Posts
Bunny go go…a word please!
I returned home from a hard day at work and I was planning to put my feet up and have a nice slice of toast with some chocolate and hazelnut Nutella. Good plan abi? It would be except that my catering size jar of Nutella has disappeared. En en! Wait. Before you start swearing on the life of your 2nd cousin twice removed, listen to what I have to say.
Firstly, you were the last no good, thieving family member to gain access into my home. Secondly, when I heard the other day that you and your hubby had to be rescued by the RSPCA and the fire bridge because your car had been surrounded by a pack of hungry renegade squirrels, I thought nothing of it (well I did because that’s just plain weird but not what I’m thinking now). But now that I’ve discovered that my Nutella is missing, the pieces are starting to click into place. Missing chocolate & HAZELNUT spread, hungry squirrels, squirrels like nuts…see where I’m going with this?
OK! In order to spare you any further embarrassment please return my Nuttella now now. Actually, wait a second...If wildlife with a penchant for nutty snacks are following you down the street that means you’ve been spreading my Nutella on something other than baked goods. Olodumare!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WOMAN?? My Nutella is not for you to carry out painting by number experiments on your other half. You know what? just keep it and send me £5.99 to buy a replacement jar.
Na wa! Your own don pass kinky o! God forbid I should eat anything that comes out of your kitchen again because only God know where it’s been first. I mean there is even a picture of a little boy eating bread spread generously with the yummy,chocolaty goodness on the label, with the words “serving suggestion” in big bold letters. Can you not follow a simple serving suggestion or you no fit read again? You think that poor boys mother would have let him take part in the advertising campaign if she knew pervs such as yourselves were going to adapt it for obscene practices?? Anyway I don’t even know why I am surprised by you anymore. You better bring yourself over here and let me sprinkle you with some Holy water before you reach the point of kinky no return.
You know what; I don’t even feel like blogging again. I am now forced to eat my toast with “I can’t believe it’s not butter” which is false advertising because they sure ain’t fooling me. For all of you out there who think it’s a good idea to steal somebody else’s beloved chocolate spread “DON’T DO IT”! Its just cruel…sob.
Look! I’m not a prude. I’m all down with the whole food and sex thing but there are other ways to tantalise your other half without committing sacrilege with expensive, yummy spreads. You might want to consider buying that cheap, synthetic tasting stuff from Anne Summers (not that I know what it tastes like. I’ve been told it tastes synthetic) or for all of you who don’t have access to Anne Summers, please consult the list below for other spreadable alternatives. Getting Married Chick, this list is for you. I know how you like to use locally manufactured goods to set the mood . Take notes. You can thank me after the honey moon:
Choco Milo mixed with a little water and mashed to a smooth consistency has an almost similar effect.
Ogi, For those nights you are in the mood for some local loving, (please make sure it’s cold or you want be having any kind of relations for a looooooonnng time to come) is another alternative.
Fan Ice. I personally prefer the plain yogurt flavor.
Limca/Goldspot/Miranda - Take your pick
You also have a wide range of local fruit to experiment with (think 9½ weeks) - Agbalumo, Guava etc
I’ll leave you guys to get started on those and I’m sure you’ll think up some more on your own. But I hope you have all learnt what you can do with a bit of imagination and without having to resort to stealing other people’s spread able confectionery.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Ode to Basket Mouth
Oh my Basky so fine and fair
How I long to run my hands through your nappy hair.
My sister says you have dandruff but I know it ain’t true
She’s just jealous her boo ain’t as cute as you.
Oh my Basky so fine and fair
What must I do to draw you near?
Is it money you seek?
Or looks you desire?
I got them both and my visa credit card hasn’t expired.
Oh my Basky so fine and fair
Stop playing hard to get
Because you are starting to make me fret.
I’ll be home soon don’t forget
And we can make lots of baby baskets.
How I long to run my hands through your nappy hair.
My sister says you have dandruff but I know it ain’t true
She’s just jealous her boo ain’t as cute as you.
Oh my Basky so fine and fair
What must I do to draw you near?
Is it money you seek?
Or looks you desire?
