To Tap Or Not To Tap??

Mornin’ people…

I mentioned that I attended an old friend’s wedding sometime in January right?…  I am really not big on weddings. It was all the way in Lagos and if I wasn’t able to make it, he would’ve understood (I think).

I wasn’t the best man or the ring bearer. In fact, I played no significant role before, during and after the wedding. All I did was stare at some delicious eye-candy in his committee of friends, catch up with old friends, eat like a pig and party like a rock starr!! So, if I’m not so big on weddings, and if my only function there was to eat all the food, why did I go?

I went to support my friend and I went out of respect. He married the same girl he’s been talking about for quite a while now. I didn’t know when they met and what website they met on (just kidding), but I knew when he started thinking marriage. Then I knew when he started talking marriage. After that, a date was inevitable…

Why is this a big deal? It’s a big deal because I’m disgusted by all the surprise weddings that are springing up all over the place!!!

You don’t have to wear a T-shirt that says “ABOUT TO START THINKING OF MAYBE PROPOSING TO THIS BITCH”… That’s not what I’m asking. Just don’t go around spewing BS about how much pressure you’re getting from your family to settle down, how you don’t really love your current girlfriend, she’s not the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, she’s a terrible cook, her Brazilian-Indian-Congolese weave is destroying your sex life, blah blah friggin’ blah!!

In the words of ODB, Nigga Please!! No one born before 2003 falls for those lines anymore… We know how it works; you run her down thinking it’s gonna get you laid, then months later you upload a wedding album on facebook and title it “When Two Hearts Become One”.

You wankers know who you’re gonna end up with so instead of disrespecting your girlfriend/fiancé by saying all those silly things about her, why don’t you just politely say to me or any other girl you’re trying to play: “I am about to wed, but alas! T’would be my pleasure to screw thine brains out. May we please bang?”

Then it would be up to me or whoever to either say, “Yay, thou mayest bang me” or “Nay, thou shall not bang”.

I brought it up with a friend of mine. He is now married with a kid but he is, to put it simply, a dog in a T.M. Lewin shirt. He says that if married men like him are still in the game, how much more single men? “Man gats try im luck”… And that about sums it up- it’s all a game to them. I think it’s unfair… but you know what they say; asking the world to be fair to you is like asking a lion to not eat you up because you don’t eat lion meat.

So what’s a single girl to do? She can’t change the way of the world, but she can stop herself from being a victim of it… she needs to make sure that every time a wedding IV comes out or a wedding album is uploaded on fb, she can confidently look up to the skies and declare to God, “Thank you Jesus for though this wanker tried and tried, he tappeth not this ass before his wedding!”

Don’t know about you ladies but in my next life, I’m coming back as a man. And not just any man, an African man…

Part II: Jehova, Na Me Be Dis?

Ok, so this is part two of my weekend story… 🙂

While Chucks was talking, I imagined myself at a dinner party with my carpenter and his girlfriend, and some of their other friends and I almost threw up in my mouth. What the hell were we gonna talk about? As insulted as I was, I didn’t have the heart to ask him if he’s been swallowing some engine oil. I should have said a firm No!, but I couldn’t. Instead, I promised I would call the next day to let him know if I would be able to make it. I knew that even if Jesus himself asked me to go, I wouldn’t.

By Friday evening, I came down with a bad cold.

I spent Friday night and Saturday morning bugging contacts in my phone book. I called some friends, chatted with some people and stalked some others on twitter. It was a very uneventful Saturday morning until I called one of my old friends. He wanted to take me out to dinner but I told him I couldn’t go cos I had a cold. My sneeze sounds as unsexy as my laughter and I didn’t want to spread the virus, but he insisted so I said yes.

I spent all afternoon getting ready… I changed my nail polish, took a shower and picked out two outfits cos I wasn’t sure where we were going yet. There was one casual I’m-going-to-dinner-with-an-old-friend outfit and one don’t-you-dare-bend-down-to-pick-up-that-coin dress. I was actually VERY excited because he’s one of those friends that have known me for ages so the plan was to go out without my wig and have unlimited fun without worrying about things like how to chew like a lady. He accepts me as I am, moro moro and all. And besides, he doesn’t have any hair himself so we’re even.

