurged on my uber-fave feast…pizza! My hips increased by an inch, but what the heck, I'd gladly sacrifice form for food J and anyways I had no hips once. But I digress…as usual!

Tuesday 1^st June

(5:30 A.M) I woke up early cos of work but as usual I bummed around and got in late as usual. The Boyfriend called around 8 AM during a lull in his show to ask me if I wanted to go out after work. My reply…"errmmm...hell yeah!" It's not every day TuFace aka Innocent Idibia aka "Future Baby Daddy" comes to town. The day was uneventful, had the office all to myself, one engineer was in the field and the other was on casual leave, so I just watched Soundcity and CNN and twiddled my toes till close of shop.

(21:00) Evening arrives and I got my sexy on, hot ass dress and I wore makeup…shock…awe…faint…yes I know cardiac inducing news, but I do wear makeup occasionally…birthdays, funerals and anniversaries. So time to leave and I have a chick moment…what to wear? Boyfriend couldn't complain much as I'm usually set long before he arrives, and I end up waiting ages for him. The fact that I was prancing around in a pair of thongs, tights and heels trying on barely there dresses no doubt helped to keep him quite quiet, suffice to say we almost didn't make it to the show.

He did an amazing thing…he asked what I had planned for my birthday. Sounds strange right? But it was amazing to me…in all the years I've known him he's never asked me that question. Usually I get lucky if he even remembers I have one, I mean one year he spent it in the female hostel of a university campus *insert appropriate WTF symbols* :-o. Well it won him major points cos I was already planning his demise in classic Ashanti-style (you've watched her "The Way I Love You" video right? You have…well I'd planned it ju……st like that).

(22:30 – 03:30) Anyways the show was ok though at a point the crowd was close to losing patience and going home, but as 2Baba entered the stage, ladies forgot why they were bitching, and I'm surprised I didn't see panties flying on stage. That said I'd still like to know what type of fool thought it made sense to organize an all night show on a weekday, I won't ask which type of fool attends such a show cos I was there abi? J. Suffice to say I didn't get much sleep, got in by 3.30A.M (and the show was still going hard at that time) and as usual got into the office late.

Wednesday 2^nd June

After fortifying…or is that poisoning…myself with three cups of extra strength black, no sugar, no cream coffee I make it to the office by 10.30 and proceed to fight sleep, with mixed success. Heaven decides to cry as I close for the day and I get soaked to my knickers, and in the way it tends to do stops as soon as I finally get a cab. Just my frikkin' luck. I sometimes believe Murphy was my daddy and made his law to commenorate my birth. Home at last...so I strip down and enjoy our no-light day, thinking I'll shut my eyes for a few before looking for food. Fast forward 6 hours…I wake up and find it's 11.30pm of the same day…so much for food. Now I'm up and sleep has officially left the building. Minutes to midnight the flow of smses begins…Yay it's officially my birthday. And big love to my homeboy Luminus and our Iyawo, Olufunmike (my first blog follower if I recall) for launching the first salvo in B'dy warfare :-*

Thursday, 3^rd June

(4:00 A.M) So I'm still awake. My old man remembers I'm older today and even sends me a birthday text, I reply and so he calls and we talk for twenty minutes or so and agree to meet on his way to work (he lives about 5 minutes from my house and people tend to be shocked when I say I haven't seen him in 3 months. I know it sounds bad…but we get on great…he respects my right to privacy and I his, and really seeing someone everyday isn't really a sign of affection…after all I see my neighbours everyday and can't stand most of them J.

(6.30 A.M) Dad swings by with my birthday goodies. Now in my house we're quite sensible, we don't do gifts…we understand the power of good ol' currency. So for my day he gave me a gorgeous cake and 50Gs *WooHoo danced the electric slide* J…yep Daddy's my kinda guy!!! So I'm set to go to work even though it ain't my day because of the young lady on casual leave, but I get the heads up that there's no need and so I go shopping instead, and splurge on a cute dress and shoes for the day's activities. From there I headed out and went to the Home for the Physically Challenged to spread some of the love I'd been receiving all day long. It was a wonderful feeling seeing the kids there, and at the same time it made me doubly grateful for my family and my life.

(10:30A.M – 22:00) After that I took myself out for a movie and ogled over Jake Gyllenhaal for 90 minutes plus…although Broke-back Mountain kept flashing through my mind during the saliva exchange scenes…please tell me I am not alone…and then I did a solo lunch. That done I headed home and got changed for my movie date with my friends Val, Teni, Naomi (Val and Teni you guys should really get this girl on twitter joh) and DJ Tan (who's also my birthday mate) to watch the premiere of Green Zone…it was an ok film, I had a certain dé ja vu-ish feeling, as if I'd watched the movie before…but then again…it IS Matt Damon! Good enough reason to watch! J It was fun although we did get shushed a few times for talking during the movie. After that I headed down to Boyfriend's office since he was still at work, from there we headed to Protea for a drink and would've gone for the monthly Reggae jam at Liquid but I was spent, so we went home.

I've been praying that the gods would take pity on me and cure me of this verbal diarrhoea that plagues me, and I thought my birthday would be the day I'd be so blessed. Lemme explain what I mean. For some reason I am more or less incapable of keeping quiet about things that are on my mind. I feel it thus I speak it. So I ended up spewing my reservations about how I see us breaking up in the near future if he doesn't step lively. As you must have guessed ours isn't a two month affair…we've been together seven (yes seven…no typo) years and I think that's time enough to make up your mind about the direction you're heading. He says he had needed a little time to clear his head but methinks it's a clear case of "Love me or leave me the FUCK alone"

His birthday present is still pending but he assures me he got me something and it's yet to be delivered. I'm thinking maybe a car? He says no but now I'm obsessing on what it could be, especially since he had to order it and he's not giving me any clues, and trust me I've applied all my feminine charms and cunning (this includes offers of kinky sex in the office and a month worth of lap dances), but alas no dice! So I wait and exercise patience *if you know me well you know this is not one of my virtues* Anyhooo I have told him the gift better come correct and be worthy of the intrigue...otherwise...wo...I'll use whatever it may be and smack him silly with it

Friday 4^th June

(3:00-6:00) …the rest is strictly Too Much TMI. J

(9:00 – til fade) Nothing noteworthy to report for the rest of the day, slept nearly the whole day and watched movies and fooled around on Twitter till 3AM then slept off while watching a movie at around 5.

Saturday 5^th June

The day started as most Sanitation days start…me passed out. Woke up by 9, went online, did a lil laundry little did I know that I'd find myself flat on my back by 4 PM. So around 2 I leave the house to the salon to get my dreads did and suddenly a thought crosses my mind…why not get a wax? So I head to the spa and book an appointment then go back to my usual salon do my hair and get my nails done. While this is going on I begin to question the wisdom of my appointment. Do I really need to put myself through that much pain for beauty's sake? But I've already paid and I've never been known to chicken out on much. 20 minutes later I'm stripped down and have a towel round my chest in a room with five women…did I forget to mention that it wasn't my legs scheduled for the wax? Ehen! I'm moving to Brazil…or at least my bush is.

So here I am...flat on my back with my legs open (not so new) and five people staring at my vagina (very new) with clinical interest. Never has my vagina received such avid and rapt attention since my gynaecologist last peeped. I'd resigned myself to the pain, and lots of it for that matter, but after screaming silently in my mind (ómò…you know your chick too bad, damn too hood to be bawling like a bitch) an accompanying pleasure followed…Yikes!

Is my inner dominatrix becoming a submissive and masochistic in nature? I think not…I still enjoy dishing out pain a tad too much. You doubt it? Oya come let me beat you Rodney King-style just for kicks J.

Sadomasochism aside I do know that I liked the results thereafter, and I know zee Boyfriend did too ;-). Will I do it again? Yes! Will I do it again any time in the immediate future? That remains to be seen.

Sunday 6^th June

New week people… And that folks is the story of my week, my birthday and my trip to Brazil

Untitled

2010-04-15T09:12:00.001+01:00

A work in progress...maybe

The first thing to penetrate his subconscious was the sound of dripping, the constant tap-tap of liquid reminiscent of a leaky pipe, consistent, measured, concise and ultimately annoying.

Next came a sticky wetness, gummy, cloy and clinging. Not water but something viscous and slimy…and putrid. Actually it was the smell that hit him, a tangy, metallic odour assailing his nostrils.

Hesitantly he opens his eyes and a kaleidoscope of light and colour spirals before him, next comes pain…intense, skull splitting, gut wrenching pain. He raises his hand to his forehead, and is suddenly aware of the fact that he is laying on a cold, hard floor in an unlit room. Forcing himself on to all fours he struggles to stand on shaky legs, trying…straining vigorously to remember …where, what, how and who! Most importantly who! “Who am I?” the question screams at him in his befuddled mind. “Where am I?” he wonders out loud. To his ringing ears his voice sounds like a whisper and his larynx feels sore.

As he scrambles about in the darkened room looking for an exit or a light switch he stumbles over an inert object, with his hands he blindly searches the floor for the object and his fingers make contact with flesh…cold, rigid flesh and he knows it is a body. A wave of nausea overcomes him and he gags. His mind races, and again he asks, “Where am I?”

From his position on the ground he notices a sliver of twilight and with lightening speed for one so weakened crawls towards it and notes that it is the bottom of a door. A door leading he knows not where…freedom…captivity…death? Wherever it leads he’d rather not stay in this room, this room filled with the imposing and fetid stench of death.

As he pulls himself to his feet curiosity gets the better of him and he gropes where he believes a light switch should be. Eureka…contact. On goes the blinding glare of the overhead fluorescent bulb and a nightmare-scape unfurls.

On the floor where he tripped lays the naked body of a man. His skin ashen and blood spattered, his eyes duct taped open, his hands bound; a gaping gash where his testicles would have…should have been…and the piece de résistance…a six inch blade through his heart…a macabre work of art from the mind of a twisted sculptor. The dead man’s face is twisted in an expression of abject terror, grotesque; evocative of one of the hell-bound mortals in a rendition of Dante’s Inferno.

About ten feet away is a bed. On the bed lays the body of a woman. Her naked body is splayed suggestively across the bed and her face turned towards the opposite wall so he cannot see her face. Her skin where not splattered with blood still retains a luminous hue, rich mocha coffee avec un petit peu au lait, long, shapely legs and pert full breasts. Total perfection…even in death.

Our man can no longer keep down the bile in his throat that fights to be free and spews out the content of his stomach on the floor. Heaving and retching, he remains bent over for what seems like hours his body trembling from shock. Eventually spent his eyes are reluctantly drawn once more to the gruesome tableau on the bed and his feet of their own volition inexplicably move to the bed. He has a burning desire to see the face of this dead woman. A niggling in his mind tells him that he must.

He reaches the bed and turns her head gently towards him, and his knees buckle. A flash of déjà vu hits him and he knows that he knows this woman in every sense of the word ‘know’. Her hazel eyes are open and though glassy still radiate terror…and something else …pleading. Her mouth is open as if in a silent scream…a scream cut off for eternity…never to be heard by mortal ears. Discoloration around her neck makes it clear hers was a case of death by strangulation. Her hands are long and dainty and a fingernail is broken to the quick and her right hand bloodied, while on her left hand is an engagement ring. The man instinctively knows that he knows this ring.

Tears blinding him he runs haphazardly out of the room, not sure to where he runs but anything to get away from this madness. As he reaches the outer door and runs out on to the street he is welcomed by a blast of ice-cold rain and he keeps running like a headless chicken without direction or destination, but his feet appeared guided by his confused mind to a destination he knows not.

The moon is ebbing in the pitch-black, starless sky and the hour is neither early nor late. Thankfully he meets no one as he continues to run. Suddenly a car horn blares and the driver starts to call out.

“Sean is that you?” the car slows to a crawl “Man what are you doing running around at this ungodly hour…and in this ungodly weather no less?”

The man stares at the driver, trying to force his mind to recall whom this person is, the face is familiar and a name floats in his sub-consciousness and rests on the tip of his tongue…Peter.

The driver continues his monologue oblivious to the man’s reserve, “Get in the car for God’s sake before you freeze to death and let me drop you off”

The man, who we now know to be called Sean, hesitates for a moment, wondering how Peter could fail to see the blood that must obviously be all over him, and then he realizes the rain must have washed him clean…at least on the outside. Reluctantly he enters the car and let’s himself be taken.

“Thanks...Peter” Sean mumbles as he slips in and is encased by the familiar but strange comfort of the Mercedes and rests his still fuzzy head against the headrest. “Why are you out so late, yourself?”

Peter removes his eyes from the road momentarily and shoots Sean a quizzical look.“Don’t tell me you forgot, old boy? I came in from London this evening. I just leaving the airport,” Peter turns his head back to the windscreen and shrugs “I guess you must really have tied one on if you can’t remember we have lunch today to discuss the final details for the acquisition of semi-conductor processing plant in Surrey.”

“My bad, Pete…I’m just tired and really need some sleep” Sean says and hopes that Peter takes it as a sign that conversation isn’t welcome. Luckily Peter does and concentrates on the wet road ahead.

While they drive in silence, Seun does a brief inspection of his pockets and finds a wallet, a set of keys, and a cell phone. The wallet and mobile are both obviously expensive and obviously his. Opening the wallet he sees a Drivers’ Licence with his picture and the name Sean Oluwaseun Oluseyi and a number of complimentary cards with the same name and the designation Vice President, Mergers and Acquisitions. Several thousand Naira notes, ATM cards, and a Platinum MasterCard are in the wallet. In the course of his search he comes across a snapshot, taken on what must have been a vacation, of him and a woman.

In the picture he wears a pair of loud Bermuda shorts and flip-flops and her the clichéd yellow polka dot bikini, the cliché tourista. They face each other, seemingly oblivious to the photographer, totally intent each on the other. His arms are around her waist and his hands cup her bottom, drawing her close to him and her right hand is against his chest while her left hand rests on his shoulder and they are smiling. Her skin is rich mocha with a hint of cream, her hands slender, as is the rest of her except for her breasts. On her hand is an engagement ring, a flawlessly cut 3-carat pink diamond set in an 18-carat platinum studded with 1-carat solitaires. No two rings like it because it was made for her. It was not just any ring. It was THE ring!

An icy hand digs into his chest, clutches his heart and squeezes. The dead woman on the bed was wearing the exact same ring.

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)

Death By Politically Correct Means

2010-04-14T08:03:00.003+01:00

Death by Politically Correct Means

“The right of the one ends where that of the other begins”

SCENE 1 ACT 1

JASMINE: Mom, I’d like to introduce you to [INSERT NAME].
JASMINE’S MOM: Hello, young man, how are you?
BOO: I’m fine thank you ma’am.

…

SCENE 1 ACT 2

MOM: So Jasmine who is [INSERT NAME] to you?
JASMINE: Mama, he’s my unpaid sex worker, I hope you liked him?
Mother turns ashen, splutters and faints
…

Setting: Hospital morgue
POLICE OFFICER: So Doctor…can you narrow down the cause of death? We’re trying to rule out murder given the fact Mrs. M had no history of heart disease.
CORONER: Well Detective, I’m sorry to inform you it was murder.
POLICE OFFICER: Doctor…are you certain? You KNOW this is a high profile case in the making?
CORONER: Unfortunately Detective, it can be no other way. All forensic evidence leads us to only one conclusion…
POLICE OFFICER: What?
CORONER: Mrs. M was a victim of…
Police Officer cuts in
POLICE OFFICER: Damnit man…spit it out already!
CORONER: Mrs. M was a victim of…Death by Political Correctness…as is obvious from the shocked look on her face

SCENE 1 ACT 3

Setting funeral.
Enter left stage:
JASMINE: Bye-Bye Mommy (sobbing)
Exit left stage
Curtain falls

I’m kinda tired of bleeding heart liberals…and NO this is not an expression of my political leaning. It is a statement about Political Correctness and its stifling and strangulating grip on freedom of expression. In the course of respecting the rights of others hasn’t the right of self been trampled upon?

I miss the good ol’ days of senseless violence, gratuitous sex and nudity and gruesome decapitations interposed for the shock value and nothing more. I miss the days of self-expressionism and convoluted discordance called art. Now we have censorship of word, deed and thought.

In the bid not to step on anyone’s toes hasn’t the motion of Id and Ego been trampled and regressed by the Collective groupthink syndrome? Point in case, the use of certain words and phrases have been termed offensive, rude, downright spiteful, gender insensitive, etc etc and the use of them frowned upon. The use of everyday words like “chairman” has been substituted with “chairperson” even when it’s quite obvious the person on the dais is of determinable gender. Any word remotely gender bias is taboo, feminism and feminists must be appeased. Use of words like ‘retarded’ (remember the song by B. E. P titled ‘Let’s Get Retarded’ that had to be re-titled ‘Let’s Get it Started’ in a bid to be PC), ‘blind’, ‘deaf’ and co is the quickest route to social suicide, a real social faux pas. The correct words “special”, “visually impaired”, “audio impaired” et al. Now I can understand the need for sensitivity with these but don’t I have the right to be retarded in my speech? And even if I don’t say it out loud does that stop me from thinking it?

As much as regard for the next man…oops sorry…person is essential, my freedom to be un-PC is my God-given right, and even some of the supposedly PC terms are just plain dumb. I was listening to a radio show awhile back and PC was the topic, or rather politically correct phrases for everyday items and situations. I shudder to think how much money the morons, just to tell me that I can’t call a book a book or call my partner “my boyfriend” anymore, spent on research. Nope…no can do anymore, I must now introduce him as my “unpaid sex worker”.

Fuck PC…my boyfriend remains my boyfriend and even if I’m fifty I have no intention of actually letting my Moms know who I’m bedding if it isn’t legal sex…i.e. we aren’t married. And isn’t it even more insulting to call your lover a sex worker…even if they’re unpaid? A sex worker is a hooker plain and simple…whether for a C-note or an I. O. U! Random aside: if a boyfriend or girlfriend is an unpaid sex worker, what’s a wife? According to my Pops she’s a “Home Manager”, according to me she’s a glorified domesticated sex slave…and the bummer is she doesn’t get paid no salary…unless it’s alimony (who’m I kidding alimony and child support do not exist in Naija).

Now the censor is not reserved to just speech, it is extended to all avenues of expression…music…art…film…literature…dress. Every facet of human life has fallen prey to censorship and political correctness. A few months ago the Actors’ Guild of Nigeria’s president was talking about the removal of kissing etc from Nollywood movies and I scratched my head in wonder. Isn’t art also supposed to be a reflection of the prevailing societal reality? If a couple in the throes of new passion are together in a locked room wouldn’t they engage in some heavy petting if not the actual act of getting buck wild? Would their kisses be chaste and bland…or would it conjure up thoughts of fire and yes…raw sexual passion and get one’s blood roaring? Don’t married couples have sex? Don’t people have gratuitous sex and one night stands…without emotional entanglements and sentiment in real life…here in Naija? And who has the right to say what and whatnot I should view?

