Happy Val’s Day…Piss Off!

It’s Valentine’s Day again people. Yes..yes, I am aware you know how to read a calendar. If you’re single, it’s a somewhat depressing day. Not because there’s anything wrong with being a member of the one team that recognises, understands and caters for the need of the lonely and bitter, The TFA (Team Forever Alone), but because of those pesky individuals who chose a day of love to be a special kind of an annoying bunch. The lover got you chocolates and roses and a cake? Aaaww…fuck outta here!

I am not bitter, neither am I lonely – I’ve got God – he’s my Valentine today, we have an understanding. Forget what Hallmark peddles in their themed cards, that’s all that matters.

So what’s a better way to spend Valentine’s Day than to wish the uncanny folks who have at one time or another made me wish I had thrown a spike in their eyes? It’s all about them today…well, on this blog. So guys, raise your glasses and join me in toasting to some of those individuals who in no direct way helped shape my sweet, loving and mild-mannered character. Dear fatheads, this is to you…

Happy Valentine’s Day to:

Mr. Akinade – the only teacher I’ve ever had a crush on. I was in primary four and he was a weakeningly-handsome young man. He walked with a rather innovative style, an alluring swag, uncommon among the oldies that usually graced the classrooms. I’m sure you’re married now but why didn’t you look for me? I waited and looked out for you well into my university days. Do you know how many Akinades there are on Facebook? The joke’s on you now as I’ve gotten over you…YOUR LOSS!

The first boy to ever give me a Val’s present – It was a purse. A cheap purse. I thank you. You saw the purse and thought of me. I took the purse home. The rats found it tasty. They thank you.

All my friends that got presents then while I roasted and are now roasting today – Would you look at that? We’re in the same boat now, aren’t we? Karma has jokes right? Chin up, there’s always next year and if that also fails, I could provide counselling, this veteran has seen it all before.

The dude over the phone at the cake store – No, it’s not desperate to buy a self-addressed Valentine’s cake. Fuck what you think…I’m taking my business elsewhere!

The lady on the train proudly showing off her bouquet of roses – I notice the man on your arm isn’t wearing a ring on his wedding finger. I notice you are. Have a good time. I hope you don’t catch anything. Hahahaha…who am I kidding?

My crush in secondary school – *double sigh* Slowie!

My course mate at university during my undergrad – You were right. Your boyfriend is good in bed. Sorry it took me 5 years to admit it.

Those that insist on calling me Biliki – It’s not funny if I’m not laughing. How you take a perfectly good and beautiful name and turn it into a paragon of razzness shows you have a very determined sense of evil. I proudly hate you!

Those at Nollywood – Chasing a lover randomly around a palm-tree is so Yemi My Lover. The millennium started 12 years ago. You might want to do something that reflects that!

Oooohh…that felt good. So there you have it, the few individuals I think I’d have done okay without ever coming across. But I know I’m not the only one that feels this way. I can’t be. Is there someone you’d like to give a special Val’s day shout out to? Use the comment box and air your grievances!

Note To My Child

I’ll teach you the way of greatness but you must build your own path
I’ll tell you the words of the wise but you draw your own morals
I hope to instil in you a great sense of perseverance and tolerance
But you must know the time to put your hands up for a fight
You can learn a thing or two from me but you must not be me
For life tarries not with yesterday
You will learn to read, and read, and read
Learn from all men too but you must sift through all that you hear
I can give you ideas but you must build your own dreams
Advise you on the necessity for goals but none I impose on you
For you are my child but your own person
I keep you in my house but not for too long
For if it’s just a hut you muster, it’s your own
I must teach you about pride, that my child is a big must
For they say it goes before a fall but you are nothing without it
You must learn to laugh my sweet one even in the face of adversity
For no man can face it with a weak heart.
I will tell you about love; love for all animals, humanity included
I’ll give you all of mine, but never my thoughts
For you have your own
I’ll also be there to hold your hand
When your heart experiences that first crack down its middle
But you must get up and never let the world know of your pain
All these, my child, I must see to. So when I’m gone, I’ll rest easier knowing
I bequest onto the world what it needs most. You.

Life Oh Life!

It’s been a while in here, hasn’t it? *removes cobwebs and pressure-sprays algae off wall* Welcome back. Hope you enjoy the feature!

Life is a joke. A big one with too many punch lines that go on for way too long that you just don‘t get. Ever been at a show and felt the uncontrollable urge to stand up, tell the performer where to stick it and walk out like the big bad boss that you are, hood up and things? No? Yes? Well, that’s how I feel about life sometimes but unfortunately, some impertinent brainiac went ahead and termed it suicide. Often we come across people, the really annoying ones (and no, I don’t just mean those that recently migrated from Facebook to Twitter) who always feel the need to impart their wisdom about life upon us. I’m thinking, who are you to teach me about life when you haven’t completed yours successfully?