Long story short, as I type this, I’m still waiting for Nnamdi’s call because I got stood up!!! (You can laugh all you want)… 🙁

I waited, and waited and waited but there was no call or text. I felt terrible.

Meanwhile, Chucks The Repairman kept calling till my phone almost exploded. I was already in a foul mood. I eventually answered the phone and told him I couldn’t go out cos I had a cold. Next thing I know the dude started his own rant, going on and on about how disappointed he is, how much he was looking forward to having me attend the dinner with him, asking what I’m going to be doing at home and who I will be with. The only thing missing in his rant was a pair of prosthetics (blades), a gun and four bullets.

It was a classic, “Jehova, na me be dis?” moment. His gbagauns were more pronounced cos he was pissed and he was yelling and although it was amusing, it was even more insulting. I had only myself to blame for all the times I laughed at his lame jokes and all the times I walked past his shop and waved.

I took something for the cold and slept like a baby 🙂

Sunday was quiet and peaceful. I was feeling much better and I took a loooong walk in the morning after jogging. Then I spent the rest of the day eating like a starving hippo and watching Modern Family and Glee. So how was your weekend?

Let’s have a great week people…



Good morning people…

I started this post on Friday evening, thinking I was gonna finish it and post it Saturday. Then I spoke to a friend of mine and something came up so I decided to put the post on hold till Sunday evening when I would have the complete story of how my weekend went.

It’s a ridiculously long post so, like a Nollywood movie, I decided to break it into two parts; Part I and II…

On Friday morning, my pet pig said to me; “WTF? Oink oink oink oink oink! Oink oink… Oink oink oink, you filthy pig!!” For those of you who don’t speak Piggerish, she basically told me that the whole house was filthy and she was threatening to move out if I didn’t do something about it. So I spent the whole of Friday cleaning up the house. My brother was coming back home that day too.

After cleaning, I went to the market and cooked enough food for 100 Rwandan refugees, bought extra batteries for my dildo and organized fuel for the gen. The plan was to not leave my home till Monday/Tuesday, if possible Wednesday.

While I was cooking, there was someone at the gate. I ran to see who it was and alas! it was my gen-guy (the guy who services and repairs my gen). I was very surprised to see him because he had already done some work on the gen earlier in the week. I was thinking he maybe forgot a spanner or screwdriver or something.

He does lots of small jobs in this area, especially repair work, but he also owns a little shop where he sells electronics that my industrious Aba brothers manufacture… things like Elgee irons, Samsing Tvs and Parasoniac table fans. I like him cos he’s a simple guy and I respect his hustle. When I first moved here, a carpenter who did work for me referred him to me. That’s how I met Chuks.

Anyway, he said he came to invite me for a party. He and his friends had organized a late Val’s Day dinner party and he wanted me to be his date…

Now, I’m the kind of girl who believes in the underdog. I know what it is to fall from grace to grass and to have people treat you differently and make you feel as worthless as a one-naira note. Because I know, I like to go out of my way to be civil to the “little” people, those who serve me in one way or another. I feel like it makes them feel appreciated.

I keep names in mind, I say hi whenever I go by and on PMS-free days, I might even offer a smile. I never ever refer to bus drivers and conductors as “Driver” and “conductor” cos I know they hate it. It’s “Oga” and “Bros” respectively. And I don’t do it to score points with anyone.

But this is exactly how it turns around and bites me in the ass. Somehow, in the minds of these wankers, my “niceness” is interpreted as “green light”. Their egos convince them that I must find the Chicken Republic uniform with the matching paper hat irresistible and sexy. Or my greeting is a sign that I’m contemplating a future in bus conductor heaven, where we would both wear old dirty vests together, and not shave our armpits together and spend eternity hanging from the door of 14-seater buses shouting “LAYKEERANDABA!!!” (Lekki Roundabout).

Before all those people who have bus-driver uncles or conductor-cousins start spitting fire, you need to hear me out first. I’m not a materialistic girl… You can ask any of my broke-ass exes. It’s not about the money for me. But it irks me how I’m the only girl I know who gets approached by these fearless men. It’s very insulting.

How does a simple “Good morning sir” or “Well done bros” translate to “Please bang me senseless and let me be the mother of your seven unborn children”? HOW??

Happy Birthday Nne!!!

Meanwhile, in lighter news, I’m happy cos it’s my big sister’s birthday!!!