What about music? How many times have songs been placed on the NBC’s NTBB list for no apparent reason other than the fact that someone in the Commission interpreted a phrase to be suggestive? A case being a song by a Port Harcourt based artist that dealt with childhood, first love and growing up. The use of the word ‘bia-bia’ was thought by the NBC to refer to pubic hair (in their on twisted logic) when it is quite obvious to the listening public (and as explained by the artiste) that the hair referred to was facial hair (i.e. beard or moustache) which pronounces the change from a boy to a man. And what of the song “Big Boy” by El Dee the Don? For the life of me I still can’t understand the reasoning behind that one. Or how about the infamous banning of Femi Kuti’s “Bang, Bang, Bang” which although definitely sexual in nature was not as explicit as the Western music that assaulted and still assaults our ears on the daily with overtly sexual titles and lyrics like “Birthday Sex” by Jeremih and “Re-invented Sex” by Trey Songz are daily on our airwaves.

For children I can understand the need to censor and coddle…their minds are too immature to distinguish between fact and fiction, between right and wrong and shouldn’t be exposed to adult themes, but that’s why a rating system exists n’est pas? But even the prevention of undue exposure is the responsibility of the parent. I mean…really…what’s a ten year old kid doing up by 11pm watching TV?

Censorship takes away my right to decide for myself whether a thing is good for me or not. It removes my right to choice, and actually is a slap on the face because it says I’m too stupid to make a decision. If I wish to watch scenes of violence and deviant sexual acts is it not my right? I don’t really like porn and I think it is exploitative thus I don’t watch it…my right…my choice, but just because I don’t watch it doesn’t mean I’ll say everyone else shouldn’t watch it…their right…their choice. I will not impose my moral codes and beliefs on them, that would make me a dictator!

Worse still, censorship is a form of mind-control, the powers that be wish to determine, create and control the thoughts of the individual. The creation of automatons and “dolls” preconditioned to think, feel and speak no new thoughts, bring no new wisdom and most importantly brook no opposition. The imposition of the collective ideal stems and stifles the growth of radicalism and radical minds. And change is brokered by the radical…and the expressionist freethinker. Those in the position to impose norms and ethical standards are themselves not more ethically minded, or of a superior moral grade than those they would control, but tend to be more debase, but as the Pharisees of old preach the gospel of “do as I say not as I do”.

So I say death to censure, death to censor, death to groupthink that wishes to turn us all to mindless conformist drones, death to stifling repressions of expression, and death to political correctness. Viva la libertie…long live freedom. I know many will disagree with this evaluation…as is their (and your) right, but feel free to add your thoughts on this by leaving a comment.

And my parting shot…If God in His infinite wisdom gave Man the Gift of Freewill…abused as it may be…who is the man that shall dare to take it away?

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)

My Neighbour’s Wedding

2010-04-13T21:00:00.002+01:00

First off this is a highly delayed post, for those of you that follow me on twitter you’ll know I’ve been bitching for over a week that I’ve been unable to access blogger to post nada. And also I spent several tweets expressing my displeasure and dislike for the wedding thingymijig. Well today I’ve gotten lucky and I’m uploading all the junk I had in my trunk-like noggin…and will proceed to systematically inject it into your brain-stream like an intravenous…line by line, post by post. Enjoy…I think!!!
On Saturday 3rd April 2010, I witnessed a union of two bodies as one in the ceremony of holy matrimony. The bride looked stunning and the groom looked bored. Typical of most weddings I have attended, however this wedding was unusual in that the couple had already been married for years and had two kids to show for it, the eldest being five years old and the Little Bride at the ceremony.For me the ceremony was needless, after all by Nigerian law isn’t Traditional marriage as recognized and as valid as all the others? Or is what I learned during all those boring Social Studies classes null and void? Anyway the couple invested no small amount on the ceremony what with hiring of cars, paying for the dresses of the bridesmaids and their hairdos, hiring the hall for the reception, the civil ceremony and the church service. All needless expenses in my book.
A lot of people who’ve been reading my posts for awhile might think me anti-marriage but I’m not, I’m just practical about love, sex and marriage and wonder why the need to spend vast amounts on a one day event.
The money isn’t the only expense, however it is the only one that can be quantified. Time spent on wedding planning is time better spent on other things.
When my sister got hooked in 2003 I had the responsibility of almost single-handedly planning the wedding seeing as Madam and her husband were based in Lagos and the wedding was taking place in Port Harcourt. I almost had a coronary making sure the caterers arrived on time, and that the hairdresser and make-up guy got to the bridal suite on time. The printers in Lagos screwed up last minute with the wedding programmes and I was forced to find a printer to do the job in Port Harcourt in roughly 36 hours, in time for the traditional wedding. As if that wasn’t bad enough…the morning of the wedding the bouquet was MIA and I had to hop a bike and dash to get one, arriving at the venue just as the Bride was scheduled to come down from the car. Dirty and hair unmade I had 5 minutes to beautify, get dressed and mobilize ushers to serve guests because the hotel that we rented the venue from reneged on their promise to provide ushers. And to crown it all I wasn’t even on the wedding program at the end of the day. Let’s just say…if and when I do get married my sister owes me big time.
The whole attitude regarding marriages or should I say weddings is baffling (I’m such a dude when it comes to this…blank stare), why the fuss over a 1-1 ½ hour ceremony? For months…if not years…women hunch over wedding magazines scouring for THE dress, planning and purchasing even before she’s found the man to ‘ball and chain’. Almost from day one of the relationship she’s already started practicing variations of her surname…Mrs Him…Mrs Her-Him etc, and thinking wedding colours, cake designs and ashebi. The groom is totally in the dark…unaware of the trauma he will unleash on himself and his bank book when he gets down on one knee (this is still essential) and says “baby be mine!”
While at the reception venue…where we arrived way too early…sitting in the car whiling away time with my neighbour and her fiancé I started musing and wondered out loud why the need for the fanfare and not just a simple civil ceremony and be done with it. My neighbour was stunned and insisted her own wedding would be a flamboyant extravaganza…I saw her fiancé’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed saliva and mental reconsidered his proposal.
I then asked her was she planning to pay for the carnival called a wedding and she stated that she would contribute (this was said with little or no conviction). This got me marginally excited so I asked at what ratio, she said 60-40, sixty for him, forty for her. I laughed. At which I reminded her that the white wedding was a borrowed culture and therefore if it must be done it should be done properly. The expense of the white wedding and the rehearsal dinner is the responsibility of the bride’s father; the groom has absolutely nothing to do with it. Not a farthing or brass nickel should leave his pocket for the ceremony. All he has to do it rent a tux and enjoy the bachelor’s eve.
She pooh-hoo’ed this and literally put her hands over her ears so as not to hear another word on the topic. If I’d known I wouldn’t have started the discussion because a small battle started when she turned to her fiancé and asked him his opinion on my “registry then home” theory, as can be expected he supported my idea and the temperature in the car dropped to –10°C even with the blazing sun outside. If looks could kill he’d have had a cardiac, the look she gave him was enough to wither his nuts and cause them to drop off…which they did cos the next statement from his mouth was…”whatever you want baby…it’s your day after all” (men are such pussies *shaking my head vigorously*).
Now I have no problems with the fairytale wedding if you can comfortably afford it…emphasis on the words comfortably and afford (I mean…seriously… NO wedding isn’t worth soaking garri for)…but I have a problem with the double standards bit. After all the years of shouting “women’s rights” and “female emancipation” why be a kept woman now, after all it is your wedding day, the man is just a prop in the whole shindig so why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and be a ‘big girl’ and fork out your dough for your ‘dream’ wedding, ni? Why put all the years struggling for equal pay and recognition on the back burner for a fluffy white gown that you’ll most likely toss in a trunk the day after.
Now when (and if) I do get married (I can hear my mother’s shouts of hallelujah already) I’m going to KISS (Keep It Small and Simple)…a civil ceremony on an obscure day of the week with the minimum number of witnesses, then maybe a night out on the town with a few friends and family. If I’m feeling really generous we’ll book a suite in a hotel…you know the type with a massive lounge, open the buffet (sorry it’s a paid bar…y’all can get drunk on your own dime) and mingle. Or I might just do what my friend did. She and her fiancé (now husband) flew from their base in Germany to New York and brought a Justice of Peace to their hotel room, she in a black très sexy cocktail gown and a white orchid in her hair and he in a debonair smoking jacket and dress pants got hitched with no fanfare, and then hopped on the next plane to a tropical location, complete with white sands, coconut trees and blue water, for the honeymoon.
And that’s all folks, me and my rants on weddings et al signing out. That said here’s a quick question for all my single ladies (and guys) what kind of wedding day do you want and who should pay for what?

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)

Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

2010-04-13T20:48:00.001+01:00

“Why Do Fools Fall in Love?” is both the title of a song done in the 60s by a singer called Frankie Liman and a movie done in the 90s about the same singer’s rise, fall and tragic death starring Halle Berry, Vivica Fox et al. it is also a question that has undoubtedly been asked by every poor sap who has ever had the molecularly devastating experience of having fallen in love…particularly with the wrong someone…i.e. 90% of the human race.

But seriously…why do people fall in love? I used to believe it was a matter of choice, we ‘choose’ to love an individual! Plain and simple…no neuroscience involved…simple choice. For reasons best known to the ‘faller’ they fall for the ‘fallee’.

My Dad “the fountain of all relationship wisdom”, has another theory…and I kinda like this one… “Falling in love is a form of psychosis”. Well at least in the early ‘heart racing, dry mouth, tingling nerves’ stage [NB: These symptoms are nearly identical to those experienced during the onset of a stroke, so kindly see a physician before assuming it’s love…you just might save a life…your own! *tongue in cheek* K] A veritable cocktail of mental and physical ailments.

Let’s look at it…what else but love, drugs (on a very bad trip) and mental illness (pregnancy included) can have a person run a gauntlet of extreme emotions in the space of five minutes: euphoria, racing pulse, tears, dryness of throat, palpitations, constricted breathing, sweaty palms, lack of concentration, excessive perspiration, temporary loss of speech, forgetfulness, daydreaming and manic depression. Love is SO good it makes you ill J. Now that, as I said, is Dad’s view *the genesis of my cynical p. o. v with regard to relationship maybe?* and it doesn’t help the case of love that the chemicals released by the body when in love are the exact same ‘feel good’ endorphins generated by something as innocuous as eating great chocolate. If I was running an ad for a choco bar it would read….

“Wanna feel real love? Without the heartbreak? Eat *Insert product name* and NEVER fall out of LOVE”

And an added point in choco’s favour is that dark chocolate is even kind to your heart…unlike love.

Another school of thought believes we love “just because”! Just because it is our nature to love. Those of a religious incline go a step further and say because our cosmic Creator is pure love we in His image are love and gravitate towards love. Nice try…but if I reference and loosely paraphrase the Bible (or even the Q’uran, Torah etc) and use modern day “religion’ as a reference point “Man by nature is bloody EVIL and sits down all day crafting, plotting and planning MASSIVELY GREAT mischief to do” (very, very, very loosely paraphrased but you get the drift, abi?)…and so saith the Lord! Now who am I to contest the word of the Highest Authority? Then again we were made in His image (depends on your religious p. o. v) and as the saying goes in Christendom “God is LOVE” so maybe be we ARE structured emotionally and spiritually to be givers and receptacles of love.

Whatever the reason (chemistry, biology, spirituality etc) LOVE is, has been, and shall ever be the elusive El Dorado that treasure seekers have sought, seek and will continue to seek. So the question still remains…why do fools (*points* YOU…yes you…you follow too) fall in love? If you know please let us know too, thanks…ok bye!

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)

Sleeping with a Broken Heart

2010-02-17T19:26:00.000+01:00

Hi, as I said I'm really gonna try and post with greater regularity. I'm kinda blank, but a line a day keeps atrophy away, abi? Whether I post what I write is a whole other story!

I'm a music lover as you should all now if you've been doing your homework...i.e reading my rantings, and though I listen to anything that makes sense and has a beat, certain songs reach me for bone. The title of this post should be familiar especially if you like Alicia Keys...even if you don't I'm guessing you should've heard this song.

I'm currently living this song :-( :'( *don't cry for me Argentina...I set myself up for the drop anyways* I'm finally single (well I think I am...see I'm not sure...I stated my case...said my piece and left the rest to my (not so)significant other...and his reply will determine my status) and I've learned that some cliches are rooted in fact. When people say used to say "I can feel my heart breaking" or "My heart hurts" I'd be like..."uh-uh...yeah right, n doh...now moving on!" Alas now I know how possible it is to feel such emotional pain that physically your heart actually aches. It feels like someone put your heart in a vice and squeezed the life outta you! And damn...shit hurts like a muthafucker!

Maybe if I could cry I'd feel better...water therapy I call it! Shed a few tears and cleanse your soul, but unfortunately I can't. My mind's being stubborn on this but I guess I caused it when I told myself I would never waste another tear on Bobo Mi again, now I wanna weep like a baby but no dice. It could be psychological too...crying for me is almost like a burial...I cry, I mourn, I cleanse and then I move on. "Hasta la vista, Sayonara, Adios Papi...so long" with Beyonce singing "to the left" in the background. Thus my not turning on the waterworks is like a stubborn reluctance to let go, holding on to the hope that it isn't really over...maybe? Or maybe I'm just emotionally vacant!

But I ask...how does one just let go? Of 7 years of whatever it was (whether relationship or long-term booty call)? Do you suddenly wake up and it's forgotten? Even if it got to a stage that you were just sick and tired of being sick and tired of the relationship, is saying "goodbye" ever easy? Just cos your brain is sound enough to know that you were on a runaway train to nowhere and jumping is the only option, does it necessarily follow that your heart will follow the wise counsel? Even when you know you deserve better than the status quo, it doesn't make it any easier to leave. The reality is no matter how bad a relationship might be...it has its bright spots. It can't all be bad. I guess it comes to a point you have to weigh the good against the bad and judge if the situation is one worth hanging on to.

Now as I said I'm not sure if I am back on the market...however that said Imma act like I is. I've been told the best way to get over a man is to get under another one (seriously...Gospel truth...I didn't make that one up!).

Dilemma: How do I put myself back on the market? And should I really? I've been offline so long i have absolutely no idea how to log on again! And how do I get over the feeling that I'm cheating on my Boo? Even accepting a drink from another guy that likes makes me feel uber-unfaithful sef!!

Where do I go to meet new men? Church? All the guys there I know are married. The Club? I don't think so! I'm looking for substance not a booty call...and anyways I still have my booty calls in my phone-book if I need a lil' something to break me off (rummaging through chest and dusts off 2005 phone-book).

Work? That so ain't the place...we have 4 guys there, the manager's married, the two engineers don't do nothing it for me...one's even younger than my kid brother, the last is the security guard and I think he's older than my Daddy. That aside sef...the office romance kini rarely ends well and administratively I'm a senior officer...so sexual harassment just jumps to mind :-D. The gym? Not registered and it's mainly women I see there, so unless I wanna get my lesbian fantasy going on...the gym's out!

My existing social circle maybe? Even that's a no-go area in some ways. If I dug the guys I know, we'd be hitting it already and not just being friends abi? There had to be a reason we settled as friends, and with some we've already tried the "more than friends" route and in a bid to preserve individual sanity called it quits before it became lyrics of a Snoop song i.e "murder was the case that they gave me."

I'm at a loss really! Maybe I'll finally buy me that vibrator for my birthday and say "fuck you very much" and be done with men, and finally put an end to sleeping with a broken heart!

Night-time!
And an empty bed!
Heartbeat raps a discordant rhyme
Upon this altar where spirits wed

Pillow held tight
Tears threatened,
ever ready to take flight.
Tension heightened

Chest contracts
Inside..the pain
Chest expands
No tears...but the fallen rain!

Again arrives the night-time!
Once more...an empty bed!
Clock strikes the hour, 3 AM chime!
Brokenhearted,
no more wed...
my spirit bled...
upon this ice-cold bed

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)

Komustaka!!!

2010-02-11T20:56:00.001+01:00

Komustaka all...my youngest daughter is teaching me Tagalog and that simply means "hello"! I've been M. I. A for ages, so first off..."Bonne Anniversaire" and a very belated "Bon Noel". I'm still suffering from a writer's block, my mind is a blank page and I'm mentally dyslexic...the words all get jumbled up, however I still read. In my Facebook in-box I came across a poem by a young man called Rudboy Adidi c/o a poetry group I'm a member of called "WORDS NOT SWORDS". Please feel free to join if you're a poet (closet and otherwise)

I won't start yapping about what the theme is or what the poem's about...read it for yourself and THINK!!!.

What If I Did?

As I sat there in English class, I stared at the girl next to me.
She was my so-called "best friend". I stared at her long, silky hair.
I wished she were mine,
but she didn't notice me like that.
And I knew it.
After class she walked up to me and asked me for the notes she had missed the day before, and I handed them to her.
She said "thanks" and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I wanted to tell her.
I wanted her to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love her, but I'm just too shy.
And I don't know why...

11th Grade

The phone rang. It was her on the other end.
She was in tears, mumbling on and on about how her love had broke her heart.
She asked me to come over because she didn't want to be alone,
so I did.
As I sat next to her on the sofa, I stared at her soft eyes,
wishing she was mine.
After 2 hours, a Drew Barrymore movie, and three bags of chips, she decided to
go to sleep.
She looked at me, said "thanks,"
and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her.
I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love her, but I'm just too shy.
And I don't know why...

12th Grade

The day before prom she walked to my locker.
"My date is sick," she said. He's not going to go.
Well, I didn't have a date and in 7th grade we made a promise that if neither of us had dates we would go together just as "best friends."
So we did.

Prom Night

After everything was over I was standing at her front door-step.
I stared at her.
She smiled at me and stared at me with her crystal eyes.
I want her to be mine,
but she doesn't think of me like that,
and I know it.
Then she said, "I had the best time, thanks!"
and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her.
I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love her,
but I'm just too shy.
And I don't know why...

Graduation Day

A day passed.
A week passed.
A month passed.
Before I could blink, it was graduation day.
I watched as her perfect body floated like an angel up on stage to get her diploma.
I wanted her to be mine,
but she didn't notice me like that,
and I knew it.
Before everyone went home,
she came to me in her smock and hat, and she cried as I hugged her.
Then, she lifted her head from my shoulder and said,
"You're my best friend, thanks!"
and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
I want to tell her.
I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love her,
but I'm just too shy.
And I don't know why?