I’m not all gloomy. I love my life, most of the time, when things are going right and the blocks are clicking into place. But this labyrinth that we’ve been thrown into courtesy of our parents and some supposedly higher being chilling all the way up in the cosmos usually has me questioning my  purpose here in the first place. Is it to add my own litter to the already loony bin? Make the land better for the next man or woman, or tranny (whatever you are, I don’t judge. Your case is with God)? What’s the point of our existence ‘cause surely there isn’t a sequel to our journey when we make our exits, or is there?

The way I see it, life is a bed of thorns with roses cropping up at selective points in one’s timeline. If you are really blessed, you’d have more roses than thorns that you wouldn’t need a wreath at your send-off ceremony. We all have a view of life and our purpose on this earth and most believe it’s to leave a legacy but I don’t agree with that. Just to point out, if you’re expecting inspirational quotations or mind-numbing verses, please don‘t. This here girl doesn’t do well under pressure! Now…

During my time so far, I have learnt that the people you expect to make you happy don’t always deliver. The money you are looking forward to won’t always materialize. We also don’t always end up with the one(s) we love.  Love, a lot like sex is overrated and understanding and forebearance, a lot like head, are underrated. I’ve never urged anyone to live their life a certain way because, sincerely, no matter what you do, you’re still going to exit this platform. But I am someone that cares, sometimes excessively! Occasionally, I wish I could follow my friend’s well-meaning albeit brusque mantra of ‘do you and fxck everyone else’ but in all candid grace, that’d make me a whore, a masturbator and quite disturbingly, a lesbian with no standards!’

The honest bitter truth is not everyone is going to make it in life. I know I will but you may not. Let’s face it, we all don’t have the brains of Einstein or the heart of Mother Theresa. We all won’t possess the mind of Ghandi, the dreams of Martin Luther King or the brashness of Mohammed Ali’s knuckles so a lot of us won’t be known beyond the fourth generation. So pray tell, how’s your legacy relevant to the outside world? Most people’s history only means something to their immediate family. I’m not part of yours, why should I care about your grandfather?

Oh life, the school of hard knocks where you are free to drop out when you can no longer hack it. Where everyone strives to be recognised as the smartest, the coolest, the most beautiful, the sexiest. Wait, do you even realise you are eventually going to die? No one graduates from life, it expels you when it feels your time is up and enrols new eager, gullible, impressionable students who ultimately experience the same consequence. Everyone eventually leaves the place. No one is a living alumni of the School of Hard Knocks. In the words of my best friend, you’d be dead way longer than you ever lived.

That said, I’m not always a fan of life but right now, she’s doing me right. I’m loving her and I genuinely hope I never have to tell her where to stick it!

And no…I still don’t know our purpose in this spherical realm. Do you? Please, do share!

The Illicit Alliances

Bonjour tout le monde. Welcome back. It’s been an awful long time since the last post…I know. And although this blog is only a few posts old, I appreciate all the positive and encouraging feedbacks it’s gotten so far. Y’all rock!

*       *       *      *     *     *     *

I stepped into the crowded and merry hall and was immediately greeted by the welcoming aroma of the different delicacies on offer. I scanned the room for her, and there she was – at the serving table, on her feet, dishing out delectable portions to the hungry party revellers, with her bosom friend on hand to help her. I couldn’t tell you if it was her or the food that made me pull up a seat close to the serving area, and as I sat down, our eyes met…

“Oh my God he’s here!”. I couldn’t contain my anxiety – good or bad – I wasn‘t sure which it was. Our eyes met, or rather mine took a long shot at his. They were looking in our direction but entirely focused on something else. They were spaced out. I looked around me but couldn’t make out the object of his glare. I turned to my best friend of over two decades and she shot a knowing smile at me. The cheek! I felt uneasy…

She seemed jittery. She had already dropped a plate she was serving into. Now my focus was on her and she seemed to notice the change in my eye direction. Maybe she knew. I hoped she didn’t. I flashed her a smile and she returned a forced one. Maybe she wanted me there. But I couldn’t really go, not with her friend there. Her friend!!

Such a clumsy prat! I had dropped a plate of food less than 60 seconds after he walked in. His gaze now suddenly fixed on me, I was sure of this. His intent look not helping matters. How could one man have such an effect on me this much? Especially not one I encountered everyday. We slept in the same house. On the same bed. Funny my nerves should be strumming up a gimmick at the sight of him now although I strenuously doubt it was one any man would pray for.

She seemed alright now and at that satisfactory conclusion, I let my eyes wander again. She was beautiful…no, stunning…no, MESMERIZING. She had it all, everything I ever envisaged in my dream woman – a smile that seemed to emanate an unrivalled radiance, a body that could be likened to a goddess’ and a girl-next-door attitude and extremely caring nature to boot. And yeah, she was ‘fire’ in bed. My loins were never left wanting. She made me moan in languages reserved for monks. With the inclusion of hot food at the ready, what else could a man ask for?