I got them both and my visa credit card hasn’t expired.
Oh my Basky so fine and fair
Stop playing hard to get
Because you are starting to make me fret.
I’ll be home soon don’t forget
And we can make lots of baby baskets.
You did what?
Welcome back ladies and gentleman. It’s been a while hasn’t it? Don’t bother chastising me. You should all have learnt by now that its like water of a duck’s back. You don’t pay my cable bill and so I don’t care what you think. I’ve been busy actually earning my rent and weave on money and so haven’t had time for you freeloaders. But you should be glad I’ve been away for a while cause it means I have a whole load of stuff to tell you.
Firstly, before we begin I would like you all to stand up and show a little appreciation for Orange Broadband and their free laptop offer. All of you repeat after me “Orange ile ise yin ko ni jo non o”! Having acquired my freebie laptop, a whole new world has opened up to me from the comfort of my queen size bed. As Lil Mama says “ I be using it, I be, I be using it. I be logging in, I be I be logging in. My laptop”. I spent the whole Bank holiday weekend watching my true Love Basket Mouth on You Tube. Gee! My boo is so funny. Have also discovered I can watch a whole series of my favourite drama’s in one sitting. Yes this was truly a glorious weekend spent wallowing in my own filth, eating cookie dough ice cream in bed and watching Hero’s. Life is good!
Ok! Guess you all want to know what been up with Mena? Gosh where do I even begin?
- I’ve had payrise. I know! It was truly a miracle with the amount of dedication I put into my work.
- Been almost arrested by the police. It was a simple case of mistaken identity. Do I look like the kind of woman that steals alcohol at 8am in the morning??
- Haven’t managed to find a way to remove my brothers from the evil clutches of Bunny go go licious and Ijebu chick yet but I’m working on it. It will be 10 times harder now especially with Ijebu chick about to drop another Ibadan prince/princess into the mix and Bunny go go spending her entire salary in Anne Summers.
- I still haven’t found a way to ensnare my true love Basky. My sister has let me down AGAIN! She’s just being selfish holding on to both her kidneys when she can survive fine on just one. Go on! Be a sport and sell the other one so you can afford to pay for Basky to come to your wedding.
So many things to talk about. I know! Lets start with my newfound belief in jazz. No ain’t talking about Herbie Hancock. I’m talking about hardcore African juju. I’m an educated woman (No! its not hard to believe sometimes. Prats)! And I like to think I’m level headed and not prone to outrageous flights of fancy but lately I’m beginning to believe there are people out there waiting to slap some funky jazz on my forehead and bend me to their evil will otherwise how do you explain:
The return of Hmmmm Dude
You all remember him. The guy I’d known for ages that I got pretty close too (He saw me in my Primark nightgown) and then he turned round and gave me some story about not knowing what he wants. Well kicked him to the kerb about a year ago and refused to speak to him. I was doing all right but you know how you boys are when you get a taste of the Mena, just can’t leave it alone. So he kept sending me texts and calling and I kept ignoring him.
Then one day something odd happened. He called and I PICKED UP THE PHONE! Why in God’s name did I do that? The only logical explanation… Na jazz. “Ah! Ah! Mena . Chill”! I hear you say. “ It was your subconscious desires to speak to him that made you pick up the phone and not some outdated hocus pocus”. En thank you professor in training. I say na jazz, magoo, black magic or juju that made me do it because it doesn’t end there people. Oh no! It gets much worse. Not only did I start speaking to him again (I had told myself I would be distant and polite but not over friendly and would definitely not meet up with him) he asked me out for a drink and I said Yes! I said yes, bought an outfit and didn’t eat for a week before our date.
I met up with him and before we even got to the restaurant he was holding my hand to cross the street and I was giggling like a crazy Japanese schoolgirl. During dinner (We went to this lovely dim sum restaurant), I let him feed me food. As he was doing it I was thinking Mena!!!!!!!!!!!!! Asewo extraordinaire! Your life don better. You haven’t seen this guy in over a year; he’s a prat and not even a Tyrese look alike prat. So what the hell are you doing?? No be me inner consciousness na the jazz dey work. Anyway after acting like a total desperado on the date I went home and gave myself a good talking too. No more fooling around with the enemy. You enjoyed your free dinner and lets just leave it at that.