A Few Years Later

Now, I sit in the pews of the church.
She is getting married, now.
I watched her say, "I Do" and drive off to her new life,
married to another man.
I wanted her to be mine,
but she didn't see me like that,
and I knew it.
But before she drove away,
she came to me and said,
"You came!" She said, "Thanks!"
and kissed me on the cheek.
I want to tell her.
I want her to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love her,
but I'm just too shy.
And I don't know why...

Funeral

Years passed,
and I looked down at the coffin of the girl who used to be my best friend.
At the service they read a diary entry she had wrote in her high school
years.
This is what it read:
"I stare at him wishing he were mine.
But he doesn't notice me like that,
and I know it.
I want to tell him.
I want him to know that I don't want to be just friends.
I love him, but I'm just too shy,
and I don't know why.
I wish he would tell me he loved me!"

'...I wish I did too!' I thought to myself,
and I cried

By Rudboy Adidi (via WORDS OT SWORDS)

"...and I cried" So what made "YOU" cry?

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)

…And the Drum Beat Plays

2009-11-08T15:39:00.000+01:00

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.

Afternoon Delight

2009-11-08T12:04:00.003+01:00

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

Of Tall Buildings and Aeroplanes

2009-11-03T15:27:00.000+01:00

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)

Me? Getting Married?...Hell No!

2009-10-01T21:15:00.000+01:00

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)

Sex, Lies and Vodka Pt. 1

2009-09-24T22:05:00.003+01:00

(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)

TMI

2009-09-17T17:39:00.000+01:00

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)

The One That Got Away!

2009-08-15T18:26:00.000+01:00

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)

From Girl friend to Girlfriend

2009-08-14T11:51:00.000+01:00

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)

Gossip Girl

2009-07-26T00:28:00.001+01:00

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!

Delayed Devotion

2009-07-17T17:53:00.003+01:00

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)

Not Really Poetry

2009-07-17T17:51:00.001+01:00

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)

The Other Woman

2009-07-17T17:47:00.002+01:00

"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)

Benefits?! Yes Please!

2009-07-17T17:32:00.003+01:00

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)

Relationship Junkie

2009-07-17T17:20:00.002+01:00

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)

Little Johnny

2009-07-17T17:16:00.002+01:00

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)

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)

A Day like Any Other

2009-07-17T17:04:00.003+01:00

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)

Why Your Man is Mine!

2009-07-17T16:59:00.002+01:00

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)

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)

Bi, Straight or Gay?

2009-07-17T16:44:00.002+01:00

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)

Not Quite Poetry (Love Network)

2009-07-17T15:49:00.002+01:00

Message sent

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)

Light Up Nigeria? Pt 2

2009-07-17T02:28:00.004+01:00

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)

Light Up Nigeria? Pt 1

2009-07-17T02:09:00.003+01:00

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 ...

The Five-Year Plan

2009-07-09T04:23:00.001+01:00

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)

The Journey

2009-07-07T01:07:00.000+01:00

It's been a while since i've graced this segment. I apologize for my neglect (and in advance for my subsequent future desertion for alas many more shall come). My muse has redirected my thoughts to other areas, and though I still love to write, it's become a chore, a thankful (not thankless) one, thank the gods, but a chore nonetheless.
What wisdom (or madness dependent on your point of view; always respected by me, but please do extend me the same) to impart upon your minds today, I wonder? A little prose? A little poetry? Whatever it shall metamorph into, it will be a part of me. With every line, with every thought, with every vision expressed, I give to you (lovingly) a piece of my heart, my mind, my essence. My naked self, my true being, my totality and my (mildly skewered and thoroughly screwed) reality.

The Journey
I sat and wondered,
And I solemnly pondered,
On life's meaning and what is truly love, on joy and pain,
On wishful thoughts and hapless hopes, perceived loss and factual gain.
On starts and ends, on laughter and tears.
I look around and tallied my cares, my years and my fears.
I checked my past, my present and my future plains,
I saw the shallow, unmarked graves of dreams I'd unwittingly slain.
I heard the hue and cry, the reasons given why,
Why i should close my eyes to opportunity and growth, to voices within and without,
on why i should stay in this stagnant place.
Why i should be content with present state, and not work toward my stated grace.
I blocked my ears, steeled my arms, armed with just a will to succeed and steadfast heart, clad my feet,
Onward i tread, climbing steady, never lookin as Lot's wife did, upon the ruins of my past, steady climbin away from their predicted defeat.
Lonesome journey, devoid of friend or foe, this is a journey that is but mine alone.
Though the journey may tarry, my legs may become wary, my future lays brightly on the horizon, beckoning, the siren call to my ears.
Bruised, battered and barely whole, i will reach my intended and long sought for goal,
Then like the phoenix of lore, I shall rise, as from the ashes, I shall arise.
Once and for all, master of my art, not a tear shall shed from these eyes.

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)

PLC Theory

2009-06-22T04:33:00.004+01:00

Well I'm back in my school marm super hero disguise and ready to continue to (mis)educate you. I'm going to give you a very abridged marketing lesson (you guys should really start paying me for all this wisdom...I take AmEx, Mastercard, and InterSwitch payments although cash is preferable, what with all this bad credit going around!)
Anyway to the lesson at hand...the PLC, for laymen the Product Life Cycle. Every product has a life cycle, pretty much like a person's. The conception stage (R & D phase), the growth stage, the maturity stage, and the death or retirement stage.
First, some bright chaps in marketing come up with a product to serve a particular need or to improve upon an existing product. After spending mucho dinera on research, market surveys and branding etc the new product enters the scene.
It goes through a growth stage where product loyalty is developed and sales figures increase as more people become aware of the product. The maturity stage is when optimum usage or sales are reached. People are buying, word of mouth is good and everybody's happy...buyers feel their getting value for money and the producers are laughing to the bank (hopefully).
Then, comes decline. The market is saturated, product usefulness has run its course, imitators have arrived, market share and sales figures start to fall and eventually the product gets phased out. Now if the makers have their act together they can reinvent the product, discover new uses for the product, make entry into the market difficult for new contenders, engage in product diversification or modification etc during the maturity stage and extend the life cycle, but eventually the cycle must end.Now the same PLC theory exists in relationships. The conception stage of the relationship begins when Mr. A desires the hot new product, Ms. B.. Extensive research ensues...where does she hang out, what does she like, how does she roll? etc. Much capital and other resources are spent, surveys conducted and strategic planning engaged in to ensure smooth market entry.
Now depending on the desire of the man, the product maybe invested in as a prototype or beta test pending the release of the final product (Ms. F., G., H. or Z. Or if he's really in to Excel he could product test till Ms. IJ256!), or he might see Ms. B as the finished product.
The relationship progresses tentatively (the growth stage), everybody on their best behaviour and the market share of Ms. B increases as Mr. A begins to "buy" her way, and her uses are discovered.
All things being equal, we progress to the maturity stage. Ms. B's been accepted and her market share has reached its peak, and the issue of competing products arises and new entrants flood the market.
How does Ms. B maintain her market dominance?
A smart business person might choose to:

re-brand the product along with an extensive new marketing strategy showcasing the product's alternate uses; (she flips the script and shows him other sides of her)
engage in product adaptation or modification to meet the changing demands of the buyer (she attunes to his changing needs and grows with him);
introduce of a supplementary product to increase the usefulness of and spark desire for the initial product (in this case fast forward 9 months); or
simply find ways to remind the buyer why he was loyal to the product initially (she keeps giving that 'good good').

Now if Ms. B has been successful in warding off the competition she should be married, and only retired by death (usually Mr. A's).
However, as we sadly know, not all products are successful in the open market, it could be that:

the product was a mismatch for the buyer (she wasn't the girl for him),
the product's entry into the market was ill timed (he wasn't ready to settle down or she was too emotionally immature to settle down),
the product failed to deliver (she wasn't who she said she was),
the product maker failed to fully understand the market thus failing to adapt to changing user requirements (she got too comfortable, and forgot to pay attention and research his changing needs) or
it was simply a bad market (he was just the wrong guy)

Whatever the case or cause, the product failed to satisfy the end user (Mr. A).A smart business person, if they decide to reintroduce the product, will analyse the reasons for the initial failure, reassess the target market demographics (make sure she's looking at the right type of man), align the product for market compatibility (make sure she's the right woman) and work out the kinks before relaunch (check bad attitudes, develop emotional maturity etc). Likewise in a failed relationship, a wise woman should assess, reevaluate and workout her lapses (if any) in the previous relationship, and then reintroduce herself appropriately repackaged for her new target market.
Originally Posted: 26 April 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)

I Can't Tell You Why (...or Maybe I Can)

2009-06-22T04:20:00.003+01:00

I'm really bored...hence the note blitz! As referenced in one of my prior notes (RE: My Current Playlist) the song with the subject title is one of my favorites. It's a song done in the late 70s by The Eagles the group that gave us classics like Hotel California, Love Will Keep Us Alive and Tequila Sunrise. It's an oldie no doubt, but its essence remains true, and most likely will centuries to come. It tells of a lover who is constantly drawn back to his partner. Despite the fights, the arguements, heart breaks and disappointments he constantly stops short at the door. Thankfully, he doesn't label his stupidity under the moniker of love.

I know...I constantly come across as a relationship cynic, maybe I am to an extent but I do seriously believe that God had good purpose when he made us male and female then told us to hook up. My problem with this however is rooted in Genesis 6 v 6 (Man by nature is wicked and constantly plans evil)...so many bad people with so many bad plans...but that asides, back to my topic.

My reservations regarding lust, like and love (and whether a fundamental difference actually exists between them) on the back burner momentarily, I find myself in a relationship quandary and have to ask...is love really enough? Love is so esoteric in nature...a mythical camelot, the yogi's nirvana...searched for, but the map showing its location lost in transit. It is not based on reality the way we talk it up, it is an ideal...and misplaced idealism is dangerous!

Love and all its promised peace have (and will continue to) driven many a soul crashing to the rocks just like the singin siren of folklore. Love is nice in concept, but I wonder whether the search for it hasn't somewhat eroded our God-given sense of practicality!

I love you...you (says you) love me, but somehow we can't seem to make it work! Why? Do we really have the right idea or are we simply pursuing a set of impossible totally unSMART goals? As I constantly preach, saying it and actually doing it are very different things. How can you claim to love me when you don't need me?

Love breeds need! The need for validation, the need to be needed. The need to feel like the other person's life would be incomplete without YOU! The need to feel like you count in the person's eyes. That they seek your validation too, that they lean on you, confide in you and can be weak in your presence. That your views count to them, that they can't live without you, that you are special. Selfishness at its best. I've recently discovered that I am selfish...I WANT to be truly needed, not just wanted, which goes contrary to my belief that love is about choice not necessity i.e you choice to be with the person you're with and are not compelled by forces beyond your control to be there.

There are times in a relationship that it feels like one of those 'never-ending' tv dramas where halfway through they keep replacing the soap star that plays your favorite character with someone else. Some relationships are just like that...you discover that you are f**king expendable...in YOUR OWN bloody movie (like some over-the-hill scarlet in Hollywood). Either your 'celebrity' status is so low that they could put in a new actor and your beau wouldn't even realise that he was kissing someone else, or worse still you get killed off in the script without a warning notice!

My new philosophy is that we do not seek love but need. Unfortunately we tend towards people who don't need us or who need us a bit too much (read this as co-dependant clingy, psycho a la Fatal Attraction (actually Glenn Close used them as a case study) with nada self-esteem). The issue now becomes an issue of striking a suitable need balance.

However women tend to be drawn to men who don't really need them (self included). By our very nature (most of us anyway) we are drawn towards 'MEN'. By this I refer to men who are driven, focused, goal getting, successful, take charge, cock of the coop men; not mealy mouthed mama's boys. Men who make things like walking on water, devising a workable plan for global peace and bringing an end to global warming seem like a walk in the park...all in a day's work (:-)), real kickass alpha males. The thing is...such men tend to be loners, packless wolves...never truly needing anyone, and find all they need within.

So what's a girl to do? Basically one thing...deal with it! Either accept the fact that he'll never truly need you in a Jordan Sparks' and C. B 'No Air' kinda way and be okay with that, or bounce and look for lesser mortals. Cynic? Or just a realist? I'd like to think I'm the latter.All said and done, I think I've told you why I remain where I'm not needed. Maybe it's love (or something like it) (yeah...right!!!)?

Originally Posted: 07 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)

Caveats Abound

2009-06-22T04:10:00.003+01:00

Permit me a moment of your time. I'm here again spreading my particular brand of reality (well...so says me anyway...you are totally free to disagree). Today I look at duality. The duality of love.

Many people believe that love is unconditional, that it is without strings, without boundaries, without limitations and without caveats. Hmmm! I really feel sorry for such poor foolish folk. It is this belief that causes so much unnecessary drama, trauma and distress in life. There is no such thing as unconditional in this game called love. And that's exactly how I view it...a game, where victory goes to those that hold a better hand.

Even the love that exists between mother and child is filled with conditionality. Every mother has her favorite child and all the others just have to suck up and bear it. It might not always be so obvious but something always gives it away.

Even in the affairs of couples there is no unconditionality in love. We love with condition, otherwise there would be no breakups, no messy divorces, no custody disputes, no visitation hearings. We'd love unreservedly till death and beyond. But we don't.

Love, like good has it's mirror image. Love and hate go together, just like good and evil. Without one can the other exist. How else would we appreciate good in all its ramifications if evil did not exist to highlight it? Likewise love! We are constantly taught that love harbours no negativity and that once we love we can not feel resentment towards our partners, or outright hatred on some choice days. We are made to believe that love is all warm and fuzzy, all sugar and spice and all things nice. All the movies always portray love as kinda stupid and moronic!

The truth is, love is not all about cuddles and hugs, midnight walks and such romantic hogwash...it's about conditions. We love because we expect to be loved in return, we take it to be a right. If I love him or her 50% then they should love me in exactly the same ratio. If I make x, y sacrifices then they should make a comparative sacrifice. Does that really sound like unconditional love to you? To make it worse a lot of us take our expectations one step further and say if I do 50 he or she should go 50 more just to prove they love me. Haba! What selfishness!Very few (self inclusive) can love in a vacuum. By this I mean, love without receiving love in reciprocation. Ask yourself in total honesty could you love the person you're with if they gave you no love in return? If you were the only one doing all the work to sustain the love, would you still stay? Would you willingly sacrifice all you are and will be, even unto death...for the one you love knowing categorically that they wouldn't do the same? I don't judge you if you say no to every question asked, because I truly, can not say yes!

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)

My Talk with God

2009-06-22T02:28:00.008+01:00

Recently I had a talk with God. It'd been awhile, so long that I'm even ashamed to put a date on it. Anyway...as usual it was a bit of a one-sided conversation with me doing all the talking and getting nothing in way of a reply...not even one of those moments of clarity, or a dream to say 'OK! I hear you already!!!'. Nada! Niente!!!

Notwithstanding I continued on my ethereal 20 Questions and prayed that answers would come somehow in the physical. I said a prayer for my family, even managed a few for my nation and state of birth. I didn't pray for world peace because I'm not so sure of my state of Grace to be so eager for God to come down and Armageddon to begin. Yeah, yeah...selfish I agree, but at least I'm honest about it! I put my friends in the mix, said a prayer for my enemies (again I'm being honest...I have enemies and don't front about it, but I did ask God to give me a renewed heart where they're concerned).

30 hours later I rose from my sanctuary none the wiser, with no enlightenment of any sort but a lightening of my soul all the same from bending God's ear and purging myself of all the thoughts I can't say in public for fear of being locked up in the psycho ward. However I was left with a simple realization. God no longer speaks from Sinai to instruct, He no longer sends manna from the heavens. No, but he gives you a vision in your heart of what is (and could be) in your grasp and has given you all you need to fulfil it.

Not quite the word I wanted, not exactly what I wanted to hear! He left the responsibility for my success or failure squarely with me. So if in life's journey I fail or fall, I can not blame anyone but myself seeing as I refused to do the work (as Paul said faith without work is dead) and closed my eyes to the tools He has given me to fulfil my task and destiny. However, even if I fail and fall a thousand times, the true sin would be to never get up and try again. Or to give up just when the dawn is about to break.

Many of us fall to achieve our true potential, not because of the people in the village or enemies at the gates, but because we either fail to truly harness our gifts or bug out just cause the going gets hard. We instead take the easy route of conformity to Man's rules, eagerly accepting what people say is reality, what is normal, what is achievable. The greats whose words we quote on the daily were in their day nonconformists. They realized what seed was in their hands and against society's expectations and suggestion strove to achieve the impossible and the improbable.

Thomas Edison, Theodore Roosevelt, Johannes Sebastien Bach, Abraham Lincoln, Nelson Mandela to name just a few. Adversity shapes a man and makes him strong. If it came to us easy we'd never truly appreciate our blessings. The only thing that seperates us from those that have succeeded is time and dedication. One year, 5 years, 10 years seems a long time, but on God's calendar it's just a blink of the eyes, and as they say...patience is a virtue!

We all have been given talent, irrespective of our beginnings, irrespective of who our daddies are, irrespective of our gender, disabilities, creed or state of origin. And each talent left to lay fallow, left unharvested and left to rot is an abominable sin. Discover what it is God gave you, groom it, grow it and channel it positively and as He said by the fruits of your labours you shall be made wealthy.

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)

Taken by Force

2009-06-22T02:08:00.007+01:00

Yes I know...I'm quite topical. I 'talk' about whatever enters my thoughts at a given time, and the discussions aren't always de riguer or socially polite or acceptable topics, and honestly come to think of it...I'm not so socially appropriate either. I talk about sex a little too much and a little too graphically for the liking of some (and trust me I really, REALLY...do try tone it down). However if all was nice and proper it really wouldn't be me, n'est pas?