With his gaze shifted, I felt a momentary surge of relief and calmness. I sat down and took in my environment. Took in the beauty in front of me. The one person I was able to turn to these past couple of months, the only one I could talk to. The one person who it seemed  now controlled my sanity. The glowing dark skin, the piercing eyes, the weakening kiss, the crazy sex. What I had been missing my whole life. What I wanted to have for the rest of it. To relish, to enjoy, to revel in. And over there, a few feet away, standing in the way of this aspiration,  was the man whose symbolic sterling was sitting pretty on the fourth finger of my right hand.

It couldn’t have been a worse timing. But still I wanted her. I needed her. I craved her. But how was I to break up a supposedly happy home? Forget the marriage, this would dissolve family ties. How was I to face my wife and tell her I was in love with someone else?

I feared for what was to come. I knew this revelation would burn bridges. No one would understand. I didn’t even care for them to, as long as they accepted. But would anyone? What madness? My mother would insist they ‘chase out the devil with extensive lashings of the spiritual broom’. But this was love surely…right?

I knew she’d go crazy

He was sure to go berserk. I didn’t want him signed into a mental home on my account.

I needed help. Confusion ravaged my brain. I couldn’t think straight. I was going to hurt the one woman I had vowed, before God and man, not to; in two-fold. How do you tell your wife you’re in love with her best friend?

I knew I was digging for trouble. One that was going to render me husbandless, family-less and definitely friendless. I searched and sought for the best possible option but all avenues failed me. Couldn’t pretend I was surprised. I knew I just had to face him. And tell him that I was in love with my best friend!

*    *    *    *    *   *

So folks, there you have it. In this new-age society we’ve found ourselves, anything and everything is happening. We always believe that it can’t happen to us. But what if it did? What if your husband turns around to you and tells you he’s in love with your best friend, or right off the mark, another man? How would you take it if your wife told you she’s in love with another woman, or your closest mate? What would you do? Do air your thoughts. Thanks for reading!

That Long Windy Road

Hi everyone. It’s been a while since I posted, three weeks to be precise. Please do accept my due apologies for this unfair hiatus. My mind has been in a very ‘special’ place that does nothing for your creativity. That place is called laziness. Shout out to all my fans who were constantly asking me when the next post was coming up. And by all, I mean one. Anita – you are a darling. Thanks for checking on a sister.

Anyone that knows me will most likely tell you I’m a very unserious person. I hardly take anything/anyone serious with the exception of money and ‘it’. Please don’t ask me what ‘it’ is. Now this next post is a bit of a long one, it’s a serious one and it’s also fiction. It never happened ooooo ehen! Do enjoy and leave your thoughts in the comment box. Thanks!

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

With one last grunt, he collapsed on top of her. His hot musky breathe – a mix of stale cigar whiff and bad dental hygiene – burning up her neck. After what seemed like eternity, he heaved his rotund entity off her. She laid there, not by choice but her strength seemed to have deserted her. He sauntered across the room to the restroom, his whistling a vociferous indication of his satisfaction. “Urgh, the beast” she muttered under her breath. She finally sat up and proceeded to dress herself back up. The session was over, she saw no reason in lingering around so she made for the exit. Just before getting to the door, he came out with a towel wrapped around his protruding beer gut and perverted grin forming on his face. He motioned for her to come to him…closer…closer. Her hesitance was obvious, she made no sincere effort to hide it. Sensing her reluctance, he let her be. “Tell your husband to come and see me Friday morning, at 11” he said. She nodded and out she went, away from him. Time seemed to be toying with her, slowing down on purpose as she just couldn’t seem to get out of there fast enough.

Now outside and not even the acrimonious February breeze could jolt her into the present. Her mind was gone, she was just a frame walking, deaf to the world. Dead to the tirade of curses that was intended for her from the tongue of an irate driver who almost ran into her. Well, if he had, he would have done her a massive favour. She felt like she had committed a federal offence. Were it possible she be convicted and handed the death penalty, she would have accepted it wholeheartedly. Now it seems her crime is to live with, not only what she’d just done, but who she’d just done too. A heinous crime that carries no federal sanction. She yearned for retribution, any at all.

She turned into a quiet side street, her tear-stained cheeks telling a very sad story. She hadn’t mean to do it; she wasn’t like this. Tried as she may, she just couldn’t shake off that guilt that had enveloped her conscience. She no longer felt right, nor clean either. Her crayfish had indeed buckled under the pressure of her predicament. Her mind travelled back to about 7 months ago, when things were jolly. Seems like a forgotten era now. They once had it good, really good. He held the position of a Financial Adviser in one of the UK’s largest investment banks. He was earning quite a lot so she never had a reason to work. A lush property in the Docklands, the pride of East London, with an enviable mortgage. And the kids? Well fed, well clothed and never without the latest gadgets. They were the envy of their social circle. They had everything going for them. That was until he fell sick, his father that is.