2 weeks later we’re talking to each other for at least 3 hours a day, everyday, sending stupid texts and calling each other first thing in the morning. I’m exhausted by all the late night calls and I'm asking myself what I’m doing? But my rational mind has been subdued by jazz and I just can’t break free. Finally 2 months later, through the haze of juju a light breaks through and I’m strong enough to ask the question that all men dread “ What’s going on between us”? And ladies, guess what he said? “I like you and there’s definitely something more than friendship going on here but I’ve got issues I need to sort out”.
Na only God save am because I wanted to remove my limited edition Angie Gooderman shoes and hit him over the head screaming “You no know se you get issues before you dey feed me pork dumplings abi”?? But I’m happy to say I restrained myself and was very dignified about the whole thing. Simply told him I didn’t have time to sustain a one sided relationship and for him to simply bugger off.
He did and 2 months down the line I’m doing OK. I miss him but hey that’s life. I just can’t figure out how I let that happen. Once was bad enough but twice?? I need to get his baba’s number because whatever jazz he used on me, I want some for Tyrese. Anyway, that’s the end of Hmmmm Dude or is it? He sent me some CD’s the other day (probably covered in a new kind of jazz). No note, just the CD’s and I just kept thinking to myself why can’t he just leave me alone? Men! Don’t you just hate them?
Firstly, before we begin I would like you all to stand up and show a little appreciation for Orange Broadband and their free laptop offer. All of you repeat after me “Orange ile ise yin ko ni jo non o”! Having acquired my freebie laptop, a whole new world has opened up to me from the comfort of my queen size bed. As Lil Mama says “ I be using it, I be, I be using it. I be logging in, I be I be logging in. My laptop”. I spent the whole Bank holiday weekend watching my true Love Basket Mouth on You Tube. Gee! My boo is so funny. Have also discovered I can watch a whole series of my favourite drama’s in one sitting. Yes this was truly a glorious weekend spent wallowing in my own filth, eating cookie dough ice cream in bed and watching Hero’s. Life is good!
Ok! Guess you all want to know what been up with Mena? Gosh where do I even begin?
- I’ve had payrise. I know! It was truly a miracle with the amount of dedication I put into my work.
- Been almost arrested by the police. It was a simple case of mistaken identity. Do I look like the kind of woman that steals alcohol at 8am in the morning??
- Haven’t managed to find a way to remove my brothers from the evil clutches of Bunny go go licious and Ijebu chick yet but I’m working on it. It will be 10 times harder now especially with Ijebu chick about to drop another Ibadan prince/princess into the mix and Bunny go go spending her entire salary in Anne Summers.
- I still haven’t found a way to ensnare my true love Basky. My sister has let me down AGAIN! She’s just being selfish holding on to both her kidneys when she can survive fine on just one. Go on! Be a sport and sell the other one so you can afford to pay for Basky to come to your wedding.
So many things to talk about. I know! Lets start with my newfound belief in jazz. No ain’t talking about Herbie Hancock. I’m talking about hardcore African juju. I’m an educated woman (No! its not hard to believe sometimes. Prats)! And I like to think I’m level headed and not prone to outrageous flights of fancy but lately I’m beginning to believe there are people out there waiting to slap some funky jazz on my forehead and bend me to their evil will otherwise how do you explain:
The return of Hmmmm Dude
You all remember him. The guy I’d known for ages that I got pretty close too (He saw me in my Primark nightgown) and then he turned round and gave me some story about not knowing what he wants. Well kicked him to the kerb about a year ago and refused to speak to him. I was doing all right but you know how you boys are when you get a taste of the Mena, just can’t leave it alone. So he kept sending me texts and calling and I kept ignoring him.