Anyway the topic today is one that people rarely talk about and constantly shy away from. Rape! It's a topic that brings with it a lot of stigma and blame directed at the wrong person...the victim.
A victim of rape never really recovers from the attack...her scars may heal, and all physical reminders may disappear, but the emotional scars remain and her precious ability to trust without reservation is crushed. The physical assault is just the crux of the matter, the continued emotional assault is the kicker. Now if you are brave enough to report the rape you are once more raped by those that should aid you. The police (especially in Nigeria) take the line of reasoning that you most probably asked for it and compound your woes by asking you to describe how exactly your attacker did the thing and whether you enjoyed it. Even if you never report the case you become a laughing stock as your rapist gleefully spreads the tale of how he gave it to you and how you begged for more, leaving you tagged for life as easy and down for whatever and the prey for other like minded 'men'. Even confiding your disgrace to your nearest and dearest might not give you the needed solace as they might either blame you for your woes or advice you to forget the ugly incident as if you did something to be ashamed of...and further adding to your victimization.
The sad fact is women aren't safe even from those they know. Statistics show that most cases of rape are perpetuated by those close to the victims...the so-called acquaintance rape accounting for near 60 percent of reported cases. Those that you trust and let your guard down with become the enemy within. Not just friends and colleagues, but uncles, caregivers and fathers. So sad that in no place is a woman truly safe.
However rape is far more than physical violation. Even emotional and verbal assault are rape. Having worked in an all male environment I have been a victim of inappropriate conduct and touches, lewd and decidedly sexual talk and jokes. Put in a position that I feel violated mentally and emotionally but with little or no defence. The word for this is sexual harassment and in no way less than rape.
Wht leads a man to rape? What leads a man to forcibly take what is not given freely...especially when you all know that on a pound for pound, blow for blow basis she's no match for you (weaker vessel and all that). What kind of man derives satisfaction from hearing her screams, fighting, tears and pleading? It really beats me! And that crazy talk about 'I thought she really meant Yes and really wanted it' should be confined to the trash can, where it rightly belongs. Unless she's tearing off your clothes and nearly raping you...don't even go there. Take N. O. to be just that...NO!!!. Even if she's all mellow and drunk out of her wits, don't take advantage of what looks like a golden opportunity. She might not be so pleased with you when she comes to. In my view sex should be consensual...and should be between two consenting adults (emphasis on adult...a twelve year old, no matter how stacked, is not an adult and statutory rape is real believe it, but that a lecture for another day.)
Women are constantly victimized and those brave enough to shout out are further raped by the society that should protect them. In rape trials the victim is questioned about their sexual past, about their relationship with their attacker and their life is put under a microscope and their integrity put on trial. And the man in question only needs to maintain an argument of He said, She said.
Don't get me wrong...some women do play for the gallery and shout rape at the slightest provocation, sometimes as a sympathy ploy, or as a revenge tactic to get even with a man that they feel treated them badly. Even at that, we should not lose track of the fact that real victims exist, and it is our duty as a society to defend to rights of the innocent (and not so innocent).

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)

Me on Facebook

Climbing on My Soapbox...Again!!!

2009-06-22T01:24:00.008+01:00

Today I climb back on my little soapbox and prepare to tutor to our collective psyche! Today...I did my part in creating a change. I didn't march on the senate, neither did I barricade an oil company. I didn't kidnap an expatriate, or a 2 year old child. I didn't even blow up an oil pipeline (and contribute my part to further environmental degradation and what not).

No...I did none of the things my people (Niger Deltans) and generation (Gen X, abi na Gen Y or Z) have become famous for. I simply encouraged a young man. A young man who decided not to be one of the crowd, but to be a standard. He decided not to wait for government to improve society or his lot, nor did he wait for you or I, but in his own way and with his own voice decided to make his own path. I am a youth (though I think I saw a grey hair or two a couple of days ago) and am also a product of the Niger Delta! Before people start talking about my foreign education and all that, I might have spent the formative years in another man's land, but my life experiences and my understanding of life began here...in the Niger Delta.

I too have watched the land of my birth move from one low to the next seemingly impossible low, I too...have watched young girls, future wives and mothers, sell themselves to the highest bidder because that seems to be the only way left to make ends meet. I too...have seen the promising young man turn to crime, and be cut down by a policeman's bullet. I too...have looked down the barrel of a gun...while watching all I have worked for carted off by the 'original' owners. I too...have been wrongfully arrested and suffered police exploitation and oppression. I too...have struggled certificate in hand, under the boiling sun and downcast skies, looking for my daily bread. But I have chosen to make my own way, with no allegiance to any man, only God!

As is the recurrent theme in all my 'soapbox' confessionals (or rants as some have deemed fit to call them) I say 'ask not what your nation should be doing for you, but what you can do to turn things around'. I ask you not to put the blame for your stagnation on anyone's shoulders but your own. I ask you to take RESPONSIBILITY! Our government is useless...agreed, but isn't the government made up of people like you and I, two legs, two hands, and a head and eyes.

Not everyone we revere today had a godfather, not every face you see in our social events magazines was born with a silver (gold or platinum as the case maybe) spoon stuck firmly in their gobs. Some had no mother, no father, no joy, but lots of pride. Pride and faith...in themselves, in their abilities, in their ideas and dreams.

I seriously believe the Niger Delta is marginalised...but not by the fat cats in agbada in Aso, nor by the political class, but by the people themselves. Development can never come in the midst of war. And never to a people divided amongst themselves.
It isn't the agbada cartel eating our money, hoarding fuel to sell on the black market, or spending money for roads, hospitals and schools on foreign trips, mistresses and cars...it is our governors, and contractors who'd rather ride that new jeep, than build the good road he was paid to build. It is our very own people. As T. I said in his song 'Live Your Life' we are 'piss poor morally', so morally bankrupt and so wrapped up in self interest, that even with millions we willingly die for N1 (one naira).

The true meaning of militant and militancy has been hijacked by armed robbers, hostage takers and now murderers. The murderers of the 11 year old girl in Port Harcourt or the 23 year old undergraduate in Akwa Ibom (after collecting the 10 million naira ransom no less) should not claim to be fighting for any rights of yours and mine!

Are we like the foolish servant who buried his talents instead of multiplying them, because he did not want his master to profit? The Niger Delta is not just the engine room of the nation's foreign earning machine, but has a far greater source of income that is so highly under utilized...its human capital. Nigeria's got talent...Niger Delta's got talent! We have our Timi Dakolos and Timayas. Our Dokubos, Benemisias and Henshaws. Our Okaras and Amadis. We have our business leaders, our young entrepreneurs busy counting paper without government assistance. We have our talented inventors, our poets, our artists. So much potential...so grossly overlooked.

Nothing in life is easy, only dying...and we have no say with regard that, but regarding our life and how we live it...we have choices. Taking the path of least resistance and wasting your God given ability and potential is a sin! As someone remarked today 'anyone who says he's jobless has no vision'. We have all been endowed with gifts, but are too damn lazy to grow them. As it goes 'gold is tested by fire!'. The only true form of marginalization is self imposed. They may frustrate you, they may ridicule you, they may hate, but once you know your potential, you...like a rock...will not be moved!

So...to Vincent Nwilo (an intellectual militant)...author of Stories from Bori, I doff my hat, you are an inspiration to myself and others who strive to make a change.

Originally Posted:02 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)

The Reaper

2009-06-22T00:46:00.005+01:00

The road long, The journey short
The destination of no consequence of any sort
The fate...the same awaits the coward, the strong, the brave
The eternal rest, the never sated always open grave
Be king, be pauper, be star, be locked in a constant pose to pray
Be saint, be sinner, be rich, be you what you may
When the time arrives, to the hungry earth we will all allegiance pledge
The only democracy where your vote must be counted no party playin for an edge
Where the constitution is but a one liner "You live then you die, so kiss your life goodbye."
No poetry, no prose, no tears, no lie
Money won't save you death don't care to know your name
The Grim Reaper doesn't care if you ruled your game
So wtf you are a celebrity? Or simply one called nondescript
Meet the director, the guy who cut you outta the script!
The race is to none and victory belongs to only one...The Reaper!
The one who makes grown men cry when he comes calling, the one who turns mother to weeper.
Acquire like a magpie, fill your nest with bling, cars, rings,
Buy your mansions, jets and trivial things.
All left behind to slackers to loot, squander and lose the things that became your life blood and steady goal
The things that twisted, eroded and finally enfolded your now condemned soul!
Or maybe we'll dig your grave wide and deep to put you and your mountain of things!

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)

Me on Facebook

Robert Lindsey

2009-06-11T21:08:00.001+01:00

Ok...I'm relatively easy going and believe in freedom of expression, but where I draw the line is when people expose their colossal ignorance, bigotry and unabated racism and talk utter bullshit from a 'dem say' point of view without having valid first hand knowledge. Today I read one of the most asinine and ignorant pieces I've read in a long while, and the author of this drivel is 'allegedly' a Masters holder (from which University I wonder) and thus should know the importance of adequate unbias research. I also took time to read other blog posts by this same anti-semitic, african hating **** (think colorfully...like a drunk sailor in a bar and fill in the blanks) and have concluded that the man has major MAJOR issues (padded room and straight jacket written in his horoscope...if he doesn't do a 'Columbine' and slaughter a bus load of immigrants first that is!).
For those that wish to read the offensive article that got me spewing expletives before my meditation, the link is Robert "highly racist, anti-semitic bigot" Lindsey.
Now I won't dispute some of the points he raised (even though his statistics were heavily skewered and exceedingly bias) but his manner and tone was beneath civilized, his statements were derogatory and smacked of personal angst. If he had approached the issues from an unbiased view point Nigerians and others would have responded in a more supportive manner, but his aggression started from the title itself and continued throughout his slightly psychotic ravings.
Below is the comment I wrote in response to his inane rantings recorded here in case he decides not to publish it.

Dear Mr. Lindsey,
I was initially ticked off (putting it very very mildly) when I read your blog post, but after taking time to engage in deep breathing techniques my clarity returned and I found myself overcome with great pity for you! What else can I have for someone who wears his prejudices and bigotry so proudly on his chest as if it were a bronze star and exhibits his gross stupidity, myopia, racism and illiteracy (education consists of more than acquiring degrees).
I've been fortunate to have travelled to a few of the places you so caustically disparaged (most recent being Manilla, as well as having the (mis)fortune of a 1st World (says you!) upbringing) and although some issues do exist it is nowhere near as bad as you erroneously claim.
With regard the Nigerian scam artistry issue get your facts right. Nigeria is yet to produce an scammer with as much skill as say umm...America's own Madoff! Neither have we attempted to sell off the London Bridge or the White House as some of your fellow citizens have. And usually people that get scammed are either greedy, naive or just plain dumb. And pleeeeease who is so so lame as to have to resort to internet dating...don't have women in your own country?
We don't have cases of serial killers, or people waking up in the mornin hating self and humanity and going on senseless killing sprees for the heck of it like you crazed and deranged whiteys.
You should speak from experience not hearsay for your rantings to be taken moderately seriously or maybe this is like Candid Camera and we'll find out that you're just jossin with us and this is just a big joke and you really aren't this retarded.

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)

Who am I?

2009-04-15T19:45:00.000+01:00

Strange question to ask, right? But a meaningful one all the same. Who am I? Who are we? What defines a (wo)man, what constitutes their identity? Is it their name? Does your name determine who you are or will be? Does being called John Doe instead of Mark Adams change who you are? Is it gender that makes one who they are? Does being male rather than female affect your basic 'self'?

Does who your daddy is (or isn't ) make you the person you are? Or less than the next man or woman on the street? Is it the color of your skin? Should your heritage or place of origin determine who you are? Maybe yes or maybe it is the collectivity of all these!

We (our true 'self') are not formed or developed by one factor alone. 'No man is an island' as the saying goes and neither do we exist in a vacuum. It is all the factors above and our daily interactions that make us WE.

That said, have you ever stopped to think...how have I impacted on developing someone...good or bad.

Every day, it seems, we are bombarded by stories in the media about people waking up in the morning and deciding life sucks and everybody should be dead. Kids wake up, take a loaded gun, and kill their classmates, teachers and then themselves. Journals and diaries tell a case of bullied, teased and belittled individuals, gradually being to hate. Don't get me wrong...I don't condone the actions of these people,but I do ask this...wasn't there anyone who treated them like people and showed kindness and love? Wasn't there anyone who gave them a reason to love in return?

In your day to day activities you meet people and have an effect on the lives of those you meet. We tend not to think that our actions or inactions toward people profoundly affect their lives and actions. That smile on your face when you say hello, or the simple 'thank you' you utter could be the thing that stops the person thinking of suicide from jumping. That kind deed, done without expectation of thanks or reward, might be the very thing that restores an individual's faith in people. That kind word, that sincere compliment given might be the very thing that lifts the spirit of a downcast individual.

It may seem that you can do nothing about the way of our world today, but our actions help, in part, to make people who they are.

Take time to be kind, to be selfless, to be concerned about your fellow 'man' and you could be the one who changes the future.

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)

Me on Facebook

That Crazy Psycho Bitch!!!

2009-04-10T19:29:00.008+01:00

Now I'm one of those people who hate when guys use the words ho, skank, bitch etc to describe women as it's just damn plain disrespectful to the entire female gender. Especially when we remember that all men are of woman born. However no better epitaph than the title given fits this particular classification of woman. I mean let's check it...crazy psycho babe, crazy psycho lady, crazy psycho woman, crazy psycho chick...none of them have quite the same ring as crazy psycho bitch, now do they?

Many of my male friends have lamented their encounters with certain daughters of Eve and have had no better name for their erstwhile love interests then 'that crazy psycho bitch'. Their stories have sent chills down my spine and made me wonder what genetic flaw could make the once loving girlfriend suddenly turn to Freddy Kruger of Nightmare on Elm Street fame. Is there something in the female gene code that triggers psychosis in us? Is there a particular chromosome that turns a relatively (cos truth told most human beings are only about 80% mentally stable on average) stable woman into the Bride of Frankenstein revisited when she enters a relationship? Or is it the men that trigger the response?

In a piece I wrote awhile back (Commitment Pt. 1) I compared a relationship to time in a psychiatric facility...(after all the word commitment could refer to exclusivity in a relationship, dedication to something, or a spell in an asylum!) and I asked whether relationships made people crazy or simply acted as a catalyst and merely triggered a latent congenital precondition. I've seen otherwise sane and intelligent women turn stalker, forgetting their own lives and careers and trailing their men's every movement (or squandering money better spent on Jimmy Choos, paying people to spy on him.)

Technology has also increased the power of the female stalker. Now she spends every available minute tracking his MySpace, DiggIt, Facebook, Twitter etc activities and posting hate-mail to every female on his list. God help him if she gets her hands on his password...she either sends insulting emails to everyone from his boss to his mother, or simply deletes all correspondence and contacts. GSM technology has also changed the path of relationships and brought psychosis to greater heights. Now she steals his phone to check his call log and (either using his phone, her phone or a business center) calls everyone warning them to stay clear. A friend of mine told me of such a case where his (now ex)girlfriend called his sister and warned her to leave her man alone. The SMS in-box and outboxes are not safe either. Messages sent even before they were an item are reacted upon immediately, the same thing as with the call log. As one US rapper lamented to his boo in a rhyme...'it's called an iPhone not a Us-Phone'. Damn girl...the privacy thing goes BOTH ways.

I've been on the receiving end of this, with strange women calling me at 2 or 3 in the morning to tell me to leave 'so and so' alone or else! When I was younger this would have proved sufficient motivation to date the guy even if I initially had no thought of the initially (I hate people threatening me or accusing me of crap I didn't do). Now (older and moderately wiser), I'd laugh, but instead I feel a slight sympathy for the woman, so insecure in her relationship that she has to spend time better spent sleeping or having sex, harassing poor women like me!!

Now...if she's not calling all his ex(?)-girlfriends (real or imagined), she's calling him! Not once in a day mind you, but 15 to 20 times in the space of 3hrs (maybe it's just me, but c'est tres beaucoup EXCESSIVE=CRAZY!!), that aside she still sends 10 or more SMS messages between calls. If, for any reason whatsoever, (none of her business if he's in the middle of a meeting to cement a multi-billion naira deal) he doesn't pick her call he's with another woman! She routinely checks his clothes for makeup smudges and lipstick stains, her nose is always on active duty for strange perfume odors. She goes as far as doing his laundry so she can check for sperm discharges on his boxers! If he's late arriving home he must be coming from his latest catches house (she's timed the journey from his office to house to the nanosecond and recruited his guard or neighbor's child to serve as watchdog). Unfortunately for her, all these actions succeed in only one thing...sending the brother running and screaming for dear life to the hills. Hell, they're not even married yet and have been dating for all of six weeks, she's acting like she owns him and has the C of O in her handbag!

Now I know there are men out there who can actually drive a woman to such madness with their underhand and damned right sneaky behaviour, but most guys are pretty straight up and involved in their relationships (I'm really being very kind with this assumption!). I don't think it's a trust issue either. It's not about whether she trusts the guy, but more about her self-esteem. I mean if you're like me and know you're fly, why would any guy cheat on you? (I know...I'm very modest). OK...so I'm just joking there, but truthfully if you know that you're a good woman and deserving of respect, and you know that you carry yourself as such, even a guy who's an absolute dog'll treat you that way i.e with respect. If he values you he'll put a damper on his gaming or at worst keep it out of your line of sight because he thinks you are special.

When a woman is the type that is independent of her relationship, and can find her happiness outside her man, and seeks her own pleasure, letting him be himself; the man tends to want to spend more time with her. Why? Because she's stress-free. She prioritizes the relationship, sure, but it isn't her only priority. Her life does not revolve around him, she realizes that he is only an addition to and not the whole of her life. And if homeboy doesn't appreciate the fact he's on to a good thing...his loss...not yours

Personally, I have a policy, it's very simple and not mind-blowing, but it's helped me from entering psycho bitch status...I follow the advice of the Three Monkeys, that is Hear no evil, See no evil and Speak no evil and evil shall be far from you. What I don't know won't kill me, and if I don't go looking for trouble I won't find it. I really don't care to know what secrets his email account holds, nor his SMS boxes. Neither do I want to know where he is or who he's with when he isn't with me. I don't want to know who he's calling or who called him. I don't care who he's kissing on the side, cos he ends up in my bed not hers. As Ashante sings in her song..."I've got the good good". And I don't listen to tale bearers, my body dey phone me when wahala dey!

Curiosity slayed the cat and he had nine lives, I only have one and have no intention wasting it worrying about any man even if he's my husband!

PS: I'd like to know for research purposes readers encounters with CPBs (please feel free to change the bitch to bastard if you need to...men are not exempt from the crazy psycho label either). And CPBs are welcome to tell what drives them to it.

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)

Me on Facebook

Week 58 Wordzzle Challenge

2009-04-06T01:27:00.007+01:00

Another challenge is here and I feel good. I've tried to follow up on the story of General Mustard and his household as best I can and might just start a contest to see if you can guess 'whodunnit'. :-)

10 word challenge

Words:Acrobat, grocery store, ceiling fan, dandelion, bumble bee, alabaster, scissors, chartreuse, strenuously, cube.