Pressure fell on him as the eldest, and also the richest child to be financially responsible and he bore the burden solely. No one thought to chip in. Well, why should they? After all, he lives in London. Family requested more and more money for the old man’s hospital needs, and never for once did he not oblige or even as much as raise an objection, he sent without question. Within 6 weeks, £8000 had been depleted on this illness. Even he didn’t realise he had handed over such a ridiculous amount for the said illness. Again, he said nothing.

The call on that fateful Saturday evening shook his world. He sobbed at his end of the line. His hands trembled as his body shook uncontrollably to the grief he had just been laden with, his eyes wasting no time in pushing open the floodgates. The old man had given up. His father was gone. He sobbed like a little child who had just learnt he’d been abandoned in a market place. He pined for his dad. Wished he could, if only for a moment, hold his hands again and send the man, who he deemed the best father in the world, off with an appreciative smile. The old man deserved that at least, he thought. He had been a wonder in his life. His work granted him an indefinite grievance leave.

‘Why couldn’t he have been allowed to die peacefully’ she questioned her mind angrily. Now as she kept walking down that long quiet road, the sound of the trees billowing to the wind’s might, she could feel the fury burning within her. ‘That was too much money spent on someone who was going to die anyways’. Unfair, yes maybe just a tad but realistic, she was most certain she was. Burial responsibilities fell on him and again, he heeded the call. Again, solely.

Recession hit. The economy suffered a blow. Financial institutions became depraved and desperate. Redundancies rivalled the commonness of sand. Businesses were suffering and everyone was feeling the pinch. That was what he came back to. As an employee who hadn’t been around for the best part of three months, he became one of the first casualties of his company’s downsizing. No jobs elsewhere, not even with a fraction pay cut. Their savings were exhausted. He’d spent thousands of pounds taking care of his father’s illness, and now the banks want that money back. More calls from lenders to pay up, threatening letters of repossession from their mortgage company, the embarrassing and recurring presence of the bailiffs and more red-lettered final demands pouring in through the post. It all became too much.

So she sought help outside, in the form of one of her father’s oldest pals. He was the founder of a very successful multi-national textile company with a registered office in Park Lane and a flagship store in Bond Street. He agreed to help, for something in return of course. It’s planet earth my dear, nothing goes for nothing. She gave in to him, several times in fact. Today was their last session. The man is the pictorial definition of celibacy, the sight of him will inspire you to sew your legs shut. But when you are so hungry, one wouldn’t be blamed for bowing down to a cow.

She relayed his message to her husband. Friday came, he went, came back with the good news. Ecstatic he was, oh he was over the moon. Things were finally going to change around here, for better. But she couldn’t join in the celebrations. He wanted to commemorate the good news with some steamy actions under the covers, but she couldn’t let him touch her, not after that man’s tubby fingers had discovered the pleasures only her husband was accustomed to. She feigned a head ache and went to bed. She could never let him touch her again. Early next morning, with her husband and kids still in bed, she headed out, bags in hand. A note with the inscribed message reading ‘I’M SORRY. DO TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS’ left on the kitchen counter. And with that, she was out of the door, down that long windy road for the last time, out of their lives, never to return!

THE Gathering

Cheryl, a 27 year old attractive recently-divorced over-hyped popstar is pacing the floor of her hotel room. She needs to talk to someone, she must, she has to. For the sake of her sanity, she needs a figure to cry to. The door opens and in comes Victoria, 37, an ex-pop star and married mother of three with an additional one on the way.

Cheryl: aaww Vivi, I’m so glad you are here.
Vivi: (checking Cheryl all over) babe, you ok? What’s wrong? You sounded really bad on the phone, had me worried
Cheryl: Vivi, thanks for coming. I’ve been going crazy out of my mind.
Vivi: Talk to me babes, what’s happened?
Cheryl: it’s Ashley. He just …

(She’s stopped short by the knock on the door. She opens it and in comes Eva, a 36-year old superstar actress and Mashonda, 30 year old washed-up RnB singer, both new on the divorce circuit. Like ‘Vivi’, the two of them rally round her, scanning her with a worried look)

