Ngozi's Blog

Good morning people!!!

Remember I told you guys about the roof people who came to do repairs a few weeks ago… well, they couldn’t agree on a price with the landlord. The landlord said that Julius Berger wouldn’t be that expensive, so they left after two days. I was relieved when they left because honestly, I would rather continue with my bucket-under-holes-in-the-ceiling method of keeping the house dry any time it rains. That would be better than having random labourers trooping in and out of my house… (yes, I realise how foolish that sounds)

Anyway, the landlord sent another set of carpenters last week and work started immediately. These ones are Yoruba men who live in the East (Abia) and insist on practicing the little Igbo they have learnt on me. I am not impressed and I’ve made it clear that English is just fine. They are always laughing, and their oga sings at the top of his voice when he’s working. Sadly, he doesn’t sing sexy Lagbaja-ish or King Sunny Ade-ish songs. He sings razz backwater Yoruba high-life, and he feels compelled to mouth the instrumentals along with the song.

I have to say though that I envy one thing about them. I envy the fact that when they are on the roof working under the sun, or on the ground chopping wood, or cramped in the security house where they stay, they are always happy. They are happy-go-lucky fellas who usually just go about their business and they don’t ask for anything… except that one time their oga asked me for a “plate”. I went in and got a plate from the kitchen and he laughed so hard I thought he might fart. He calmed down eventually and told me that he wanted a plate to watch “feem”. I wanted to break the plate and start my career as a tattoo artist on his face but instead, I went back in and got him some cds. Who the hell says “plate” after 1908?

I can imagine that they think I’m a nasty bitch because this time, I’m not smiling. I learned from the last set that smiling too much will breed insults later. Either that or one of them might ask me out like Chuks the gen man… probably to go see a “feem” at the cinemas. They call me “Madame” and it almost makes me cum every single time 🙂

Anyway, it rained on Sunday morning… in the middle of the night (3:30am). It wasn’t heavy, but the plaster in the ceiling got soaked and the ceiling in my brother’s room caved in and fell on his bed. No, he’s not dead… he wasn’t on the bed when it happened. We were too busy with the buckets then.

Long story short, I now live downstairs in the living room because the top floor is flooded and there’s no ceiling in some parts. It looks like the aftermath of a baby Katrina. And that’s how I spent the whole of Sunday doing up my new living quarters. It looks like a very large master bedroom now and even though I quite like being able to do cartwheels in my new room, I have to maintain a serious frown for the sake of the landlord. He has to know we don’t tolerate shit like this.

The best part about all this is that I no longer have to go all the way downstairs to fix myself a midnight snack… the kitchen is just a few steps away from my bed 😀

How was your weekend people? And does anybody know how you say ‘Shut the f@*k up!’ in Yourba?

ps: This is not what I wanted to tell you guys about!!! I don’t know how this post got this long… 🙁

Hey people…

I’M BACK!!!

I’ve got a few people who are upset with me for all sorts of reasons. I’ll be honest; there are some that I couldn’t care less about and some that although I hope they will eventually get over it, life will go on if they don’t.

I’m saying this because I used to be very petty… to tell you the truth, I still have the tendency to be. It’s not something to be proud of, but I can hold a grudge over the tiniest thing for years and years. It’s so bad, that I still haven’t forgiven the boy who made fun of me in front of the whole class the day I wet myself… in daycare… 30 YEARS AGO!!! I know his name and I know where his mother lives. One of these years days, I know I will get my revenge.

Anyway, like I said, I’m not very proud of it 🙁 However, I learnt a trick that has helped me deal with my pettiness. I decided to share it because I’ve discovered that many people, especially women, also need healing from this disease (called pettiness).

So let’s say someone offends you. You’re pissed and deep down you are convinced you have every right to be pissed. You’re sure that if you speak with Oprah, she will understand exactly where you’re coming from and she might even justify your annoyance.

But the truth is, you don’t know Oprah… so then imagine that you are taken to your village and you are asked to stand in the village square. You are to face your village chief, your village elders, your parents and their peers, your mates, your mates’ children and even some people from the neighbouring villages…

You’re standing alone in the middle of this large village square. For added dramatic affect, let’s imagine this is at night. There are flood lights lighting up the square, a podium and a microphone stand. The crowd is silent, the lights are on you. Then the village chief asks you to state clearly, in front of EVERYBODY, why you are pissed with so and so.

This is how you measure your pettinessity; Can you boldly and shamelessly say what it is that you are truly upset about?

Can you say, “I saw him/her last week and I waved but she didn’t wave back so I’m never speaking to him/her again”?

Or, “He/she didn’t wish me a happy birthday on my Facebook page two years ago so I will never like another one of his/her status updates ever again.”

“I’ve been trying to bang her but she won’t let me and I’m tired of playing the nice guy. Doesn’t she know I have other P’s to set?”