Amy loved her kitten! It was a beautiful chartreuse given to her by, her now erstwhile French paramour, Antoine. Actually the cat was the only useful thing to come out of the affair, it kept her better company at night that was for sure! Now as much as she loved Kitty, especially when she did her little acrobat routine of chasing bumble bees through the dandelions in the backyard, Kitty could be very unruly (much like Antoine!). Last week she jumped on the sideboard and knocked over the alabaster vase that held Amy's gran's ashes, sending Grams flying in every which direction. Her mother nearly had a fit of apoplexy when she heard the news! Kitty couldn't be trusted on her own for a minute, even a 5 minute trip to the grocery store meant lugging Kitty along to forestall catastrophe. Three days ago Kitty discovered the joy of shredding and reduced Amy's favorite silk blouse to tatters more effectively and efficiently than a pair of maliciously handled scissors. As Amy sat on the veranda of her little cube of a house that the housing agent tried passing off as a charming cottage, while soaking the breeze from the ceiling fan, she calculated the best way to subdue Kitty's natural precociousness during the strenuously tasking 2 day drive she was about to embark on to see her mother!

Mini challenge

Words:iPod, poison ivy, computer, interpreter, optometrist.

"I really need to see an optometrist" wailed Sandy to herself over the music throbbing from her rather battered iPod. Her once loved friend...now nemesis, the computer monitor appeared to wink maliciously at her, as if savoring the pleasure of her dilemma. She'd been in front of the screen 14 long hours trying to put finishing touches to her play titled 'Poison Ivy and the Interpreter' that was to play in 8 weeks, but she found the ending to be too much of an anticlimax.

Mega challenge

Brigadier General Mustard sat in the gazebo now devoid of the shade once provided by his beloved birch trees, the hummingbird family twittering away unseen in an obscure branch in someone else's tree, sipping morosely on a glass of Chartreuse, the ice cube choked lemonade on the raffia table a tad too tame for his palate and thoughts. His attention was divided! He was currently trying to decide whether to focus on the little bumble bee playing acrobat amongst the dandelion clusters in the lawn (Michaels always seemed to overlook the weeds while taking care of the garden), or the simply concentrate on the oscillating ceiling fan in the gazebo that was working strenuously...and fighting a losing battle in the General's opinion... in a valiant attempt to cut the heat to an endurable level. Carrie had gone to the grocery store, or so she said, to stock up for his birthday party scheduled for the next night.

What the General really wanted to do was to take the spare keys from the alabaster vase in his study and check Carrie's room for any clues that might exclude her from the suspect list...or invariably link her to the arson!

He loved his daughter but...she'd always run with a bad crowd and had disappeared from his life for 12 years, before surfacing 6 months ago with brood in tow and very few answers.

He finally gave up the fight, grabbed the keys, and ambled to her room. The room looked very much like it had been hit with a rocket launcher...or a hurricane! Maybe it had been...Hurricane Carrie!!! She was always pristine and well put together, but she was an absolute pig when it came to housekeeping. On the bed he even spied a pair of scissors peeking through the mayhem on the bed.

A cursory recon of the room showed little to pique his curiosity. He walked over to her computer table and noted nothing of interest other than an appointment card for the optometrist and tickets for a play titled 'Poison Ivy and the Interpreter' by a playwright called Sandra Fullerton. He began to feel rather foolish and very guilty for even suspecting Carrie and headed to the door while cursing himself for being a nosey old fuddy duddy, when he noticed an iPod peeking out from under the bed. Now the Brigadier was one of those people who was best described as a gadget freak (for lack of a better word), a throwback from his 10 year stint in counterintelligence no doubt, and knew his way around technology better than the average Joe. He scrolled through the menu and saw a track with no name but the date clearly showed it was recorded the day of the fire! He pressed 'PLAY' and the first voice he heard sent a chill though his spine!

For more about Ms. Raven and instructions on how to do the Wordzzle for yourself, go to Views from Raven's Nest

You’re Not The One…

2009-03-31T03:28:00.001+01:00

You're not the one for me!

Sure! You make my heart skip a beat

And you lift me off my feet

But you're still not the one for me!!!

The one for me wouldn't love me then leave me,

Wouldn't leave me to hold my pillow tight,

Each and every night,

So you're SO not the one for me.

You might brighten up my very day

And love me so well in every way

But you're still not the one for me.

So what if I love you so much it sometimes hurts,

When you take my heart and grind it in the dirt?

So what if you are my all and all,

When you kick my heart 'round like a football

You might be my first and my last

But you see…you're so not the one for me.

I reason, I ponder

I search and I wonder

Logic tells me that I'm right

But my heart still puts up a fight

And whispers…

You're SO the ONE for ME!!!!

Written: 18 April 2008

By the Window

2009-03-31T03:26:00.001+01:00

I sit by the window and watch life go by

Everyone's in motion but I.

My life stagnates like water in a pail,

They live, they love

They laugh, they cry

But I…

I sit by the window and watch life go by.

One day maybe

I'll join in life

But for now it seems

I'm destined sit by the window and watch life go by.

Written: 18 October 2005

Wordzzle Week 54

2009-03-30T23:56:00.002+01:00

10-Word Challenge:

Words:
sugar bowl, cotton, wizard, fundraising, Ben Hur, salmonella, luke warm, telescope, bank, walk-a-thon.

Story: Emma hurried out of her office in the Bank in order to get home to change for tonight's benefit. She'd decided to attend the charity fundraising at the Metropolitan Center, in aid of victims of the latest salmonella outbreak, dressed as Cleopatra while Oscar her date was still stuck between going either as Ben Hur, the
Wizard of Oz or a sugar bowl. The evening was a bust, Oscar spent most of the night looking through the Mets' telescope, the wine was luke warm and the mousse tasted like a swab of cotton and Oscar, the silly fool, had registered them for next week's walk-a-thon without even asking her.

Mini Challenge:

Words:
challenge, sparkling cider, melancholy, snail mail, master carpenter.

Story: Jonathan was master carpenter
at CraftsRUs. As he sipped on the glass of sparkling cider his wife had brought into his workshop, he found himself in a state of melancholy as he considered the new challenge that had arrived via snail mail.

Mega Challenge:

Story: The annual Sugar Bowl
was in less than three weeks and Jill was distraught and decidedly melancholy! She'd been given the job of organizing the whole shindig and everything was spiraling madly out of control. The master carpenter was behind schedule with the float, the council was still dilly-dallying over the permit that would allow them close a section of the borough for the fundraising walk-a-thon. The challenge
of getting the state health inspector approval for the food vendors still hadn't been surmounted, especially with the current salmonella outbreak and the snail mail brigade were back on strike again. Moreover, hell of all hells…the cotton candy machine was double booked for that day.

The rest of the Sugar Bowl committee was lukewarm about her ideas on the theme and entertainment for this year's extravaganza. She wanted a Roman or biblical theme with the entertainers dressed up like Cleopatra, Mark Anthony and Ben Hur. The others wanted a cosmic and magical theme with complete with fairies, elves, witches, wizards, and a giant telescope. The Miller people still hadn't fulfilled their pledge of giving them 24 barrels of sparkling cider and the committee's bank account was almost in the red. She was in a total tizzy and was sure that she was doomed to go down in history as the ONE…the one who ruined the Sugar Bowl!

For more about Ms. Raven and instructions on how to do the Wordzzle for yourself, go to Views from Raven's Nest

Wordzzle Week 57

2009-03-30T23:26:00.004+01:00

10-Word Challenge:

Words:
apoplexy, doctor, hummingbird, shallow end of the pool, brigadier general, mustard, greed, parallelogram, slumber party, casual.

Story:
Doctor Stuart in his usual low and monotonous voice educated Brigadier General Mustard on the realities of his current condition.

"Apoplexy is a result of excess pressure on the brain and that explains your bouts of loss of consciousness and voluntary motion. I can assure you that this condition is not one to be taken casually. There is no quick fix here! If you do not listen to my advice, you will find yourself in the deep end of the pool without a lifejacket, if not dead!"

All the while, the brigadier general stared out of the window, focusing past the parallelogram formed by the trees in the arbour to; a cheeky little hummingbird sang in one of the trees, and his granddaughters and their friends, splashed in the shallow end of the pool, before heading out for their planned slumber party. He thought to himself "I once thought that I no longer have the greed for life that makes one care to live, till my daughter, Carrie, and my granddaughters' came back into my life! Now I want to live" and resolved to do whatever the doctor thought was best.

Mini Challenge:

Words:
Mount Olympus, arsonist, portraits, birch trees, "that car needs a new muffler."

Story: Shirley tilted her head to get a better view of the particular picture she was reviewing. It was one of a series of portraits by Michel Von Strauss titled the Arsonist's Revenge, and this one had a smoldering Mount Olympus obscured by a clump of birch trees. The Sunday Review had paid drive to Michigan and her car kept backfiring and contributing in no small measure to Global warming. She made a mental note to tell her mechanic that that car needs a new muffler

Mega Challenge:

Words:
apoplexy¹, doctor, hummingbird, shallow end of the pool, brigadier general, mustard, greed, parallelogram, slumber party, casual, Mount Olympus, arsonist, portraits, birch trees, "that car needs a new muffler."

Story:
Brigadier-General Mustard was having a Mount Olympus sized fit! Carrie tried to calm him, reminding him what his doctor had said about apoplexy. He was livid with rage. An arsonist had set fire to the guesthouse, luckily no one had been in. his granddaughters had gone to a slumber party and would not be back till the next day. The birch trees in the arbor had been obliterated and he feared for the lives of his favorite hummingbird family that usually congregated there. Unusually for her, Carrie was dressed in casual wear, a pair of joggers with a strange parallelogram motif, and she had a grease smudge on her blouse. The brigadier general mused on that before asking her about it. "Oh dear me" she responded, "It must be from that old banger of mine, that car needs a new muffler I think." The General started to get a little suspicious about the identity of the arsonist
when he discovered a grease-stained rag, hidden behind a flowerpot near the
shallow end of the pool. Especially when the insurers began asking about the value of property in the guesthouse and Carrie started to go on about a group of portraits that he was sure had already been sold last year. Could Carrie be the arsonist and was
greed
the motive?

For more about Ms. Raven and instructions on how to do the Wordzzle for yourself, go to Views from Raven's Nest

Pen and Blank Pad

2009-03-30T01:31:00.003+01:00

Over the last couple of weeks I've had sort of a writer's block. It's not that the ideas don't come...it's follow through that's the problem.

1001 bright ideas pop into my head, and a few are kinda great (if I say so myself), I even hear voices in my head spewing forth witty dialogues (and yes...I do know how that comes across!!!) but when it comes to putting pen to paper (or in the 21st century, finger to keyboard, or in my case, to mobile phone keypad) I ram a brick wall. The fountain of words dries up, the voices press mute, and my muse jumps ship.

I think I understand why I'm muse-less! Over-anxiety! I got a lot of props for writing humorous and insightful little pieces, and some actually suggested I should think of writing professionally, either as a columnist or a novelist. Now I don't know about that (although flattery is always appreciated), but now I have expectations to live up to... and they're not my mother's! (whose expectations I've at long last stopped trying to meet. I started disappointing her from when I hit 16 so why should I stop now? :-)).

Competition is also rendering me 'pen' shy. It's not that I'm actively competing with anyone here, but blogspot has provided me an opportunity to see what's available and I'm green with envy. The talent abound, and the sheer artistry of many of the bloggers here has me hyperventilating, panicked and feeling like a fraud (even though I never pretended to be a writer). I need to step my game WAY UP!

The pressure to perform is getting to me, I believe. The sarcastic wittisms that formerly dripped effortlessly from my 'pen' have dried up quicker than a water droplet in the Sahara. The tongue in cheek humor that once graced my posts, now washed up and faded... like a Hollywood starlet gone past 30!

The once fun activity now begins to feel like work (ouch...did I just say that dirty word, the W word). The thing I did purely for pleasure and free psychotherapy is suddenly my own private hell.

I've decided I'm no longer writing for anyone. I'm going to write just for me. Hopefully like Stella, I'll finally get my groove back.

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)

Me on Facebook

Here I Stand!!

2009-03-28T16:01:00.005+01:00

"HERE I reflect... looking inward, I believe I speak for most (wo)men when I say that in life, you're tempted to find ways to occupy the emptiness and loneliness you feel with temporary fixes. The more I tried to feed that void, the more I hungered. My search for oneness eluded me because the superficial shrouded me. Being truthful can be hard, but lying to oneself is harder. Sooner or later, you realize there's something missing in life. Something meaningful...something spiritual"

There's a group that I'm digging right now. They're called The Script. I heard a song from them called 'Breakeven' about the realities of ended relationships and I was kinda hooked. Interest piqued I dug further and chanced upon a track called 'Fall for Anything'. The chorus has a line that goes '...stand for something or you'll fall for anything'.

Now the song is actually a cry to women about listening to the same old lines spewed out by men to get a little somethin' somethin' but it got me questioning...'What do I REALLY stand for?'. And I'm sad to say I found I could think of anything.

It was a hard truth to accept! And more questions arose. What is there in my life that I would willingly fight for... die for? Apart from my children, to whom I have a moral obligation, I could think of nothing. What ideals govern my life? I'd like to say I'm incorruptible, morally above board, dedicated to something, but I can't! I realized that I'm just a person who floats on the currents of life's endless sea. Moving from one day to another, or should I say moved by the winds of destiny, towards my imminent demise.

If I were to die today, what legacy would I leave behind? What would I have done of note? What would I be remembered for? How many lives would I have touched? I have only one answer to give...Nothing!!!

I have found on bitter and sober reflection that I, as I stand here, stand for nothing!

"HERE I kneel...bowing my head in prayer. Remembering the times when I grew weary gives me humility. Knowing that change is never easy. I have confronted life's trials with passion, determination, and resilience. God's voice orders my steps. I am not perfect, but I am emboldened by His promise... I pray for the strength to speak up for what I believe in, and most importantly, to stand up for what is right!"

The above quote speaks volumes to my heart and I pray that when the time comes I can say boldly...HERE I STAND!!!

Quotes from Usher Raymond's "Here I Stand" single.

The Wish-list!

2009-03-27T16:17:00.002+01:00

Many a night I've lain on my bed and wondered "Why am I alone?". Don't get me wrong! I'm actually one of those weird people that can and does enjoy their own company for days on end, by design! That said I do like 'adult' human companionship from time to time.
I want someone to talk to (it is so...o NOT cool to be talking to yourself in a locked room!), someone to enjoy the silence with, someone to snuggle with Sunday morning when playing hookie from church. Someone to watch really bad Hong Kong movies with while you play critic from opening credits till 'THE END' rolls on screen. Someone who shares my taste in 'weird' music by Nigerian standards and has the commonsense to tell me I look gorgeous when I gain ten pounds. Someone who really gets my dumb jokes and gets it when I have an epiphany. Someone to be my +1 when I get an invite to a gig or party (going stag has its virtues but when everybody else is a pair it can get old). Someone to be there when I cry and someone I can let my guard down with 99.9% of the time.

Now this isn't atypical! I'm sure I'm not the only person with this wish-list, but where the irony is is that I'm in a relationship and have been for 6 years!
Yes...for those of you who think I'm a lesbian...I have a man! But do I really? We've been together for ages (longer than a lot of marriages I might add), but recently I've found myself asking why do I feel so alone! Why am I still living the single life? He's been on transfer for almost a year but this current state of affairs started long before he left.
I was initially content with the status quo...we hook up when we need to, hang out individually, call before we visit (ok...that was my idea...what you don't know about doesn't count) etc. But a six year booty call isn't my idea of a relationship. I love him, and recently he confessed that he loves me too, but I'm not sure I want to continue on this ride anymore.
Maybe turning 30 has something to do with it. I've realized that I want far more. I WANT to get married and have more children (I have 3 daughters from previous encounters) and time's a-wasting...big time!
I've been gentle with him, letting him know I'm there, never pushing him and letting him find his feet in our thing, but I can't allow that anymore. I want all those things on my wish-list! And I want them soon.
At the same time I'm kinda scared of letting go. Me...back on the dating scene! Agh! Frightening thought! Should I be so ready to throw away 6 years filled with some moments of joy or should look for something more? Maybe the question I really need to ask myself here, I guess, is: do I deserve the Status quo or do I deserve the wish list?!

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)

Me on Facebook

Forbidden Pleasures

2009-03-24T21:22:00.002+01:00

DISCLAIMER: The author of this note is slightly psychotic. Anyone who takes this note too seriously has only themselves to blame.

Have you ever wondered why stolen food always tastes better? The things you really shouldn't do are the things you crave the most. Good habits die without resistance but bad ones need deliverance services to exorsize. 1001 cliches exist to describe the lure of the forbidden. What is it about us that makes contraband seem so desirable. I guess it's because of the thrill that comes with unacceptable behaviour, the feeling of power that comes from getting away with that that you shouldn't really be doing. It's an addictive feeling, a certain highness and like a drug you need a fix every so often to renew that feeling.

My question however is slightly deviant. Who dictates what is forbidden? What is hallal, what is haram? I was listenin to a radio program this weekend and the topic was morals and values. The guest speaker danced around the topic for the near hour long duration of the show but at no time could define morality.
Defining morality causes it's own set of moral dilemma. Imposition of one's moral codec becomes an infringement of another's inalienable right to moral freedoms.
How does this relate to the topic at hand...forbidden pleasures...well morality or ethical norms determine what's forbidden abi? So it's a question of ethical values. It can not be forbidden if my value system allows! I believe most cases of psychosis arise from conflicts between an individual's set of values and that of the larger society. When the individual struggles to justify his values and society's and the divergence exists, the struggle to comply causes madness! That's just me talking.

Originally Posted: Dec 21, 2008.

I'm Better Than You!!!

2009-03-24T21:15:00.000+01:00

I gain great satisfaction from being in the position to thumb my nose at other people and say "lookee, I'm better than you." The joy of being able to say (even if it's only to myself alone) I'm better than Mr. A or Ms. B, is damned near orgasmic. The pure joy of it can't be expressed adequately in words.
Highly sanctimonious behaviour I agree but we all do it! How many times have we gleefully rejoiced at another's disgrace when their private dirty little misdeeds become publicly aired like laundry and said "I wouldn't have done that" or "I wouldn't be so stupid as to get caught" thinking we are wiser, smarter and generally better than the "culprit". I accept my human nature and don't pretend about it even though I do feel some 'very slight' sympathy for the disgraced soul, but the sympathy stems not from empathy but rather from the fact that I just thought of all my own dirty laundry hidden away in the closet and rue the day it might also come to light.

Originally Posted: Jan 11, 2009.

Commitment Pt. 1

2009-03-24T21:07:00.003+01:00

DISCLAIMER (My psychiatrist asks me to state this for obvious reasons ;-) ): The author of this note is slightly psychotic. Anyone who takes this note too seriously has only themselves to blame.

Ok...I've done truth, fidelity, and morality so I might as well throw commitment in the mix! Commitment (relationship-wise) can be defined very loosely as:

agreeing to hook up with one person for better or worse (not necessarily in form of the standard ball-and-chain arrangement called marriage), and promising to have no nookie on the side for as long as your relationship shall live.