Mashonda: Cheryl, what’s wrong. You got us worried naw
Eva:Yea what happened Cheryl. My heart was beating so fast with every step. What’s up?
Cheryl: Aaawww eyah guys, I’m sorry if I got you scared. It’s not that big, but for me it is a big deal
Vivi: what is it? This chic talk naw
Cheryl: It’s Ashley
Mashonda: Ehn, wetin do am?
Cheryl: He wants us to give it another go
(All three breathe sighs of relief)
Mashonda: Is that what you called us here for? See this girl o
Eva: (laughing)
Vivi: Really? That’s very good
Mashonda: (looks at Vivi in disbelief, then reverts her focus on Cheryl) and what did you say when he told you that?
Cheryl: I panicked. I hung up on him. I didn’t know what to say.
Mashonda: You didn’t know what to say?
Cheryl: What could I have said at that point?
Mashonda: Umm…I don’t know…how about he covers himself in honey and go disturb a beehive?
Vivi: Mashonda, easy!
Eva: (who has broken out of the circle and is now lounging on the bed) Cheryl, you are not seriously thinking of going back to him, are you?
Cheryl: Well…I don’t know…I’m really confused at th….
Vivi: (interrupting) and what if she does? Would that be an offence?
Mashonda: Against her spirit, yes!
Vivi: Her spirit?
Mashonda: Hell yeah!! Her spirit, her eleda!
Vivi: You can’t blackmail her into that emotion you know
Eva: Mashonda is right though. (now sitting up) Cheryl, a man that’s hurt you once will see nothing in doing it again
Vivi: Are you guys serious?
Mashonda: Is this not the same dude that slept with that humpty-dumpty hairdresser and you forgave him?
Vivi: And?
Mashonda: Of all people to mess around with, that? You have been rated one of the most beautiful women in the world and he still felt the need to poke his penis in a dingy burrow. Naahhh mehn!!
Eva: Think about it though Cher-cher. After you forgave him, he was still sexting some stripper
Cheryl: (starts pacing, confused) I know…I know.
Eva: And even after you two divorced, he went on a voyeuristic rampage with two other strippers. Sometimes, I wonder if that boy has any skull let alone a brain.
Cheryl: (stops pacing, looks directly at Eva) Don’t you talk about him like that ever again. Regardless of what he’s done, he remains the man I once exchanged vows with.
Vivi: Guys, you lot talk as if you don’t know the kind of lives we live. Women wish they could be us, so they constantly throw themselves at our husbands.
Mashonda: And that’s their excuse?
Vivi: They are constantly inundated with temptations in all shapes, colours and sizes. It’s really hard for them
Mashonda: No offence Vivi but sharrap abeg. What are you talking?
Eva: Abi o
Mashonda: I know all about giving a man a second chance and him pissing all over it, so Cheryl, trust me I do know how you feel.
Cheryl: I know darling, I’m so sorry. How’s SWIZZ?
Mashonda: Well, he’s still alive, that’s about all I know. It still BEATZ me how he could just do me like that with not so much as a glance back
Vivi: My dear it happens. It’s called Shit.
Eva: You can talk Vivi, your husband is still clenching on to your apron strings
Vivi: And you think it’s been smooth sailing for us? Babes, there are so many goliaths in the form of other women but my DAVID is going nowhere.
Mashonda: At your BECK and call, lucky you
Vivi: Na so we see H’AM ooo
Eva: But not everyone is as lucky though
Vivi: You mean not everyone is as patient or even as strong? You have got to learn to overlook, my dear Cheryl, Eva and Mashonda and learn to forgive
Mashonda: And when they don’t wanna be forgiven nko? When they don’t even care if they are or not
Vivi: Omo na to let them go be that oo. Guess they’ve finally found the KEY to their heart
Eva: Hmmmm
Vivi: And you Eva, it’s not over till the fat lady, or even man sings. Fat TONY hadn’t sung, I doubt he was ever going to, but you told your husband where to drive his PARKER. You lost him, you let him go.
Eva: What da hell? He cheated on me
Vivi: And that only confirms that he’s human, not devoid of slip-ups or missteps. What happened to forgiveness, Eva? You are from a Catholic background, you should know plenty about that naw.
Cheryl: Umm, guys…over here (gestures to herself)
Mashonda: Cher-cher, the fact remains you can’t go back to him. He’ll keep hurting you
Eva: That’s right baby, there are rules to this
Vivi: Rules…rules….rules!! Who da hell makes them?
Eva: Well, life does. Life dictates how you act in certain situations
Vivi: And life told you not to forgive, bear grudges and rush to dissolve your vows just because some trampy mess got lucky with your man? How abeg? Email, text, call? How oooo??
Eva: Vivi, abeg leave story
Mashonda: Cher-cher you gotta move on mehn, forget this guy. A pig will never stop being an animal.
Cheryl: Forget who exactly? Ashley? Omo, that one go hard small ooo.
Mashonda: But you got Derek, no?
Cheryl: Derek? That child? He couldn’t even reach the spot. It’s true what they say about black guys you know?
Mashonda: (laughing so hard) You mean Derek is not well-endowed.
Cheryl: All the guy has is a Wande ‘COLE’ ooo…he makes me miss ASHLEY so much.
Eva: Just because Ashley was, by ur definition, a demi-god in bed doesn’t mean you should go back to him
Mashonda: Babe, you are a celeb. You can have any man you goddamn want
Cheryl: Yea, I can but hardly anyone I can fall in love with like I did Ash
Mashonda: Babes, na you know ooo. Now that I’m a celeb, I know I can…
Vivi: (interrupts) A celeb? Lo ba tan! Girl, come down back to earth, it’s looking for you.