You see how silly those reasons sound? If you’re not speaking to someone, or if you’ve made someone your sworn enemy, the villagers would expect to hear scandalous reasons like;

“I caught her in bed with my husband… AND HIS BROTHER!!! So I un-followed her on Twitter.”

Or, “She was angry with me and she broke my PS3 so I’m serving her divorce papers.”

If you’re upset with me or with someone else, then I guess today’s post is dedicated to you. If I didn’t touch your husband, and if your PS3 is intact, ask yourself, is it really worth it?

As for me, I’ll admit that the post applies to me too… cos I’ve got issues I need to settle with a few people. But the good thing is that I’m not married and I don’t own a PS3 so I’m free to put the finishing touches on my plans for vengeance… *evil grin*

Good morning people…

You can’t imagine how unhappy I’ve been… not angry with the world as usual, not irritated or cranky, just plain unhappy. I’m talking the kind of unhappiness that there’s no funny side to. And that’s coming from someone who cracks boko haram and Indian bus ride jokes indiscriminately…

My baby bro left on Sunday. I cried at the airport and in the taxi on the way back home. Then I cried some more at home. It wasn’t my customary sexy tears-falling-silenty-down-my-cheeks cry… it was a my-husband-is-being-deployed-to-Iraq-and-he’s-gonna-die-by-shrapnel kind of cry. Yes, I disgraced all of you 🙁

My crying was in stages…

The first stage was the I can’t believe he’s leaving so soon stage. His visit felt so short. It was only ten days, and most of that time was spent with his parents. His trip could’ve gone a lot smoother because from day one, nothing went quite as planned and then it was over before it could get better.

The second stage was the I’m going to miss him stage 🙁

The third stage was the God knows when I’m going to see him again stage. It was this stage that lasted the longest and had me crying the hardest. Why? It was the self-pity stage (most of my “episodes” always end in this stage)… if I owned an oil block, I could afford to fly over to see him on a Friday evening and be back in time for my board meeting first thing Monday morning.

But I don’t own one. The only thing I own that is remotely similar to an oil block is the large pimple on my forehead, so the next best option would be to start banging an oil block owner who can fund this type of movement… but even those are hard to find, especially as I’m now half bald.

It was so bad, I didn’t even have the heart to sit at my desk and put up a post on my blog. It would’ve just come out whinier, bitchier and a lot more depressing than all the other posts (yes, that’s possible). Then people would’ve made comments assuring me that things are gonna get better, telling me how strong I am etc. I would’ve been reminded of all the fantastic things I did when I was in primary two… or how good I was in Maths in JSS3… or how flexible I was on a metal pole in those days…

I would read all the comments, pat myself on the back, sit in front of the mirror and say to myself, “Yes, indeed, you used to be fantastic and you’re so strong!! You’ve been through hell and back… you deserve a medal. In fact, you deserve some ice-cream.”

But after that, WHAT NEXT?

I can no longer use my old problems to shine… I can’t keep bitching about the same things over and over again. I need new problems. I should be telling you guys how my boss watches porn in his office when he thinks no one is looking. I should be gisting you about my married co-worker who is hitting on me. I should be telling you about car troubles, bill payments, fights with a boyfriend.

Easter has come and gone and we’re now in the 2^nd quarter of the year. What’s next for you guys? Me, I’m praying for bigger and better problems…

Cheers…

 

Good morning people…

How was your weekend? I had one of those stayed-indoors-from-Friday-to-Monday-morning weekends. I didn’t go anywhere… my neighbours probably think I’m dead.

I got some much needed rest though… the last couple of weeks have been really hectic! Did I mention that my baby brother is around? I’ve been looking forward to his visit since the beginning of the month. In fact, since the beginning of the year! Before now, I hadn’t seen him in over THREE years!!! It’s just been phone calls, texts and MTCN numbers the whole time… ( ._.)

Anyway, recently, I’ve been having conflicts with a few people who I feel are trying to take advantage of me… 🙁

You see, one of the worst things about being jobless unemployed between jobs, apart from constantly being broke, is how much of my time gets wasted by other people. One of the things I value most is my time! And lately, I seem to have come across certain people who have an urgent need to help me waste it.

I’ve gotten offers to babysit (for free)…

I’ve been asked to be a Math tutor to a boy who has the attention span of a bar of soap and yet somehow knows all the words to P-Square’s “Alingo”.

I’ve been asked to be a dietician slash training instructor slash weight-loss expert to a woman who doesn’t realize that the only people who “eat for three” are women who are pregnant with twins.

Personal chef, personal assistant and a few more… ALL FOR FREE!

I used to just say, “Sorry, I’m busy”… but I decided that it sounded silly coming from an unemployed person. So now, I simply say, “I’m sorry, I would love to help but I really don’t have the time.”

Smart people reply, “Ok… no problem.”

Sensitive people ask, “Really? Are you working on something now?”

Suicidal people declare, “But you’re not doing anything na!!!” to which I reply, “Well, we just re-painted our house and I’m very busy watching the paint dry… and you know we have a LOTTA walls.”