Now this said, the dictionary has another definition of the word commitment. Commitment may also refer to.

the period of confinement, or the actual confinement of an individual, in a psychiatric facility. Sometimes the commitment is entered voluntarily by the person so committed, (but usually there isn't much choice in the matter on the part of the committ-ee * author's addition).

English language has always intrigued me with its ambiguity, play on words and subtle ironies. How ironic that the word for a loving relationship and the confinement of a mentally unstable person (i.e. craze man in local parlance) are the same! This might be just coincidental (yeah...right!), but the general behaviour of people in "committed" relationships makes me beg to differ. Now here we have the makings of a great research topic.

The Hypothesis: there is a strong positive relationship between committed relationships and deteriorating mental health. Research questions arising:

Do relationships actually make people asylum-worthy?
Does love make one crazy?
Are those in relationships already latent psychotics and being in a relationship just acts as a catalyst or trigger for the craze to start?

I'll pause here for now, but will continue this line of thought in a subsequent note.

Originally Posted: Jan 11, 2009.

I Hate Christmas!!!

2009-03-24T21:03:00.000+01:00

"...My people perish for lack of knowledge."

Seriously...i hate Christmas! Don't get me wrong i love God, and am mad about Jesus, but this thing called Christmas i don't get.
My reasonin is quite simple...who...someone please tell me with historical and scriptural references...told anyone Jesus came into this world December 25th? How many of you actually know the historical origin of 25 December? Or are aware that in most pagan religions (that originated before christianity) the day is set aside for the worship of the Sun deity's birth or the start of the Winter solstice? Orisis in ancient Egyptian worship was born that very day. History itself tells us of the early church's assimilation of old religion practices during the propogation of the religion.
That aside the purported reason behind the season has been overrun by commercialism and materiality. How many parents didn't buy presents for their children, but instead taught them about sacrifice, dedication and love as Jesus lived his life...seeing as Jesus is the reason behind the season?
If you like call me the Grinch's sister i gree! But i don't do Christmas!

Posted: Dec 18, 2008.

Fidelity

2009-03-24T20:10:00.002+01:00

Fidelity! The elusive grail for which we strive. Faithfulness! Nice concept but a genetic impossibility. Man (and i do mean men) by nature is wired for propagation of the specie, not monogamous bliss.
Even as a woman fidelity is an improbable attainment. Why? you might ask. By virtue of its very definition fidelity precludes total commitment...mind, body & soul. Any feelings of attraction, affection, or lust (even if never actioned) for another constitute infidelity.
The gravitation towards another for extra-relationship satisfaction of needs (be it companionship, communication, or affection) is infidelity. Fidelity is Totality. No one person can fulfill our every need. So are any of us truly faithful?
Posted: Nov 14, 2008.

Just the Way You Are!

2009-03-24T19:59:00.002+01:00

I like 'old school' jams...Billie Holiday, Charles & Eddie, Isaac Hayes etc cos for me that's the era when music still had soul, now it's all just bang, bang, booty; and bling, bling. From time to time when I want to really unwind I open up my collection and just listen to the oldies.
Recently I put on a Barry White CD and the song 'I Love You Just the Way...' drew my attention. It's actually a cover of a Frank Sinatra song but I think Barry did it better. Anyway the reason the song got me thinking was it's theme. "Don't go changing the color of your hair, don't go trying some new style... cos i love you just the way you are!"
The song is all about acceptance, loving the person you see...flaws and all. I've noticed however we rarely do (women especially).
We meet a person, start a relationship and then (ever so subtly) we start trying to change them to fit our perceptions of what they should be. It begins maybe with the way they dress, it moves to how they talk, who they roll with, what they should be, where they should be at in life, in the gospel according to you!
I'm not saying certain things aren't necessary to try and change such as life endangering habits, poor hygiene, dietary patterns etc but the manner in which these issues are brought up and handled also matters ... think constructive not destructive critique, or else it's just plain old nagging!
When you first met, the person was 'cool like that', by the time you start comparing them with others or the fantasy in your head, the problems start.
People never, ever change...unless THEY want to. If you push, they pull...away! I mean if they kept trying to change stuff about you, you'd start feeling inadequate and most likely wonder why they were with you at all! What you see is pretty much what you get, so maybe we should learn to love our partners...just the way they are!

Posted: Jan 27, 2009

His Mistake

2009-03-24T19:54:00.001+01:00

As you already know I like music (my notes should've given that away by now) and have pretty eclectic tastes... jazz, soul, r n b, blues (think Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald & Muddy Waters), hip hop, rock, techno, electronica...you name it, if the beat is tight and the lyrics make sense, I listen (although I do admit i'm a tad partial to r n b). The title of this piece is courtesy of Usher. On his CD 'Here I Stand' there's a track called 'His Mistake (I Can't Win)' where he laments the inability of his lover to let go her memories of the man that came before.
The lines that caught my attention (paraphrased) were:
"I'll do anything to prove I love you, but girl I refuse to pay for something I didn't do". "Why must I do time for another man's crime...always guilty before the sin... I can't win!"
Now apart from being good music the words echo the actions of many of us (self included). So many times we take the hurts from prior relationships, all the old baggage and garbage, the other person's crimes, abuses, betrayals etc (guarding them jealously) and transplant them into our new relationships. The law courts usually state a person is innocent till proven guilty, the same should apply to relationships but alas it's usually a case of guilty till the person proves themself innocent (and innocence is harder to prove than guilt).
We never truly forget the betrayals and pains of past loves even when we find true happiness with another, and the moment something happens that comes even remotely close to what an ex did, memories rush wildly, like a dam breaching, causing us to start building mountains out of what might'nt even be a molehill, jumping to assumptions (assume translation: making an ASS of U and ME) and seeing the angel of doom hovering at our doors standing hand on guillotine.
We talk of "forgive and forget" but it's easier said than done. We might have forgiven and moved on but we never forget. We might push it to the netherland of our subconscious, but events tend to trigger even the most repressed of memories. Sure Mr.(or Ms) A cheated, lied, pretended to be what they weren't and broke your heart, but does that naturally preclude that Mr.(or Ms) B will too? It is unfair to judge others guilty because of the sins of others male or female. Just because two people are named John Doe doesn't mean they'll think alike or act alike...each is a unique individual, just as you are! As the good book says it is foolishness to put old wine in new skins, it's a waste of the good wine and the wineskin.
Superimposing the negative characteristics of the old on the new is a recipe for disaster. Instead of spontaneously enjoying the joys the new relationship brings we spend so much (needless) time looking for demons lurking in the shadows, and overlook the angels dancing in the sunlight. We get so busy preparing for failure that we never accept the possibility that success lays at hand.
Every relationship should be judged on its own merit, otherwise a self fulfilling prophesy arises, you being the Most exalted prophet of doom.
Usually when you think something long enough and hard enough you begin to attract it to yourself, positive thoughts receive positive outcomes, negative thoughts breed negativity. Being cautious with your heart and emotions is all well and good, but being overly cautious leads to a stand still. An overly cautious businessperson never reaches Fortune 500 status, it's those who take calculated risks, and follow their gut instincts or intuition that skyrocket. Yes...the pain is real, the scars exist but scars heal eventually.
Holding on to the hurt takes power completely out of your hands and gives it over to your ex. How? The person though long gone still has control over your life...look how they're affecting your current relationships and virtually dictating the course of your current affairs. Holding on to the past with such tenacity closes the door to future happiness, and actually blinds one from seeing opportunities that exist. Also, holding on to hurt is an act of pure undiluted selfishness, you rob others and yourself the total experience of (the unchained, unhindered, demon free) YOU.
Love...agape or erotic is based on trust, if you continually distrust because of the mistakes of others who weren't even meant to experience the WONDER that is YOU, you'll NEVER find the ONE that (truly) IS!
So please...don't make him (her) pay for 'His Mistake'.

Posted: Jan 28, 2009

It's the Way You Are...!

2009-03-24T19:51:00.002+01:00

As we enter the month of love I decided to do something a little different as I might not be able to post this come Valentine's.

It's the way desire lights in your eyes when you catch my eye across the crowded room.
It's the gentle touch of your hand on my shoulder, the careless brush of your hand against mine.
It's the scent of you...so uniquely yours, that makes me weak to my knees.
It's the feel of your hair...rough against my finger tips!
It's the warmth of your breath against my neck as we dance to music no one else can hear.
It's the promise you whisper as our bodies sway,
the words of intent you say.
It's the way we rush through the door desperate to be unchained from civil bonds,
the clothes that stifle our inner flames.
It's the feel of your hands sliding down my naked back.
It's the feel of your tongue, so cool and moist, grazing my navel, to rest upon my thigh.
It's the hunger with which you kiss me, me...the bitter sweet taste on your lips!
It's the salty taste of you upon my tongue.
It's the feel of your skin slick, gliding against mine like the softest of silk.
It's the way you light a fire in me, making me blaze, burnin as with fever.
It's the way you speak my name, in my ear ever so softly, like a benediction and prayer.
It's the passion and the tenderness,
the fire and the ice,
the heat and the cold,
the blatant sexuality and the latent sensuality,
the pain and the pleasure,
the danger in your kiss and the safety in your arms,
the hurricane and the eye of the storm,
it's all the contradictions that you are!
It's the way you free me from myself, in turn to captivate me with your particular brand voodoo.
It's the moment we implode, then explode; of your end, of my beginning, left no trace, locked in the most primal of embrace.
It's the way you hold me all night long, till alas comes the morning.
It's the way you be you when you're with me!
It's everything, it's nothing.
It's really just YOU!

Originally Posted: Jan 26, 2009

I Want It All\Resource Scarcity!

2009-03-24T19:38:00.001+01:00

Disclaimers and buyer beware signs are back in force, I'm officially back on the Love Train! Yipee :-)
Alright, I'm down from my little soap box and back to being an apostle of love (or whatever you call it).
When I was younger (not that I'm OLD, but younger than I am today) I had the belief that I could have it all...great job, great man, great family and a body like Halle Berry's after having the requisite 2.4 children. I still want to believe it's a possibility, but my brain says...hell no! But why not? Why isn't it possible to have everything? Why can't one have it all?
For a brief moment let's look at life as an ongoing business concern. No one starts a business aiming to fail...so business plans are written, partnerships formed, mission and vision statements are composed, SMART objectives, short- and long-term goals, targets and KPIs are established (if you're a smart business owner that is!). Now...every business is plagued by a recurring theme...resource scarcity! Thus activities must be prioritized...ranked in order of importance and resources allocated efficiently and effectively to help meet set objectives. If resources aren't supplied and scheduled just right...chaos ensues! The Japanese managers utilise the JIT (Just In Time) philosophy, supplying operational needs and resources as at when due to minimise overhead costs. The cherished resources include money, raw materials, human resources and time.
Ok! MGT 101 over. Job! Man! Family! You! Resource scarcity! There's only one me and God only gave the day 24hrs. How do I split myself equitably so that nothing suffers (including me)? Time is the greatest enemy. As women, socially, emotionally and biologically we are fundamentally programmed as 'nesters' (...home and hearth types). It isn't a Cinderella complex...that's just the way it is...we are designed to propagate! Like men...we also have the achievement drive. We want to succeed. But therein lies the Catch 22, can we fulfil both our 'feminine' urge to nest and our 'masculine' need for gratification\fulfilment and come out of the experience guilt-free? If we work the 12-14+ hours necessary to survive the corporate jungle what time's left for the rest? What time is left for tucking in kids at bed time (so that they don't start thinkin Aunty Ika is mummy), when you get home after 3 hours lost in traffic? What time is left to take care of your 'Madam' duties (so that Daddy doesn't start thinkin Aunty Ika is mummy)? How do you share the 24 hours? How do you share YOU? Something has to give! Job? Man? Family? Can we juggle all these balls without dropping one?
Is this a damned if you do, damned if you don't dilemma? If you concentrate on the career...are you selfish (and being successful does require an amount of selfishness and single-mindedness, and yes...ruthlessness)? If you concentrate on the family...are you an under-achiever? Do men have these same issues?
I'm not saying women can't have it all...hell...I want it all...but it's a high risk stunt, a bit like walkin a tight rope without a safety net...any miscalculation...SPLAT!
But hey...life itself is a risk...take the chance...you just might make it across the wire!

Posted: Jan 22, 2009

Inevitable Change?!

2009-03-24T19:24:00.000+01:00

No disclaimers or buyer beware statements today, just a question.
Before I ask you the question let's check some definitions. Change...change can be defined as moving from one state of existence, or from one transitionery stage to another. Change is a natural constant, even the earth is constantly changing. Change could be rapid or gradual taking years or a millenium. Change may be subtle or pronounced. However, no matter its mode or its process, one thing remains... whether you like it or not things MUST change.
We tend to be very ambivalent regarding the matter of change. If it's a good change we're all for it and worthy advocates of the change of state. If the change is painful, hard or unwanted then the story changes.
In the recently concluded US Presidential election and campaign which culminated in the swearing-in of the first ever African-American into the White House, President Obama's main thread was Change, that the time had come to move from the status quo. The American populace agreed with him and voter turnout during the elections was the highest in US electoral history in at least 30 odd years.
On the 20th of January 2009, millions of people across the globe gathered in front of televisions and large screens to watch America make history. Nigerians appeared to be more overjoyed than the owners of the property.
Now my first question is...what makes America any different from our own obodo Naija? America didn't wake up civilized or organised but went through violent birth pains, and still is, to arrive where it is. Order didn't appear overnight, more often it came through a violent and bloody process. Is it the people that cause the seeming difference? It isn't that Americans are not also as criminally inclined (if not more so) than the average Nigerian but systems exist, that are generally respected by all, that provide checks and balances and thus limit peoples' criminality.
We may argue that systems don't work over here and that those in positions of power refuse to allow change. However i can't place the blame on the 'leaders' totally. I recently went to an office within the secretariat, I needed something done and a procedure exists for handling my request. However I needed it done NOW -NOW and the official processing time is 10 working days. Being the typical Nigerian i circumvented a lot of laid down rules. I waived the online payment only law, gave gratuity, and within 36 hours i was done. We demand change from our leaders but feel exempt from the process itself ourselves. Americans stated categorically that they were ready for change via their votes, may be we need to review our change policy. If we say individually and collectively "NO i will not circumvent the process just because i can...or because its painful or inconvenient", "i will not jump the queue, i will not sit at home and allow myself be defranchised." "I will stop bitching about what doesn't work and instead do my share to make it work".
The book of Proverbs is full of words of wisdom to the foolish. Severally people are cautioned about sloth, you want to eat but are too lazy to put the spoon in your mouth, what next? You drop dead of course after a while. We can not continue to ask, pray and beseech for change and then refuse our function as change agents. We constantly say 'e go better' but then wait for others to act as catalysts for the change. Now if the job belongs to no one in particular, and everyone is waiting for someone to do it, eventually no-one does it. I believe as we keep shouting YES WE CAN! But the real question is...do we really WANT to?

Posted: Jan 22, 2009

Don't Stop the Music!!

2009-03-24T19:23:00.000+01:00

I'm in a very 'chatty' mood at the moment ... I seem to be spewing out notes on a daily basis as against the one in two months I was doing a while back! Maybe it's because people on fb keep giving me lots of fodder to work with. And also i'm listening to the radio again.
The radio is a great source of inspiration, firstly care the music and then the human interest pieces. I'm one of those people that forgo the beat and actually listen to the words...don't get me wrong booty shaking beats are great, but I pay close attention to the lyrics. I could write 50 notes after just an hour of listening to the radio. The DJs are givin me plenty of motivation.
But seriously ... have you noticed that more than half the songs played nowadays are about all about sex, love and relationships? It seems I'm not the only one with a bee in my bonnet regarding l. s. & m! Some of the greatest songs ever written have been written about love. Sex is the 'in' thing. Everyone's talking sex, even our Nigerian artistes have joined the booty train, tellin us all to "wind am well", "scatter my dada" or cure their craze! :-)
I was recently asked me why most of my notes (actually it's only 40%) seem to be about relationships. My reply was simple...you write what you know. Relationships are all around us, it's next door, in your own life, on the tv, on the radio, in the papers, and even in the churches with their singles mixers, conferences for the 'single and searching', and couples' counselling.
Now ... if ribonucleic acids were my flavour i'd be waxing lyrical on the beauty of RNA, DNA and genetic splicing, but of that I know little better than nothing. I'm no relationship guru, by ANY standard, I muddle along blindfolded like most folk, making the rules up as I go along, but I find everything about relationships fascinating. It's so basic but ever so complex...pretty much like DNA. I could do social commentary or political analysis but that's no fun!
So pardon me my fascination with love, sex and relationships!

Posted: Jan 19, 2009.

What's Love Gotta Do With It?

2009-03-24T19:22:00.002+01:00

A lot of my notes will make reference to popular culture in form of title and\or subject.

Tina Turner asked the famous question "What's love got to do with it?"
And really... what's love got to do with relationships? The thing no one ever seems to tell you is...what next?! I mean we do the boy meets girl, they fall in love, get married (hopefully), have d 2.4 kids, then...? What's the next stage in your joint evolution? Is marriage or togetherness the optimum stage in a relationship? Is there more to life than that? Do you forget "I" totally because you're now a "We"?

Many relationships crash not because love isn't there, but because they have a preconceived notion concerning what love can achieve. Love might move mountains, but it doesn't take the place of the good old fashioned elbow grease required to make a relationship work. It's not everyday you like the person you love, hell most days it's a pure real-hate-tionship. There's nothing right about your partner then. What love does is remind you that there's something you did like about them to begin with, and help you tolerate them for that day.

Love isn't blind, it's tolerant, there's a big difference between the two. Tolerance means 'I see your faults but I can live with them and accept your imperfections. Blindness means 'I can't see f**k all!'

Love doesn't make it all better and doesn't solve all problems. Love helps you make compromises. Love is long suffering, i.e. patient, it's empathic i.e it allows you put yourself in the other person's shoes. It definitely ain't selfish. But with all its virtues if one doesn't put in the work, have patience, maturity, commonsense, trust and possess a certain amount of stubborness, no matter the love, it won't work.
If I start building a house and stop at the foundation, will it build itself? I don't think so! I might have love in my home that's the foundation, but I sure need to have other fruit of the spirit too! Dealing with another person is always difficult... your orientations differ, your values might not always sync, as you grow changes are bound to take place, issues that were never on the table come up. Negotiation skills, compromise, maturity, and wisdom become the order of the day.

So...wise up, roll up your sleeves, do the work!

Originally Posted: Jan 18, 2009

If I Were A Boy (DJ JD Remix)!

2009-03-24T19:17:00.001+01:00

Before I go any further let me give props to my girls Peace Ebri and Beyonce for this title and starting point!