(Cheryl and Eva burst out into uncontrollable laughter)

Mashonda: (eyes them up and kisses her teeth) It’s you people that know naw…your headache!!
Vivi: (now facing Cheryl) Do you still love him?
Cheryl: Of course I do.
Vivi: Babes, then do what seems right to you. If you feel he’d never hurt you anymore, then by all means go for it
Cheryl: But Simon says if I go back to Ashley, I’ll become public enemy number one.
Vivi: Of course he’ll say that. In case you haven’t realised, that monkey with the ridiculously-white fangs has a crush on you. Go figure!
Cheryl: He also said the whole nation was behind me when I decided to leave Ash, that that’s how I became their sweetheart
Vivi: No Cheryl, you became the nation’s sweetheart because you decided to dance to their tune, not yours. Everyone said leave him, same as they said to me when REBECCA started her rubbish. That one, dirtier than the LOOS in a Mexican town, couldn’t prise me from my man. I stood by him through thick and thin, through it all. I took and still take my vows seriously. Sweetie, you are the only one that knows where the shoe hurts. Do you babe…YOU!!
Eva: And if he hurts her again?
Vivi: Then she can go to bed knowing she really has done her best. Trust me, the sleep is sweeter with a better conscience.
Mashonda: Hmm…me I’ve said my own though
Vivi: You see em? Misery likes company. Your contribution has been noted. Thank you!
Cheryl: (chuckles) Thanks guys, you lot are the best. I love you all!
All three: And we love you too

*CURTAIN CLOSES*

Did you catch the drift of the story? Ok good. If you didn’t at first attempt, do read it again, it’s free. Just to point out here, this post is not to mete out any moral advice or advocate a particular stance, like who cares, right?

The idea for this post came into my head this afternoon and refused to self-destruct, so I decided to bring it to life. And it’s been written this way because I imagined if all four of them ever gathered for a chat, this is how it would go. The sacred commune of a bunch of spoilt divas. Quite interesting right? Four specimens for lab experiement, jolly!!  Hope you enjoyed it. Do let us hear from you, your feedback is always appreciated. Also, don’t forget to tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend. The more, the merrier! Thank you!!

Mammoth Love

Love is the most beautiful, it’s the greatest
It’s a phenomenon, everyone should experience it
So I’ve heard. Indulge me please, why do I detest
The feelings taking form in me, down in the pit
Of my core, threatening insanity
How do I plead? Succumb or fight it?
Fight love?
It’s akin to inciting a bout with Ali
If my delusions of a victory lead me into that ring
I have signed, sealed and hand delivered
My fate to my creator, to the fallen soldier they’d sing
Of HER woes, and maybe her calamity revered
But only maybe
But then again, would anyone observe this oxymoron?
The drums of pain in her heart on and on they drone
A constant reminder of her weakness before him
She has always been strong, always stood for herself
She was fearless, well until she set eyes on him
Then she felt like a girl, or reverted to one
She’s every woman, literally the case
A single collective of size 10, 12, 14, even a 16
She’s big? No. She’s mammoth.
Yes, I’m mammoth and I love him
I yearn, and crave him, me, both
Of us, together, sitting down, enjoying
A meal, or two, or three…well, meals
Instead, I’ve had to endure her fingers toying
With his thick afro hair – what an unfair deal!
Her annoyingly skinny frame sashaying right before his hungry eyes
Popping out more and more with every sway
Silly boy, wish I could slap them back into his skull
And arduously roll his tongue back and pin them down in his mouth
Or, I could lay in wait, beat her black and blue
Maybe just black, maybe a different hue
God don’t love skinny people but He’d never condone that
On a mission to shake it off, give it all up
But
I’ve tried, truth be told I’ve endeavoured
And each time ends with a humiliating thud back to earth
He doesn’t want to know, and I can’t seem to give him up
How do you counter love?
How do you neutralize the hypnotic hold
That, without warning, whips you into a state of uncontrollable frenzy
There seems to be no dedicated formula,
There seems to be no hope, and as it seems
A Luta Continua

Thanks for coming back here once again. So there it is, my attempt at poetry. I hope I’ve done it justice, and if I haven’t, abeg easy on the bashing/criticisms. Thanks. See you soon!!