Then one day something odd happened. He called and I PICKED UP THE PHONE! Why in God’s name did I do that? The only logical explanation… Na jazz. “Ah! Ah! Mena . Chill”! I hear you say. “ It was your subconscious desires to speak to him that made you pick up the phone and not some outdated hocus pocus”. En thank you professor in training. I say na jazz, magoo, black magic or juju that made me do it because it doesn’t end there people. Oh no! It gets much worse. Not only did I start speaking to him again (I had told myself I would be distant and polite but not over friendly and would definitely not meet up with him) he asked me out for a drink and I said Yes! I said yes, bought an outfit and didn’t eat for a week before our date.
I met up with him and before we even got to the restaurant he was holding my hand to cross the street and I was giggling like a crazy Japanese schoolgirl. During dinner (We went to this lovely dim sum restaurant), I let him feed me food. As he was doing it I was thinking Mena!!!!!!!!!!!!! Asewo extraordinaire! Your life don better. You haven’t seen this guy in over a year; he’s a prat and not even a Tyrese look alike prat. So what the hell are you doing?? No be me inner consciousness na the jazz dey work. Anyway after acting like a total desperado on the date I went home and gave myself a good talking too. No more fooling around with the enemy. You enjoyed your free dinner and lets just leave it at that.
2 weeks later we’re talking to each other for at least 3 hours a day, everyday, sending stupid texts and calling each other first thing in the morning. I’m exhausted by all the late night calls and I'm asking myself what I’m doing? But my rational mind has been subdued by jazz and I just can’t break free. Finally 2 months later, through the haze of juju a light breaks through and I’m strong enough to ask the question that all men dread “ What’s going on between us”? And ladies, guess what he said? “I like you and there’s definitely something more than friendship going on here but I’ve got issues I need to sort out”.
Na only God save am because I wanted to remove my limited edition Angie Gooderman shoes and hit him over the head screaming “You no know se you get issues before you dey feed me pork dumplings abi”?? But I’m happy to say I restrained myself and was very dignified about the whole thing. Simply told him I didn’t have time to sustain a one sided relationship and for him to simply bugger off.
He did and 2 months down the line I’m doing OK. I miss him but hey that’s life. I just can’t figure out how I let that happen. Once was bad enough but twice?? I need to get his baba’s number because whatever jazz he used on me, I want some for Tyrese. Anyway, that’s the end of Hmmmm Dude or is it? He sent me some CD’s the other day (probably covered in a new kind of jazz). No note, just the CD’s and I just kept thinking to myself why can’t he just leave me alone? Men! Don’t you just hate them?
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thank God there are only 24 hrs in day.
Today started out pretty good.
I woke up early, forced myself out of bed and went for a run. Got home, did 100 sit ups (OK! 60 but I was close), had a little hip wiggling session with my home girls Beyonce and Shakira. Then I hit the shower. I picked out a lovely summery outfit and wait for it …got my bra on the LAST hook. No pain. No lack of oxygen. Nothing but comfortable, boulder holding support. Yes ladies and gentlemen! It was a very emotional moment. I shed a tear and captured the scene on my camera phone. So should any of you receive an e-mail with a picture showing a gorgeous back wearing a bra hooked all the way, don’t think someone signed you up for internet porn. It will be me just sharing the moment. After so much joy I was expecting my day to just get better and better. So with a skip in my step I headed out the door and disaster struck.
I was confronted by dark clouds and an arctic wind that sent me scurrying back through the front door. Believe me I’m no wimp and I’ve been known to face horrific weather conditions in nothing but a pair of flip flops and a thin cotton dress but today was not a day for bravery. I dug out my jacket and for the second time today shed a tear for the cute summery outfit that no one on my journey to work will see. Sob!
Got on my overcrowded bus and someone stepped on my toes scuffing my newly applied Rouge noir nail polish. As if that wasn't bad enough, I was then assaulted by a balding pensioner who kept pressing his suitcase against my thigh. At least I thought it was his suitcase until he got off the bus empty handed with a very self-satisfied grin on his face. Oh my gosh! Had I just been used as a sexual aid by a man old enough to have been around when the light bulb was invented? Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need a bath.