Now onward... If I were a boy would I truly be a better man? Would I have any recollection of life as a woman and show any empathy to the woman in my life? Would I listen to what she had to say? Not just hear but listen. Would I accept the fact that she doesn't have a fish brain and sometimes speaks sense? Would I value her and not take her for granted? Would I not make jest of the fact she's more in tune emotionally than I thus appearing to be a tad over sensitive? Would I say it as it is with no bullshit involved, not leading her on if I didn't really want a relationship and only wanted to "tap that ass"?

But this I know for sure: I'd hang out drinking with the boys (I do that already, so no biggie), I'd check out the honeys (I mean God made beauty so why not appreciate it?). I'd bounce out the house in a pair of raggedy ass jeans and a dirty T and not give a hoot (ok...even as I chick I've been guilty of that, but in my defence 'I bin dey for area'), I'd have a pot belly and still demand abs like Jess Alba's from my babe (signs of la dolce vite {the good life} pour Moi but plain laziness in her...5 kids not a factor). I'd go out all night and feel that I didn't have to justify myself when I get home (I work all day so if I party all night and never spend time with my chick why she go vex...after all I pay the bills!?). I'd act like God made the world just for me and everyone else should be grateful I even give em the time of day. I'd do all sorts of s**t that chicks can't do cos it's slutty but for a guy it's called sowing my wild oats. I'd play the field (10 girlfriends, 5 wives and 100 mistresses) and if any of them complained I'd remind them it's a man's world (but God save them if any of them tried the same). I'd take it that it's my God-given right to screw up, cat around and then be forgiven (Hell...she should be grateful I even apologised to begin with... now she's just being stubborn!).
Well there it is...that's what I'd do... 'If I Were A Boy'!

Originally Posted: Jan 17, 2009.

I Be Ashewo*!!!

2009-03-24T19:12:00.001+01:00

Please permit me a few moments of your precious time while I ramble on with inane topics. I know my words may be shallow and dense, lacking in substance and not worthy of more than a passing glance...but they are my words.
The topic of today is very simple, prostitution. Prostitution is one of the oldest professions in the history of mankind. It's even noted in the Bible. Many may argue it's not the most honorable line of work but i wish to disagree. Every woman is a prostitute (ok some exceptions to this exist)!
Hold up...before you bring out the stones and daggers...let me speak! What is prostitution? Prostitution is the exchange of sex for another commodity (usually money) i.e. prostitution is trade by barter. We do it everyday, we exchange sex for something. Why do you have sex with your boyfriend, lover or husband? Not cos you want to half the time. We exchange sex to breed commitment (or the illusion thereof), to maintain commitment, for security, we use sex as a bargaining chip, trading it for what we want.
Single ladies give men sex even if they have doubts about the sustainability of the relationship cos more often than not we believe he'll get it elsewhere if we don't give it up. Or under the false hope that sex will make a man stay, we give. (Please note: if you don't meet up outside the bedroom he'll still waka, and sorry o...sex does NOT assure fidelity or commitment).
Single ladies...stay in a relationship and tell the guy you're not having sex with him anymore and see what happens! If he's still there (as loving as ever) 6 months from now, hold him tight! Even virginity is at times used as a weapon and a commodity. Keeping sex off the table till marriage can be compared to a marketing tool. If I make a product so scarce, I increase the demand for it among purveyors of that particular product. Don't get me wrong, virginity IS good! It is an honorable state and I sincerely advice my daughters to remain virgins till they marry.
Just because money doesn't change hands and the fact it isn't negotiated for on street corners doesn't mean it's not prostitution. Marriage has been defined by some as legalised prostitution, after all it is licenced. In Holland where ashewo is legal you can be sued by a commercial sex worker for not fulfilling your obligations as a client, in marriage the same applies, abi? Now, if you... my fellow women (and some men) say "haba...na lie" answer me this...why do you continue to sleep with the man you're with?
Me, sha...I gree say I be ashewo!
PS: Responses are welcome!

*Ashewo: Local parlance for a prostitute.

Originally Posted: Jan 16, 2009.

Sex and the Top 5

2009-03-24T19:04:00.001+01:00

I'm a very sporadic writer. I write when the fancy takes me or when an event occurs that stirs my pen, but more oft than not i write for the sake of it. Today is for the second reason. Two events stimulated my juices. One was a status update (thank you Andre for motivating me) and the other a call from an old flame. Both issues connect to my note on recycling.
Now Andre asked if great sex could keep a woman in a relationship. Various responses came in (and i'm sure many more are yet to come) mainly from the guys. Some of the replies were humorous, some serious and some eye opening! Now this is strictly my own view on the matter. I have stayed with a man longer than I should just because the sex was great, but eventually the sex no matter how good (even in the best of relationships) gets a little old. And truely if it ain't happening elsewhere in the relationship eventually I bounce. However I have occasionally recycled men cos the sex was so good, or cos i was just used to him like well-worn comfortable T-shirt (the comfort of the familiar) but the old headaches eventually resurface. Women are far more complex than "plain old" shagging. A woman's needs are far greater than sex. She wants a friend (companionship), a daddy (emotional and financial security) and then a lover (sex). Contrary to popular lore sex doesn't breed commitment. But as I said I speak for myself.
My old flame meanwhile had the balls to wanna hook up with me in his words "let's hang out tonight". No biggie you might say, but he happens to be married (to the woman he left me for). Now he wants to recycle me!
Guess he thought I be flattered that even though I never made it to the top 5 countdown for madam post, I made No. 1 on the recycled nookie\mistress list. Well I assume that that was his line of reasoning. Or did he think I was still so hung up on him that I'd gladly jump on the bandwagon. I'm not even going to go into the morality issue surrounding extra-marital gaming (the number of married men playin away is not encouraging at all), but instead wonder if I did something while we were an item that gave the impression that I'd be impressed by the attention. Now I can't remember if the sex was all that, but even if it was doesn't self respect come into the mix on my part?
Posted: Jan 15, 2009.

Spread the Message

2009-03-24T18:47:00.000+01:00

This was initially a message sent when invitin my friends to join me in an HIV awareness cause, but i thought it served its purpose better here for any and everyone to read, (its been a tad revised)

All too often we stick our heads in the sand and do an ostrich imitation, trying to hide from the things we fear the most and don't understand. HIV and AIDS are real, just because you might not have seen death from Aids related complications doesn't mean it ain't real and can't affect you or those dear to you someday (sex isn't the only way to get the virus). Pretending it doesn't exist won't make it go away either.
You might wonder how you can help stop the spread...simple.
1. Know your status: If you are positive, stop unprotected sex even if your partner is equally positive, tell your partner(s) past and present to go check, and do go for counselling.
2. Educate don't discriminate: Stigmatization is the result of illiteracy, know the facts not the fiction about HIV.
3. Do your ABCs: Abstain, Be faithful (or if A and B fail always ensure...) Correct and consistent condom use; and most importantly
4. Spread the message not the virus.
Posted: Nov 10, 2008.

The Truth.

2009-03-24T18:44:00.003+01:00

What exactly constitutes the TRUTH? Is there truly an 'absolute' truth? Is my truth less true than urs or more so? Is truth subjective or relative? My truths are a function of my own realities. So therefore...will my truths change when my realities do? Or are there fundamental truths in my life that will remain?
When i was younger i thought truth was a virtue, something to be sought, but now that i'm a little older (and hopefully a little wiser) i discover that truth is sometimes a bad thing. The truth shall set you free (or so they say)...the quest for which is at times a prison in itself.
In court they ask for the truth, the whole truth and nothin but the truth...but how true is the truth?
Posted: Nov 14, 2008.

(Re)writing History...

2009-03-24T18:44:00.002+01:00

How often have you told your story? Each year you tell the same story...or a variant of the same story. The essence is fundamentally the same, but an amount of embellishment is present. In the tellin of your story this time around you were maybe a little braver, a little smart? You were the master of the witty retort, the pure poetry of your rejoinder rivalled the greats...Shakespeare, Milton and Yeats. You stood up and were counted. You were the voice of reason and rationale. The buck stopped with you and like a colossal you took charge.
As a wise man said history is the victor's PR, the loser's version of history is seldom heard. Tracy Chapman aptly stated in her song Telling Stories "...there is fiction in the space between...you can write it down but it doesn't mean that you're not just telling stories. " But as she also states "sometimes a lie is the best thing" as the truth would be too much truth to bear. Alas, it is only in our words we rewrite the past, the deeds remain unchanged. Since we cannot truly change the past, and the future is not ours to know, the only history worth writing is the action we take in the present.
Posted: Oct 30, 2008.

Recycling

2009-03-24T18:36:00.002+01:00

I've always thought of myself as being environmentally friendly. I segregate waste when possible, use natural fibers where feasible. I try to cut my carbon emissions, most of my appliances that use refrigerants are CFC free, aerosols I use are CFC free etc. But recently I've come to believe I'm taking the recycling issue a little too far!
Not only am I recycling actually waste, I've started recycling on a more personal level.

It seems I have a habit of recycling relationships. Now recycling garbage is one thing, recycling people is another ball game. Junk can be useful, but are recycled people any use? Don't get me wrong one man's trash is another man's treasure and all that, but didn't the relationship initially end for a reason?

Very rarely are the reasons for ending the relationship rectified, but one tries again all the same and repeats the same vicious cycle that killed the union the first time around. Maybe it's a case of the familiar...pretty much like a pair of worn-out but highly comfortable slippers you keep planning to toss. Or the ratty T-shirt that you just can't seem to relegate to the trash heap. And as they say... better the devil you know than the angel you don't, abi? But I think the time has come for me to finally throw out the trash.

Originally Posted: Jan 13, 2009.

Wordzzle Week 55

2009-03-22T16:50:00.006+01:00

I recently came across a blog (well not really...it was listed on blogspot's blogs of note and i liked the title) and I'm glad I took the time to read it. Now by no means am I a writer, nor (more importantly) do I pretend to be one, but I do enjoy jotting down a tale or two and musing on paper about whatever crosses my mind.

Now Ms. Raven offered me a challenge. She presented me with a series of words and said make of this what you will. So I did...and this is what I came up with.

10 Word Challenge
Words: humanity, shadow, richochet, wrong, pluralism, mathematics, person-hood, printing press, ink spot, choral society.

What has gone wrong with humanity? Why and how have we become a mere shadow of what we once were? Mankind speeds loftily to its end like a fast moving bullet that had richocheted off its due course. We are a generation that calculates strange a mathematics to compute the worth of one's person-hood based on the volume of a bank account or the colour of one's skin. A generation that thrives on isms and schisms. We have forgotten the pluralism that makes life, the duality of actions. Karma no longer exists, only the 'here and now'. Well I say "NO! Stop the printing press a new story will be written today. I refuse to be an ink spot on the pages of history, illegible and nothing more than a blemish. For today my voice shall be the soprano in the choral society for change."

Mini Challenge
Words: kingdom, take names, best seller, three times, inner demons.

The fairy kingdom organised an annual bake-off to celebrate Queen Matilda's birthday. Melvin, a fairy new to the kingdom, came across the palace attendants busy with preparations for the event and asked "What goes on here, pray tell?" Meli the chief palace fairy said "we are here to take names from all the contestants at the bake-off in Queen Matilda's honour, strange fellow."
Now unknown to the attendants Melvin was plagued by inner demons that only cooking alone seemed to cure and as it stood he was three times winner of Martha Stewart's cooking contest and his cream powder puffs were currently a best seller at Walmart's. Boredom and lack of challenge had brought him to Matilda's realm. Needless to say he registered and won!

Mega Challenge:

She watched his shadow fade away as she stood looking on longingly after him. Where was the humanity in the situation? He walked out of her life without a second glance. 6 years of togetherness over just like that. Not even a by your leave. Her womanhood (sorry that's not PC and she always was that...her person-hood) was in tatters. How could he? Leave HER...and for a younger woman no less?

Six weeks on, she finds herself still calculating mathematics of pluralism, the words attendent with coupledom still very much part of her vocabulary. Slowly she begins to understand that there is no more 'US' only 'ME'. She gradually starts the process of recovering her individual identity, although three times in as many days this month she's caught her feet walking by his house by their own volation. She still struggles with the inner demons that tell her she is and will never amount to anything without him.

Three months down the road she finally decides enough is enough. She enters the dating market again and even goes to see "The Lost Kingdom" with the cute guy in the next office. She joins the choral society as an avenue to meet new people.

15 months on, on the road to recovery, she goes to the local printing press to complain about what appears to be an ink spot on the cover of her wedding program. The printer apologises for the error and for the life of him can't understand what went wrong with her order and offers to redo the job for free. Rather pleased with herself for being assertive, she gleefully strides out only to bump into HIM! All the emotions, the rage, the long suppressed hurts richochet out of control...for the briefest moment. She quickly regains her composure and gives him a bright smile and asks after his health. He smiles sheepishly as he replies her. She's happy to see him, not because she missed him, but because she's doing just fine without him, and looks like a movie star; and he very much looks like hell warmed over and visibly blanches when she tells him of her wedding next month to one of the most eligible bachelors in the country. She's done well for herself since he's been gone. Her therapist had advised her to write a journal to help her overcome her grief. An editor friend of hers chanced upon a few pages and offered her a contract. Currently the journal is available as a self-help book called "Take Names" and has been number one on the New York Times best seller list for three months. The rights have been bought by a big Hollywood movie company and Hugh Jackman is pencilled down to star as her love interest. In the acknowledgement section of the book she thanked Tim profusely; as it goes in the book "To Tim: thanks a million for dumping me. Without you going i'd never have amounted to nought!"

For more about Ms. Raven and instructions on how to do the Wordzzle for yourself, go to Views from Raven's Nest

Wordzzle Week 56 Challenge (I think so!)

2009-03-22T16:31:00.003+01:00

10 Word Challenge
Words: partition, imagination, salvation, mirror image, green power, highway, roasting marshmallows, serial killer, autograph, cartography.

Everywhere she turned she was confronted by her mirror image. Going to the world famous "Hall of Mirrors" at the amusement park had been Tony's idea. Dear, darling Tony...once her only true love and salvation...now just another notch on the serial killer belt! She questioned the reality of the situation. "This is just my imagination playing tricks on me...I'll wake up soon...I have to!". Somewhere in the distance the smell of roasting marshmallows could be perceived, so strong she could almost taste them. "I'm close to the exit," she thought to herself with great relief. Suddenly a hand touched her bare shoulder and she screamed.
"Ms. Mackenzie are you okay?" asked the rather shocked young man. "I'm so sorry I startled you, I just wanted your autograph. I just got your book on cartography, 'Mapping Our World' and had wanted you to sign my copy".
Red-faced and embarrassed as hell, Michelle hastily scribbled her name before bolting to the back of the partition that seperated the auditorium from the ante room. Mortified she ran for the exit and jumped into her green powered car and burned rubber all the way to the highway. Suddenly she burst out laughing self-consciously "That'll teach me to watch horror movies alone again!"

Mini Challenge
Words: cell phone, big Mac, panther, legendary, poets corner.

Big Mac, the legendary leader of the Black Panther movement, strolled down to the poets corner for a little coversation and his usual morning latte only to meet the ghost of T. S. Elliot yapping on his cell phone with Marilyn Monroe.

Mega Challenge:

Driving down the highway on the way to a Salvation Minstries retreat behind the wheel of her so-called green power car, Michelle Mackenzie (aka 'Big Mac' or just plain Mac to her friends), wondered, while starting at her mirror image in the rear view mirror, for the umpteenth time why she'd accepted Michael's invitation to the revival, but it provided an opportunity for them to spend some time together.
The breeze from the rolled down windows carried with it the smell of roasting marshmallows and the sound of childrens' laughter, making her smile as she remembered happier, carefree days.
To wile away the time on the seemingly endless drive Mac gave her imagination free reign to conjure up ideas for her new novel about a female serial killer, that would hopefully help her career cross over the invisible partition seperating her from joining the legendary 'Best-sellers' honour roll. The novel's main protagonist was an out of work detective with a degree in cartography...of all things...trying to hunt down a killer called the Panther. Her editor thought it was a lousy idea but Mac was determined to stick to the plot.

Just outside Abuja her cell phone rang. It was Michael asking her to meet him at a cafe called the Poets Corner in Zone 10, and from there they'd head on to the revival. 20 minutes later she arrived at the cafe, took a seat and ordered a latte. 20 minutes more passed by which time Mac had gotten to the hundredth item on her 'foul things to say to Michael for always keeping me waiting' list, she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned ready for the 'mother of all wars'. There stood two young girls holding a copy of her last novel, sheepishly asking for her autograph.

For more about Ms. Raven and instructions on how to do the Wordzzle for yourself, go to Views from Raven's Nest

Home Sweet Home!!

2009-03-19T18:37:00.006+01:00

Well my vacation is well and truly over! Glad to be back home? Yes and no! I'm an Omo Port Harcourt, born, not exactly bred, but very much buttered in this town; and wherever i go PHC and Naija always beckon me back. But as much as I'm a green white green lover I can't stomach a lot about my country. I've been away a month and a fraction and as my return loomed closer I shed a tear or two. Not just because I was saying goodbye to my new found family but because of what I knew was waiting for me on my return.

I knew I was back in Nigeria the minute I disembarked the plane. The escalator wasn't working... international airport o no be local o!...neither was the airconditioning. We were herded through Immigration like cattle in the sweltering heat, a 15min process, for 1 1/2 hours and then another hour was spent waiting for baggage to appear. The nearly 3hrs spent trying to get out of the airport would've gotten me a third of the way to Dubai! That notwithstanding since i arrived Port Harcourt I've had about 2hrs of power. Not new you might say...but I've been in a country where the fact that light went for 2 minutes is an abomination and blood is being called for!

Now...what baffled me about the Philippines was how they did all the things they did with no money other than that that is accrued through taxing OSWs (overseas workers), exporting rice and tourism! 90% of the roads I travelled were tarred, all villages and hamlets (or barrios) had electricity and water as well as their own standard elementary and high schools. One of the schools I visited looked like a park with flowers, a mini stream and cafeteria; and please note this is a public, provincial (equivalent to Local Government) school, not a high brow private city-based school.

Everyone knew what to do, drivers didn't need to be told to obey street signs, pedestrians were always given right of way, citizens were respected by all. The governor of the province came to see the family after Mama's passing. The strange thing was he came without flashing sirens, heavily armed guards or a tv crew to witness his arrival. No children lining the streets pretending to enjoy standing for hours under the baking sun. No police flogging drivers and pedestrians off the road to make way for the Governor. No! He came like the ordinary man he is and people didn't even bat an eyelid at his presence.

Here we pay for what we don't see. Light, water, sanitation, you name it we pay for it, but we never see it. Every month billions enter the bottomless pit called federal account but we see nothing in terms of social amenities and the likes. Even if government does nothing other than adequately provide the basic social infrastructure, I believe the average Nigerian will be content and most agitation will end.