Invasion Of The Bush Babies

Hi all, welcome to another week’s edition of my world. As it remains, I still haven’t found a name, so y’all creative cats out there wanna help a sister out, holla! Pro-bono work only, I don’t have money to pay you o!

Now to the matter at hand. You know when you meet someone and they say a certain thing or dress a particular way that makes the question ‘..and someone is dating you’ pop into your head. You do? So, it’s not just me? Thank God, I thought I was filling in for the devil there for a second. I’ve met a number of folks who at first glance, seem quite intelligent, and maybe they are but their first utterance or their appearance the second time you meet them immediately calls that into question. I’ve met some fine folks who there seems to be nothing wrong with until you see them dressed, regrettably by themselves.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I ran into a friend of a friend at a train station. On a normal day, the guy is cool, apart from a few glitches in his grammar, you couldn‘t really point out an issue with him. But on this occasion, he looked totally mismatched, appearance-wise. He had on a fitted shiny/metallic suit with a black shirt. To be fair, there’s nothing wrong with that…if it was on a night out. Pleasantries exchanged and I was prompted to tell him he looked ‘eye-catching’, he smiled, feeling quite smug and proud of his effort, probably because he believed yes, he had pulled it off….#winning! He then proceeded to tell me that yes, he was on his way to…..wait for it…a JOB INTERVIEW. Cue animated jaw-drop. I tried very hard to hide my disbelief and fortunately, I was able to. My disbelief expertly converted into a smile, I inconspicuously scanned the bloke from top to bottom (thank God he’s vertically-challenged, else that would have been a task and I would have been caught) and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I clocked his shoes. My guy had on Gucci shoes. I mean the ones with the extra-bold logo and bright colours. I needed to sit down. I just couldn’t for the life of me believe someone could do that to themselves. Bright and expensive designer shoes to a job interview? How was he so sure the person that would interview him could afford a pair? Besides, if you’re wearing Gucci-oh yes I can afford designer-shoes to a job-I’m really desperate for money-interview, you are implicitly telling your interviewer you are richer than them. You will not be getting a job, that is a given!

Mind you, this character above is happily married. I questioned, in my mind of course, the whereabouts of his wife at such a crucial time in his life. And to think this is the same bloke that went to a previous job interview in jeans. JEANS?? There is no doubt why his application process ended at that first interview. I know of so many other cases involving dozens other people whose know-hows end when it comes to dressing up. But, for the sake of my well-being, I can’t go on to mention many of them. In the words of my ex, another bush baby (in my defence, I swear he was posh in my loved-up eyes), I’m not trying to take the pix (piss)…oohh yes! Another one he said was “why should I be afraiding to talk to you?”. That one was a proper bush baby, he had a certificate and a commemorative t-shirt to prove it!

One bush baby that really struck me was a certain guy. The ex of my friend in Maryland, US. This particular picture of the guy will forever be embedded in the right side of my brain. In all fairness, I can’t tell whether he’s an accredited bush baby or it was just a bad day for him because that was the only picture of him I saw. My guy was feeling real cool with himself, leaning on a wall, hands folded across his chest in a pink and white jumper. And no, it’s not the masculine deep pink, we’re talking baby pink here. He teamed it up with faded-blue boot cut denim and again, wait for it….PINK TIMBS – baby powdery pink. I felt weak, life drained from my face and my heart lost the will to carry on beating. “Why?”, I asked my friend, his girl then. “Why what?” she seemed oblivious to the offence against humanity she had aided and abetted. By association and also by seeing no evil in how her man was dressed, she was deemed a bush baby too.

One can’t and shouldn’t pile all of the blame on these clueless individuals. Their friends and families who encouraged them are the enemies here, they should receive the bulk of the blame. If you’ve ever watched any P.Whales and Lollyheartz videos on you tube, you’ll understand me better. Friends especially play a huge part on how you present yourself to the world. No human is the ultimate reserve of knowledge, you need your friends, they are your support system. Frankly, I would prefer it if my friends told me I was embarrassing them with my dressing to allowing me face the world where unknown to me, I’m the butt of the everyone’s ridicule.

But that’s not to say they’ll come through for you, your friends I mean. My own friends did me bad, those malevolent creatures I still keep close to my heart. My head shakes in total bafflement when I remember what I went through on a night of partying as a result of them. If I can just put it out there first that I was of the naïve belief that when it comes to make-up, more is definitely the best. So imagine my innocuous state when, while getting ready for a night out a couple of years ago, I saw no harm in applying my blusher lavishly. My cheeks gave Rudolph the red-nose reindeer a run for its money, they were blinging I tell you. And, bless my heart, I went to the party like that, feeling every inch the million dollars I thought I looked. If only I knew that, coupled with my also bright eyeshadow, I looked like a very determined clown. I wasn’t aware of my crime until the pictures came out a couple of days after, on facebook. The only explanation my friends could give me was that they didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but as it seemed, they were perfectly fine with others laughing at me. Fast forward to this point, and I tell you although I’ve brushed it off my shoulder, gangsta-style, I’m still wary of my friends. And no, that doesn’t make me a bush baby. I was just a victim of my chosen but failed support system.