I get into my ibi ise still traumatised by the sexual assault against my person (maybe I should call the police? There might be others suffering at the hands of this geriatric predator as we speak). I decided to leave that till I got a chance to calm down. I figured I would cheer myself up by parading my new and improved figure around my ibi ise. I've been doing this all week now in cute little outfits emphasising my curves in the hope that someone would notice and compliment me. One week on the twerps haven’t said a word. I blame them not. They are all just jealous of my ghetto fabulous body. Deciding to ignore them and get some work done I scanned through my e-mails only to be confronted by an e-mail from HR regarding company dress code policy….
“It has come to our attention that certain individuals have been flaunting company policy by wearing inappropriate clothing in the work place. Tight, revealing, figure hugging, extremely short, sleeveless or see through attire is not permitted in the office environment. It is essential that all staff adhere to company policy by being professionally attired at all times. Further disregard for this policy will be met with disciplinary action”.
I agreed totally with them jare. Some people just take the pi.. . I won’t mention any names but a polyester suit is just bad taste. Some people just need to get their act together. I casually enquired from the rest of the ibi ise what they thought about the latest drama from HR only to find out that no one else had received the e-mail in question. It slowly dawned on me that they were talking about ME!!!!
Me! “Flaunting company policy …disciplinary action”? How could this be? I’m always immaculately turned out (barring the too fat to fit into normal clothes part of my life). I mean what’s not professional looking about a fitted shirt and a skirt to work. All right, the shirt was cropped and did seem to expose quite a bit of cleavage but hey! It had sleeves. And the skirt did go over my knees and a little bit up my thigh but you can only see my knickers if I bend over. This is just discrimination. Fattism, that’s what it is. Some confectionery eating person, jealous of my newly defined abs has reported me to the powers that be.
I suspect that cake-eating monster from accounts. I don’t think she ever forgave me for saying the miniature telly tubby on my desk looked like her and that the next time she brought me files to work on 5 minutes before closing again I would use it as a voodoo doll and stick a pin in it (Not Christian like but I need something to pray for forgiveness about don’t I?). I’ve noticed that anytime she’s not feeling too well these days she always finds a reason to come over to my desk and play with La La. I think she’s actually checking to make sure I haven’t stuck anything in it like I promised. Don’t know why she’s worrying about me finishing her off. That packet of Monster munch she’s wolfing down for breakfast will get her before I ever will.
Anyway I’ve decided to ignore their evil and rude behaviour towards me. It’s not their fault. Nonsense! My papa too get company and if not because I don’t like chickens, hard work, lack of electricity and mosquitoes, I would be there now wearing hot pants and a boob tube to work. I will even leave your cold country for you sef. Where bad weather reigns and peverted pensioners are allowed to freely roam the streets. My hubby to be, Basket Mouth is in Nigeria anyway and I ‘m sure he would find it terribly hard to maintain a long distance relationship. I mean, how is he expected to be funny when all he can think about is me, so far away. That’s it. I will not let my boo suffer any longer. I will pack my fake Louis Vuitton luggage and head on home.
Did I tell you my boo is in London this weekend? I’m sooooooooooo excited. My special invitation must have gotten lost in the post but no matter. I’ve decided to buy a ticket like the other commoners and surprise him. Naturally I don’t want to mingle with the commoners in the audience on my own. I would naturally stand out with my hot body and exotic looks. So I’m trying to convince Bunnylicious, Ijebu Chick, Preggy Chick (she’s a maybe. I don’t trust her not to go into labour and have her waters break all over my REAL YSL shoes. No offence girl! Designer shoes are designer shoes after all) and their respective hubbies come with me.
They would blend naturally into the crowd after all (especially Ijebu chick with her hard core Yoruba looks…next time you will give me fried stew when I ask) giving me cover and also protecting me from the stampede liable to occur when Mena steps into the room. I will obviously try to tone down my beauty so that the other girls don’t feel facially challenged but it will be hard.They are all playing hard to get but hopefully my persistent whining should start to wear them down pretty soon.
I’ll let you all know how the Mena/Basket Mouth reunion goes. Now I’m off to stick some pins in La La and put it head first into a mug of scalding coffee.
Have a great weekend.