Accommodation is paid monthly unless you want a long lease, and the accommodation usual comes furnished. A self contained (furnished) apartment goes for about N80000 - N100000 per annum. I pay N120,000 for a 12*12 unfurnished self contained, where I'm responsible for everything from plumbing to leaking roofs and my rent gets jacked at will.
We 'hala' left right and center Giant of Africa (person wey get mouth fit use am talk anything abi?) but we only seem to be making giant strides internationally in the arena of advanced fee fraud, trafficking women to Italy, pushing cocaine and embezellment! Isn't it time we had a reality check and did a real audit of the state of the federation. Oil hasn't improved our lot as a nation, we are instead held hostage by OPEC producers, marketers and government alike what with ever fluctuating prices at the pumps. Maybe we should reevaluate our income sources and diversify just the way businesses do when a product is getting old.

I met a lot of Nigerians coming home from jaunts all over the world at the airport and to a one, all were busy bitching about how lousy our country is but no-one saw fit to offer a solution to improve the downright dismal situation. They blamed every Muyiwa, Danjuma and Chukudi for our collective problems but not once did they put the blame on them. As I always say...let's take a little responsibility for God's sake! We are all to blame! A man who sees a murder taking place and stands watching is just as guilty as the murderer. So as we sit watching the murder of our beloved motherland aren't WE culpable?

Falling in Lust

2009-03-19T18:27:00.001+01:00

We all talk about love, Love, LOVE...like it's gonna go out of fashion or'll soon go extinct like the dodo or something. It seems everyone is: in the process of falling in love, is in love, has recently fallen in (or out of) love, in a love-hate relationship with love, or just all out of love. Love or lost love is in all the songs, is a recurring theme in movies and novels. There's always a love interest for the heroine or hero woven into the plot. We seem to be a generation pretty much in love with the big L. Selling Valentines Day paraphenalia is a multibillion dollar industry. Everyone loves love. Now whether we truly love or even understand what it really means and entails is open to discussion.
I ain't in a loving mood tonight. Hell no! Love is so...o last season. I'm falling in lust! (Or rather should I say have fallen in lust!). Yes o! People rarely admit being in lust. They try and justify their baser instincts by tagging it love eagerly saying 'I love you' rather than getting real and to the point and just saying 'I lust you'. Many a broken heart would still be whole if people (male and female) were honest enough about how they really feel and what they really want from the person they 'love'. Tell me the truth, boo! Do you really love me? Do you even really like me? Tell me boo...will you always be true? Or do you just dig my fly booty (pronounced boot-ey)? I'd rather sleep with someone knowing it was just for the sex than have a guy try and deceive me with words of love, waxing lyrically about how he sees the stars in my eyes and how roses dim in beauty when placed next to me (what men will say to get some ass!). That way I don't end up feeling used and deceived when he suddenly falls out of 'love' with me and my sparkling eyes! Anyway as for me o... I'm happily in lust (don't ask me with whom!...ok...you made me say it..his name IS...like I'm gonna tell YOU!). I'm hooked on the thrill of sex for its own sake, on not having to discuss the future or direction of our 'relationship', of not having to feel bad for thinking is jokes are lame, of not sayin wtf when he hooks up with another hottie...cos truly (for now anyway) I don't give a shit! Lust is very liberating and noncommittal. A little lust makes life a little bit more interesting especially when no one gets hurt.

The Morning After...

2009-03-19T18:21:00.002+01:00

So okay...you've finally had sex with the person you've been in lust with for so long, then comes the morning after and you wake up wondering what to say!
Last night may or may not have not lived up to your s-expectations (it rarely does...unless of course the gods of lust have called you blessed) Now even if the sex was omg fantastic, there sometimes exists that lag in brain to mouth coordination. You don't wanna be all 'umm...so what's that your name again' or appear so desperate to get rid of them (or eager to bounce if it isn't your crib), neither do you want to wax too poetically about the orgasm that you maybe never had (for the ladies) before you end up sounding like you've never done this before (had sex that is). You search desperately for a witty one liner to open up the 'I really have to be getting home' coversation which can be awkward if it's your house. If you're lucky (and here the lust gods really blessed you) you guys get back to the more important matter of Anatomy 101 and together continue the search for the location of the ever elusive G-spot!
Now all the above is assuming the night before rated 6 - 10 on your scale. Now if it was a 0 to 4 rating it becomes a hell of a lot more difficult to progress to the exit without making it look like Ben Jones took tips from you. If you ever been unfortunate enough to have encountered erectile dysfunction or dismally inept performance (some ladies think layin down spread eagle constitutes active participation) on that one night of lust it becomes kinda like crossing a field of land mines; a case study in diplomacy and verbal wizardry to leave without further bruising your object of lust's already dented ego (that is assuming they realize that they fell well below the cut off point).
If however...it was just a 5 on your scale retaking the bed test might be an option. The task now becomes introducing the topic (especially if you were the party that scored 5) at just the right moment for maximum effect.
Assuming you were well and truly blessed and the morning after turns into breakfast in bed (food not on the menu) and you stroll home the next afternoon with that swagger (yes...there is an 'i got laid...and laid good' kinda swagger) issues of etiquette arise. How long can you stay without calling so you don't come across as a total shit heel and inadvertently slam the door on more nookie from the same source (if you're so inclined to eat at that spot again); how many times can you call in the proceeding days (for the ladies) without coming across as needy or a potential stalker in the making? Is it forward to suggest another hook up (ladies again) if the sex was all that. And how do you move it from lust and transitional sex to something with more meaning? And how do you politely turn down offers for more than sex when you don't want it to actually go beyond just sex?
Now I end this random musing with a question for my few dedicated readers (just cos i'm curious)...what have been your most awkward 'morning after' experiences?

Let's Talk About Sex!

2009-03-19T18:14:00.001+01:00

"Let's talk about sex baby...let's talk about you and me...let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may b...let's talk about sex!"
One of the most popular songs ever by Salt n Pepa (backed by Spindarella) is most likely Let's Talk About Sex, it was an anthem amongst teens (I knew every word of every single line) and it was a song of defiance. It dared to ask questions, and talk about what was then (and maybe even till date) a very controversial theme, I believe the song is still on the NCC NTBB list.
Even with all the westernisation and liberalisation issues of sex still are very taboo. Sex is everywhere but people still pretend like it isn't and pretend that they are immune to diseases and viruses transmitted through sex. When people are upfront about one of the most beautiful and fundamental activities in human life they get labelled.
As a human being, woman and mother I advocate talking about sex...i.e. Sex education. HIV and AIDS continue to ravish the world's population and especially Africa's because of our very laissez-faire attitude to sex and all things concerning it. Old diseases make triumphant returns far better equipped than their human incubators. Medication and scientific discovery are not advancing as quickly as viruses mutate. Something needs to be done before we get wiped off the face of the earth care our sex drives,
Now as a woman I advocate sex education because we are the major victims of sexually transmitted infections, sexual abuses and violence. Did you know that a woman has a five times higher risk of contracting HIV from her partner than he from her, just by virtue of her anatomic design? Women are also more likely to harbour an sti in their systems without symptoms (resulting in PID and or infertility) while their male counterparts usual get a heads up within 2 weeks of infection. Several times women have been infected by partners who on discovering their infection treat themselves without informing their partner so that they can get treatment too. Also intercourse with an uncircumcised partner increases by almost 50% one's chances of getting HPV the major trigger for cervical cancer.
My people tend to be very hypocritical and judgemental about sex, we're all doing it, whether we admit to it...well that's a whole different story. Buying a condom requires the ability to play poker (ability to maintain a poker face) when walkin into a pharmacy. The glares and stares make one ask the ground to open especially as a woman. But should i have unprotected sex just so you don't look at me as a slut and play Russian roulette with HIV, AIDS, syphilis and unwanted pregnancy?
Women also bear the brunt of sex gone wrong...unwanted pregnancies, botched abortions, death and social stigmatisation. Even if the guy doesn't deny paternity the stigma is purely the woman's.
More cases of teen pregnancy are reported annually with girls as young as 13 getting knocked up, still falling for that old line about not gettin pregnant the first time. Pedophiles pray on children unrelentingly, maids, nannies, teachers, uncles and aunts initiating babies into adulthood prematurely. As parents we need to educate our children on the realities of sex, reproductive health and the truths about love, sex and marriage and not allow society take over our role as teachers and moral compasses in our children's lives through tv, music videos, pop icons and peer groups. We should give them facts not fiction and swallow our discomfort about talkin sex cos if we don't someone else will.

My 25 Things

2009-03-19T18:10:00.000+01:00

Sorry o! I'm mobile so the cut and paste issue's a pain. U know the gist sha...write 25 things about you that ain't too well known then tag 25 of ur friends including the person who sent you the note to begin with.

1. I enjoy living by myself because i get to walk around the house naked and not feel self-conscious about my flabby thighs.

2. I have an underwear fetish and keep hearing the mantra...buy, buy, buy even though I'm yet to wear 1/10 of what I have.

3. I like writing for the fun of it.

4. I hate when people get shocked when I say something sensible. Sure I might be cute and paint my nails green but I do know the difference between integration and differentiation.

5. I believe that like wine I get better with age.

6. I believe that sometimes you have to be a follower, not every one can lead at the same time.

7. I hate watching movies with people who keep asking "so what's happening now?" when we're both watchin the movie for the first time... I didn't write the script!

8. I really like the p. y. t.s I see in the fashion magazines but i'm not quite vain enough to try very hard to look like them.

9. I AM vain enough to care about what I look like...enough to contemplate joinin a gym.

10. I feel like i'm underachieving 75% of the time.

11. I'm painfully shy, but cover it with displays of bravado.

12. I think men are a necessary evil 10% of the time...5% of the time I wonder why we need them...85% of the time I just love em, love em, love em!(maybe).

13. I have a tendency to procastinate.

14. I am my own worst critic.

15. I concur with theo and think Sean Connery is very sexy! Entrapment...yes please!!

16. I have a mild case of OCD.

17. I like my own company a bit too much.

18. I've been learnin french for 20yrs + and still can't say anything tangible.

19. I think geek chic/nerdy is sexy.

20. My criteria for a good book (and man :-)): action packed, fast paced, intelligent, juicy and humorous.

21. I met Daley Thompson and Sir. Sebastian Coe (olympic champs) and had the privilige of learning tricks of the trade from them.

22. My mother is my role model, if i ever get to be even 50% of what she is i'd be a goddess!

23. I have a slightly sadistic streak and believe revenge is like eating great cake...to be savoured slowly and deliberately.

24. I have a very dodgy attention span. If it's not challenging or relatively spontaneous my eyes start glazing over zombie-like

25. I sometimes take my friends for granted but i love them all dearly and will go the extra mile to help a friend in need.

Fairytales for Adults

2009-03-19T18:07:00.001+01:00

I have this song I love to bits, and it's courtesy of that cute little skater girl Avril Lavigne "My Happy Ending". It's actually one of my "breaking up is never easy" songs. (Don't act like you don't know what i'm on about! the songs you play when you're going through the standard breakup cycle and you start to play different songs or watch movies suited for each phase of the healing...but that's a lesson for another day.)
Now the song is about a relationship in its death throes. The girl laments the death of her fairytale romance. It starts with a request to talk the situation over, not so much for reconciliation sake but for closure! Why the song catches my attention is for the simple fact that the whole relationship was founded on suppositions, fantasies and daydreams...the Cinderella tale. Prince Charming, white horse, big ass castle in the sky and a life of luxury sitting on chrome.
Almost everyone enters a relationship with preconceived notions of what's what. Expectations are high...he'll be a gentleman, be loving and caring, always put your needs first, the sex'll always be toe curling, orgasm inducing stuff. He'll get on with all your family and friends and they'll love him to bits. He'll hold you when you're sick, hold your hair when you puke. He'll think you look beautiful even when you wake up groggy, red-eyed, mascara streaked and hung over Sunday morning.
She'll be a PMS-less, nag free, sex bomb who's always ready to get down and dirty at the drop of the hat. She'll be the classic girlfriend...beautiful, moderately intelligent, and will cook and clean in exchange for sex! Most importantly she won't be a clingon and will NEVER NEVER EVER ask those 2 silly questions women are congenitally prone to..."Do you love me?"; "Where is this relationship going" or any other variant of such.
Sadly, alas, unlike the Princess and the frog, kissing turns him from a prince to a frog. He doesn't call with the desired frequency, he hates all your friends and the feeling is mutual. He turns out not to like the idea of giving you cunnilingus as much as before, now that you two crazy kids are going steady. He complains about your housekeeping, cooking, makeup etc.
She turns out to be the devil's spawn, the sole offspring of the Beast and Shiva come that time of the month. She bitches about everything...from your choice of friends, your lame dress sense to your total lack of ambition careerwise and your penny pinching attitude when she wants to buy stuff. The fairytale romance is gradually starting to look like a match made in hell.
He tosses his clothes willy nilly around the house and thinks they just magically appear in his wardrobe washed and pressed...after all he has maid service (or is that a magic fairy). His laugh that was once so adorable now starts to sound like nails grating on a blackboard and makes your teeth (and ears) hurt. He trades taking you out for a Valentine's dinner for a Man U match. He can remember how many goals Giggs has scored in his career or Michael Jordan's stats but can't remember your shoe size not to talk of your birthday. He hogs the remote and doesn't help with the housework even though you both worked the same 12 hour shift.
She walks around the house with a wrapper tied round her chest, hair rivalling Medusa's, she farts in bed, spends 2/3 of the day yapping on the phone talking about nothing at all, and even though she isn't an heiress she spends your money like she is. She constantly complains about you not spending time with her then acts suspicious when you do. She doesn't like your mother and is barely civil to your friends. When you do buy stuff for her she bitches about the size or complains that you're cheap (and stingy to boot).
Fairytales...I loved them when I was a little girl, but I wised and stopped believing in them about the same time I stopped reading Mills and Boons (I mean...seriously! Shit like that only happens in the movies). Real life happens to us all and continues to interfere with our relationships. We need to enter whatever it is with realistic expectations and remember that perfection is only found in God, Jesus Christ and the dead.

The Younger Man???

2009-03-19T18:04:00.001+01:00

I'm currently trying to picture myself as the 'older woman' i.e. sugar mummy. :-) Got your attention there didn't I? The thing is I'm not "old" old, and not the typical age one would usually associate with sugar mummies, but i am beginning to thinking about spreading my net, broadening my horizons and reevaluating my relationship options, and this includes younger men.
It is a bit much for me to get my head around! My kid brother (who absolutely hates when I call him that) is roughly 3 1/2 years younger than I, so any guy his age or younger kinda feels like I'm cradle robbing. But more and more guys in that age bracket seem to be coming my way (maybe it's a testimony of how much younger than my age I look...but I don't think so). Now when good 'single' men (single being the key word) in my age bracket are becoming few and far between, and the ones you do meet don't really want to settle down yet and you are not getting any younger yourself, are younger men the next frontier? And how young is too young? What age difference is too great? 1 year? 5years? 10? (Now that's a little too young for my blood personally...but who knows maybe by the time I get to 40 that might not be such a huge gap!).
Another factor that mitigates against the older woman, younger man relationship is cultural. It's almost engraved in stone like the 10 commandments here, thou shall not date a younger man. Men can date 18 year olds even when they're 60 (blood tonic), women dating guys even 2years their junior raises many an eyebrow. The words desperate, tokunbo and cradle robber get bandied about, and snide comments and funny looks become the order of the day. The young man gets questioned by his friends relentlessly about how much settlement he's getting for servicing the old bird, and asked if he didn't see all the PYTs all over the town. She gets asked if she couldn't find a man her own age, and that why doesn't she leave small boys alone. Let's not even get into the issue of family members! Or if people really want to be spiteful, they ask ..."Is this your son?"
Now I'm not saying I will date a younger man (although there is this cute, insanely sexy, fantasy inducing, "my age - 5" guy who could make me change my mind. It's thisclose! ;-)) but I don't want my happiness tarnished, belittled, tainted or in any way sullied just cos I'm f**king a younger man if I do decide to!

Hey There!!!

2009-03-19T17:50:00.001+01:00

This is officially my first blog space ever! I really don't know what this blog'll be about...a little of this, a little of that, but definitely a whole lot of me! All I can promise is that this will be painfully frank and i'm open to 'constructive' criticism and feedback on anything i put up here.

I'll put up my posts from my facebook account to get the ball rolling and give you a taste of my mildly psychotic humor. Enjoy reading. :-)

Frankly Speaking...

RANDOM: WFT's He On About...?

Rules:

Randomly Random

Untitled Pt 2

Fourteen hours earlier

My Week, My Birthday and My Trip to Brazil

Monday 30th May

Tuesday 1st June

Wednesday 2nd June

Thursday, 3rd June

Friday 4th June

Saturday 5th June

Sunday 6th June

Untitled

Death By Politically Correct Means

SCENE 1 ACT 1

SCENE 1 ACT 2

SCENE 1 ACT 3

My Neighbour’s Wedding

Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

Sleeping with a Broken Heart

Komustaka!!!

What If I Did?

11th Grade

12th Grade

Prom Night

Graduation Day

A Few Years Later

Funeral

…And the Drum Beat Plays

Afternoon Delight

Of Tall Buildings and Aeroplanes

Me? Getting Married?...Hell No!

Sex, Lies and Vodka Pt. 1

TMI

The One That Got Away!

From Girl friend to Girlfriend

Gossip Girl

Delayed Devotion

Not Really Poetry

The Other Woman

Benefits?! Yes Please!

Relationship Junkie

Little Johnny

A Day like Any Other

Why Your Man is Mine!

Bi, Straight or Gay?

Not Quite Poetry (Love Network)

Light Up Nigeria? Pt 2

Light Up Nigeria? Pt 1

The Five-Year Plan

The Journey

PLC Theory

I Can't Tell You Why (...or Maybe I Can)

Caveats Abound

My Talk with God

Taken by Force

Climbing on My Soapbox...Again!!!

The Reaper

Robert Lindsey

Who am I?

That Crazy Psycho Bitch!!!

Week 58 Wordzzle Challenge

You’re Not The One…

By the Window

Wordzzle Week 54

Wordzzle Week 57

Pen and Blank Pad

Here I Stand!!

The Wish-list!

Forbidden Pleasures

I'm Better Than You!!!

Commitment Pt. 1

I Hate Christmas!!!

Fidelity

Just the Way You Are!

His Mistake

It's the Way You Are...!

I Want It All\Resource Scarcity!

Monday 30^th May

Tuesday 1^st June

Wednesday 2^nd June

Thursday, 3^rd June

Friday 4^th June

Saturday 5^th June

Sunday 6^th June