Hello you…welcome aboard

Hi there, the name is Bilkis…yes, you read right, Bilkis. I beseech you to pay no heed to the nigerian voice in your head telling you it’s spelt wrong. No, it’s not. You’ve just been pronouncing it wrong. Bilkis, not Bilikis, not Bilikisu and my least favourite, definitely not Balkis. Thank you *whips imaginary Rapunzel-length hair to the back*

Anyways, welcome. It’s 22:39 as shown on my laptop. My nose is bunged up and my head seems to be hosting a drumming session of its own. I’m struggling to sleep so I’m madly craving for entertainment. Any at all. At this point, I can’t be fussy. Boredom hasn’t afforded me the luxury of being a chooser. Twitter isn’t doing it for me, neither is BBM. Actually, the only person whose pings I live for seems to be sleeping so I resign myself to a night of frustration and sleeplessness. Mind you, I have work in the AM so this eyes-wide-open option my body has defiantly opted for is making me exceptionally cranky.

That was until one tweet came up (thanks to the new-tweet notification feature of Tweetdeck) with a link to a certain person’s blog. With low expectation coupled with an unattractive desperation to find a cure for my insomnia – imposed by an authority, my body which as it seems calls the shot – I click on it. The page opens up. I read with a cynical conviction, mostly borne out of jealousy. I scan through the carefully and cleverly laid out words of the author. I roll my eyes. After rolling, I move on. You see, the problem is not the blogger or the blog itself. The issue is me.

I love writing and I love reading. Well, the former way more than the latter because of, again, jealousy. I love reading people’s blogs but I can’t help but feel this sense of HARMLESS envy wash over me whenever I do so I tend to shy away from them. For me, sitting down and writing an interesting piece is something that calls for minimum wage at least. I’m not entirely motivated by money but as I‘d like it to be known, my time is very precious and it’s not something I seem to have a lot of. Yes, I can tweet all day, but mostly about different things. But to sit down in one place and write is something that usually ends with half-written stories and a whole load of bruised ego. Every day, I vow to put more strength into my writing and everyday I disappoint so it’s not surprising I don’t have a lot of faith in my ability to fill up a single blog post.

Ok enough of the negative tone. I’m actually, if I can unashamedly vouch for myself, a happy-go-lucky young woman. I’m in my early 20s and a hopeless romantic. I’m friendly enough – emphasis on ENOUGH. As much as I try, I just cant help but make my mind up about people two minutes into a conversation, or the lack of it. I’m very open minded…maybe too open-minded – you’d see why as time goes on. I like bread. Yes, I am also random. I’m not a shoe crazy chic neither do I strangely feel at home in a Mac store. Suffice to say, I’m a ‘jeans and t-shirt kinda girl’. Fashion doesn’t freak me. I feel just as sexy in a New Look t-shirt as your average girl would in a brightly coloured body con dress.

I just got pinged twice by two different contacts. Check it, *bbm not-interested-smiley*, casually ignore.

Yes, as I was saying, I’m just a cool somebody. I get along with mostly guys than girls. I can’t stand a lot of girls. Their bitchiness just drives me up the wall faster than spiderman and I’m not exactly the most accommodating person in the world. Patience is a virtue which God did not bestow on me in abundance and so, I’m always quick to run out of it. He was probably in a hurry when He was deciding what endowments to allot me which would explain why I’m not blessed with a lot of junk in MY trunk either. He must have ran out after He made that fat, sorry – big-boned chic in my class in secondary school whose birthday is a day before mine. I feel cheated. Oh well…life goes on!

It’s now 00:19 which means it’s taken me almost two hours to write what I’m sure has taken you less than five minutes to polish off. Hopefully, the next one takes less time to write or  I see myself being gradually put off. Well, the more people I know are reading my blog *wow, it sure feels good to say that …MY BLOG…again wow…ok moving on*, the more encouraged and motivated I’d feel to write more. So, in my now copyrighted posh way of begging, I implore you to…“please, please now, show your friends this, RT the link, tell more people about me now, please now…see the way I’m begging. If it was you, I’d do the same for you, you know naw…please, ehn, so gbo…thank you my new best friend”.

Having said that, in my infamous posh manner of course, please do come again. I promise to be very interesting. I honestly can’t say at this point if I’d be posting weekly or every fortnight, but whenever I do, I’ll make sure you get the message, again, in my now-patented posh style. How do you feel about stalking? You are not averse to it, are you? Good. Stalk See ya soon!