Here’s the part I don’t get; When some of them hear ‘No’, they get very upset.

And it could be anything else too… not just time.

It’s like your girlfriend who doubles as your accounts officer. She’s constantly calculating your salary for you; After paying tithes, paying his mortgage, he’ll send some money to his mother in the village who has refused to die, he should keep something aside as savings, maybe a lil’ something for his wife and kids, there should be 50% of his salary left, of which I deserve HALF!!

Or the horny idiot who lives next door… He’s thinking to himself; She’s single, she lives alone… guys don’t come around and I’m sure she’s straight, even though she jogs like someone with slight lesbian tendencies. And I can tell by the way she spits at my windshield every time she walks by that she digs me. I should be allowed to “hit that”… in fact, I deserve exclusive “ass-tapping” rights.

My thoughts are scattered today but I hope you guys can see where I’m going with this… It’s just so frustrating that at every turn, there’s someone somewhere trying to take advantage of a situation. And I keep wondering, where the hell do people just get this sense of entitlement? No one owes you SHIT!!!

If you see something you like, it’s ok to want it… it’s ok to ask for it… but you have no right to get upset when you hear “No”.

Parting words;

–          Your boyfriend doesn’t owe you shit… he has other girlfriends to take care of!! Make your own money!

–          If I took out time to teach neighbor A’s child how to make cupcakes, it doesn’t mean I have time to teach your kid. Chances are that I will shove her in the oven along with the cakes. Buy a Cookery book and teach her yourself!

–          And to you boys, it’s my ‘P’ to decide whether or not it will be set and who will do the setting… If p-setter A was successful, it doesn’t mean p-setter B will be. Get a bottle of Jergens or get over it!!

Now I’m just pissed all over again…

Good morning people.

I sliced off four of my toes yesterday… ( ._.)

Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit. What happened was, I was trying to get on a bus and I cut myself on the jagged rusty edge of the door. So, as we speak, there’s a bus somewhere with a piece of smooth velvety caramel skin dangling from the bottom of the door. Believe me when I say, it hurt like a MOTHA!!! Being a true aje-butter, I yelled “Ouch!”. But no one paid me any attention. The other passengers completely ignored me. So I sat quietly behind the driver and fought hard to keep tears from falling (like a brave little soldier) 🙁

Maybe it was because I yelled “Ouch” and not “Ewo!!” or “Yekpa!!”.  My “ouch” probably made it seem like an unserious injury. Blood started to trickle down my foot and into my shoes. Then I tried to put pressure on the wound with my hanky. When I brought my hanky back up, covered in blood, everyone, including the driver, started chorusing “sorry” and “doh” and “kpele”. Some offered me tissue and hankies. A lady even suggested that someone get pure water so I could wash my foot.

By then, I was annoyed… You can’t imagine how much I wanted to tell them to kindly shove their “sorries” up their asses. I know ‘sorry’ wouldn’t have fixed my skin or made the pain go away, but it would’ve been nicer to hear it BEFORE I lost 3pints of blood.

Then, on my way back, in a different bus, I was unlucky enough to sit beside this tall slim dude. He looked quiet and trouble-free so I said “Good morning” and took the seat beside him. He replied saying, “Welcome my sister”. His reply was a tad bit over-enthusiastic I thought, and his smile was too wide but since he didn’t have RAPIST written anywhere on his forehead, I stayed. Just as the bus started to move, the dude got up, adjusted his pants high up his waist and turned round to face the back of the bus.

Then he began to preach.

I didn’t mind that he was preaching… it was quite fun listening to him give incredible testimonies. My favourite was the one about a girl who had been bedridden since she was “wan years of hage”. She was now 28 and still very sick. The doctors had given up, she was sent home, she even died, yadda yadda yadda, he prayed for her and viola! she came back to life and was healed. I also didn’t mind that he was shouting at the top of his voice… he had to so that the people at the back of the bus could hear him (it was a big bus).

What I had a problem with was the drizzle shower rain downpour  tsunami of spit that he released upon my head during the sermon. Because I was right next to him, he was literally standing over my head and showering me with spit blessings from above…

It was at that point, squished in a rickety bus with all sorts of people with hair wet with spit, that I became overwhelmed with self pity and I started to cry. I cried for my lost skin… I cried for the job interview that ended up being a complete waste of my time… I cried cos I was afraid that the preacher’s spit would seep through my empty, hairless scalp and get into my brain… I cried because Destiny’s Child might never get back together. I cried for everything under the sun. It was just one of those days… 🙁

Don’t worry, I didn’t disgrace you guys… it wasn’t a war cry. I wasn’t wailing or anything like that. The tears just kept falling silently.

I’m not writing this to get pity cos I’m feeling much better now!!! Just wanted to gist you about how horrible yesterday was…

Besides, it’s all part of my crap and you guys gotta read it :p

Have a great day people!