I woke up early, forced myself out of bed and went for a run. Got home, did 100 sit ups (OK! 60 but I was close), had a little hip wiggling session with my home girls Beyonce and Shakira. Then I hit the shower. I picked out a lovely summery outfit and wait for it …got my bra on the LAST hook. No pain. No lack of oxygen. Nothing but comfortable, boulder holding support. Yes ladies and gentlemen! It was a very emotional moment. I shed a tear and captured the scene on my camera phone. So should any of you receive an e-mail with a picture showing a gorgeous back wearing a bra hooked all the way, don’t think someone signed you up for internet porn. It will be me just sharing the moment. After so much joy I was expecting my day to just get better and better. So with a skip in my step I headed out the door and disaster struck.
I was confronted by dark clouds and an arctic wind that sent me scurrying back through the front door. Believe me I’m no wimp and I’ve been known to face horrific weather conditions in nothing but a pair of flip flops and a thin cotton dress but today was not a day for bravery. I dug out my jacket and for the second time today shed a tear for the cute summery outfit that no one on my journey to work will see. Sob!
Got on my overcrowded bus and someone stepped on my toes scuffing my newly applied Rouge noir nail polish. As if that wasn't bad enough, I was then assaulted by a balding pensioner who kept pressing his suitcase against my thigh. At least I thought it was his suitcase until he got off the bus empty handed with a very self-satisfied grin on his face. Oh my gosh! Had I just been used as a sexual aid by a man old enough to have been around when the light bulb was invented? Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need a bath.
I get into my ibi ise still traumatised by the sexual assault against my person (maybe I should call the police? There might be others suffering at the hands of this geriatric predator as we speak). I decided to leave that till I got a chance to calm down. I figured I would cheer myself up by parading my new and improved figure around my ibi ise. I've been doing this all week now in cute little outfits emphasising my curves in the hope that someone would notice and compliment me. One week on the twerps haven’t said a word. I blame them not. They are all just jealous of my ghetto fabulous body. Deciding to ignore them and get some work done I scanned through my e-mails only to be confronted by an e-mail from HR regarding company dress code policy….
“It has come to our attention that certain individuals have been flaunting company policy by wearing inappropriate clothing in the work place. Tight, revealing, figure hugging, extremely short, sleeveless or see through attire is not permitted in the office environment. It is essential that all staff adhere to company policy by being professionally attired at all times. Further disregard for this policy will be met with disciplinary action”.
I agreed totally with them jare. Some people just take the pi.. . I won’t mention any names but a polyester suit is just bad taste. Some people just need to get their act together. I casually enquired from the rest of the ibi ise what they thought about the latest drama from HR only to find out that no one else had received the e-mail in question. It slowly dawned on me that they were talking about ME!!!!
Me! “Flaunting company policy …disciplinary action”? How could this be? I’m always immaculately turned out (barring the too fat to fit into normal clothes part of my life). I mean what’s not professional looking about a fitted shirt and a skirt to work. All right, the shirt was cropped and did seem to expose quite a bit of cleavage but hey! It had sleeves. And the skirt did go over my knees and a little bit up my thigh but you can only see my knickers if I bend over. This is just discrimination. Fattism, that’s what it is. Some confectionery eating person, jealous of my newly defined abs has reported me to the powers that be.
I suspect that cake-eating monster from accounts. I don’t think she ever forgave me for saying the miniature telly tubby on my desk looked like her and that the next time she brought me files to work on 5 minutes before closing again I would use it as a voodoo doll and stick a pin in it (Not Christian like but I need something to pray for forgiveness about don’t I?). I’ve noticed that anytime she’s not feeling too well these days she always finds a reason to come over to my desk and play with La La. I think she’s actually checking to make sure I haven’t stuck anything in it like I promised. Don’t know why she’s worrying about me finishing her off. That packet of Monster munch she’s wolfing down for breakfast will get her before I ever will.
Anyway I’ve decided to ignore their evil and rude behaviour towards me. It’s not their fault. Nonsense! My papa too get company and if not because I don’t like chickens, hard work, lack of electricity and mosquitoes, I would be there now wearing hot pants and a boob tube to work. I will even leave your cold country for you sef. Where bad weather reigns and peverted pensioners are allowed to freely roam the streets. My hubby to be, Basket Mouth is in Nigeria anyway and I ‘m sure he would find it terribly hard to maintain a long distance relationship. I mean, how is he expected to be funny when all he can think about is me, so far away. That’s it. I will not let my boo suffer any longer. I will pack my fake Louis Vuitton luggage and head on home.