As far as I’m concerned, she practically raised us (me and my brothers)… even though growing up with her wasn’t always easy because my parents used to act like the sun shone out of her ass. She was their first child and she could do no wrong in their eyes. She was polite, intelligent, obedient and very neat. In fact, if my dad was a carpenter and my mum a virgin, people woulda started to suspect that she was the black baby Jesus.

It was so bad that whenever I came first in school, no one congratulated me. Instead, they used to ask, “Why can’t you come zeroth (0th) like your sister??” 😀

I’m just kidding, but you get the general idea…

I grew up to realize that she’s not perfect, but she’s human. The best kind of human… And the sunlight that shone from her ass was just a reflection from the sun and not the actual sun itself.

I’m grateful to God for giving me a sister like her who never tires of listening to me rant. She never judges me, she still takes care of me and pretends to not notice when I steal take borrow her money and her clothes.

God bless you dear sister!! Amen… HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

I wanted to put up the ugliest picture that I have of her to make myself feel better, but what’s the point? It won’t make my hair grow back or reduce the size of my ogor… 🙁


Reeva got in the way of my bullets…

Good morning peoples!!

Don’t know about you guys but I feel insulted. In fact, I feel highly insulted. Oscar Pistol-rius had a week (ONE WHOLE WEEK!!!) to come up with a story or explanation and between himself, his lawyer and his family and friends, this is the best they could come up with??!!

It’s like the husband whose wife catches him in bed with his secretary. Wifey is devastated, she storms out of the house and goes to stay with her mother. After a week, she finally comes home and demands an explanation and despite having one week to come up with something almost-believable, the husband goes ahead with the old “she slipped and fell on the D” excuse.

Hey Pistol-rius! How about;

Story 1. “We were into S&M… she was always the dominatrix. She was so mean! She would make me take my prosthetics off then order me to get on my knees. How much lower can I go??!! That night, I just got sick of it and I couldn’t take it anymore. So I shot her.” With that, he could get off with man-slaughter. Or

Story 2. He could plead temporary insanity… or

Story 3. He should’ve turned the room upside down; smashed the tv, broke lamps, upturned tables. Then, he woulda shot himself in the foot blade and stuck to the intruder/armed-robbery story.

So you see how, in a space of thirty minutes, I was able to come up with three incredible yet almost-believable stories? I even added a bit of reverse-psychology in the first one. Imagine if I had a week!

I know I shouldn’t be joking about this but I have very little sympathy for situations like this. And to think Reeva, his now dead girlfriend, was going to stand in front of hundreds of girls in a school the following day to give a talk on domestic violence. I don’t believe the violence started that day… it had probably been going on for a long while. I can imagine how many times he must’ve threatened to go all Gillette on her face. So what exactly was she gonna tell the girls in the school?

The weekend before this shooting, I got a call from a friend at home. Long story short, she was crying because she had no shit left in her. And she had no shit left in her because her boyfriend of two years had beaten the shit out of her after she told him she was going to visit a friend. She complained of pains in her stomach and lower back where he kicked her and she said one of her eyes was swollen shut.

“WTF!!!” said I. “HOW DARE HE LIFT A FINGER AGAINST YOU? IS HE MAD?” I was in a blind rage and I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do from here since she’s so far away. During the shit-beating, he told her that he would kill her and nobody would be able to save her and the worst that would happen is a few years in jail. And it wasn’t the first time. You can imagine my shock when she said, “My sister, na today? Is it because I’m not telling you the other ones?” However, she vowed that it was the final straw and promised to never go near him again.

That night, I was so worried I hardly slept. Very early the next morning, I called her and guess what? OJ Simpson-Pistorius wanna-be himself answered the phone. I hung up and called back later and she explained how sorry he was. She said she gave him a stern warning and threatened to leave him the next time it happens, so he’s on good behaviour now cos he’s so scared of losing her.

A stern warning, I thought. What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t all those dead girls think of that genius idea?

I wanted to ask her for the phone number of her next of kin, a copy of her last will and testament and her ATM pin but I decided it might be too forward of me. And I know she’s not going to tell me if it ever happens again, and quite frankly I really don’t wanna hear if it does. It’s something I will never understand… and I don’t even want to try.

Lord knows I could go on and on but I’ll end here. And it’s becoming irritating ending my posts with RIP.

RIP Reeva…