Did I tell you my boo is in London this weekend? I’m sooooooooooo excited. My special invitation must have gotten lost in the post but no matter. I’ve decided to buy a ticket like the other commoners and surprise him. Naturally I don’t want to mingle with the commoners in the audience on my own. I would naturally stand out with my hot body and exotic looks. So I’m trying to convince Bunnylicious, Ijebu Chick, Preggy Chick (she’s a maybe. I don’t trust her not to go into labour and have her waters break all over my REAL YSL shoes. No offence girl! Designer shoes are designer shoes after all) and their respective hubbies come with me.
They would blend naturally into the crowd after all (especially Ijebu chick with her hard core Yoruba looks…next time you will give me fried stew when I ask) giving me cover and also protecting me from the stampede liable to occur when Mena steps into the room. I will obviously try to tone down my beauty so that the other girls don’t feel facially challenged but it will be hard.They are all playing hard to get but hopefully my persistent whining should start to wear them down pretty soon.
I’ll let you all know how the Mena/Basket Mouth reunion goes. Now I’m off to stick some pins in La La and put it head first into a mug of scalding coffee.
Have a great weekend.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Counting my blessings
Boo hoo!
I’m broke! Will you all come back here? Did I ask any of you for money that you’re running? If I said I was feeling generous and was giving out free cash you’d all be pushing each other over to get to me. Even you Preggy Chick nee SE Chick? Do you think I can’t see your mammoth stomach protruding from behind the sofa? You guys need to see this girl in her Preggy state. If I hadn’t seen her husband alive and well the other day I would have been under the assumption that she had eaten him. She is huge and waddles all over the place like a giant duck. But it’s only a few weeks to go now and I’ll have to think of something else to call her. Till then, Preggy Chick whip out your purse and lend me a tenner now. What’s always wrong with you sef? Its summer and I need to buy myself a pair of hot pants (Anyone that has anything to say about my choice of summer wear should meet me outside later).
Anyway I won’t let the fact that I’m broke or that you are all stingy so and so upset me. Nope! I’m feeling very positive this month. So much so I have decided to make a list of all the things I should be thankful for:
1) I’m alive! To those that owe me money, dislike big opinionated women and who I torment on a regular basis this might not be such good news. To all those not so happy about me being around, I wish you all scaly skin, rashes and killer pimples (Yes! I’m a Christian. What’s your point)?
2) I managed to get my bra unto the second hook today (round of applause please) and when I hold my breath and the light hits me from a certain angle, I can almost see a rib. Hmmm or maybe it was an imprint from that oh so tight sports bra? No! I will not depress myself. It was a rib.
3) I found a fiver in my jeans the other day when I was doing the laundry. Although the fiver has now gone on essentials like Marie Claire magazine and Red bull, it was still a happy moment and one the that emphasised the importance of doing laundry instead of spraying deodorant and Koko Chanel perfume on your clothes.
I can spell dafty. That’s what the perfume’s called. Bought it from a guy on the tube who assured me that Chanel was about to change its brand name and I will be the first to experience the new line. Smells a little like petrol but at £3 a bottle, bring it on. All smokers’ stay a respectful 20 meters away from me at all times.
4) Snogger Dude realised the error of his ways and now stalks me with phone calls begging for me to come back to him. Hehehehehehehehe! Naturally I’m being mature about the whole thing and not rubbing in the fact that he had me and lost me. Yeah right! In yer face Snogger Dude. Next time you will not treat Mena so callously. I am unique you know? I guess I should tell him I ain’t ever coming back but then that’s just being cruel….to me. How am I supposed to have any fun if I don’t keep his dream alive? I’ll let him figure it out for himself.
5) I have found a new celebrity to stalk. My love for Tyrese is dead! Long Live Basket Mouth. Everyone says you’re ugly but I love your nappy hair and irregular features. I will be in Nigeria soon dearest and hopefully if my sister Getting Married Chick manages to pull her finger out you will be all paid for during my stay and I can do with you as I please. Oh Joy!
6) I like my ibi ise. They are always trying to feed me chocolate and other fattening confectionery but other than that they are all quite sweet. To the person that left the Bounty on my desk even after reading the huge “Do not feed the big black Administrator” sign. Pray I never find out who you are because if I do…. Lets just say the new and improved filing system I will create for you won’t be funny.
7) I'm single but at least I'm not with any of my ex boyfriends or ex would be suitors. Ran into one of them other day and between the jumpe jeans and the blind must see bling, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. To think I spent hours listening to Anita Baker records and crying myself into a stupor wishing he would call me ? Now I know why the say be careful what you wish for.
8)I have my family and friends. I love them. They love me. They are my reason for getting up in the morning. Hmmm. I’m saying the words, I’m hearing the words but I just ain’t feeling the words because I know sometime soon at least one of them will say, do or think of ways to make my life miserable. The joy I take in paying them back though knows no bounds.
At the moment Bunnylicious is top of my hit list for rude and offensive comments and not baking me a 3 tier cake with raspberry and cream cheese frosting. You might well wonder what I want to do with a 3-tier raspberry and cream cheese frosted cake, seeing as I’m on a diet. The answer to that is nothing. I’m just exercising my in-law authority by telling her to make stuff. Anyway she made one for Preggy Chick just because she’s got a bun in the oven. Like she didn’t have fun making the bun and then she gets cake as well? Na lie! Me too I must eat cake or at least use it to decorate my kitchen. Her hubby Just So Dude is in town and her bunny tail is wiggling non-stop. I’ll wait till he’s gone (must maintain the loving and caring in- law persona in front of him) and then I’ll take the wiggle out her tail. Hehehehehe!
Ijebu Chick is always rude and offensive anyway so I can’t really hold that against her but the other day she called my legs “Yammy”. Can you imagine? My own legs “Yammy”. This was even after I showed her my FGC Ogbomosho Miss Hot Legs 1985 Sash, crown and gold embossed certificate. Anyway, I say nothing. Admittedly I haven’t shaved my legs since the last time a shoe buckle got snagged in the hairs (what? It’s cold and I’m using my body hair to conserve heat) but even then she should have been able to see the outline of my nubile young limbs. I am extremely hurt and will require serious begging in the form fried stew and a cheque before I calm down. I was going to report her to her hubby for punishment but I have a funny feeling she would enjoy it.
Getting Married Chick, you just don’t want me to be happy abi? Its bad enough I’m starving myself just so the kids at your wedding don’t think I’m the bouncy castle but to then have you tell me that you might not use my beloved Basket Mouth at your wedding after all…. THAT IS JUST MEAN! It’s not like anybody at wedding needs to eat. Are you going to trade the happiness of your sister for jollof rice? I suggest you get your priorities straight and whip out your checkbook.
Ah! Shouting at people always makes me feel better. Now that I’ve shared my reasons for being happy I suggest you all get lost and leave me to do some work before someone shouts at me and Blogging becomes my number 1 reason for being unemployed.
I’m broke! Will you all come back here? Did I ask any of you for money that you’re running? If I said I was feeling generous and was giving out free cash you’d all be pushing each other over to get to me. Even you Preggy Chick nee SE Chick? Do you think I can’t see your mammoth stomach protruding from behind the sofa? You guys need to see this girl in her Preggy state. If I hadn’t seen her husband alive and well the other day I would have been under the assumption that she had eaten him. She is huge and waddles all over the place like a giant duck. But it’s only a few weeks to go now and I’ll have to think of something else to call her. Till then, Preggy Chick whip out your purse and lend me a tenner now. What’s always wrong with you sef? Its summer and I need to buy myself a pair of hot pants (Anyone that has anything to say about my choice of summer wear should meet me outside later).
Anyway I won’t let the fact that I’m broke or that you are all stingy so and so upset me. Nope! I’m feeling very positive this month. So much so I have decided to make a list of all the things I should be thankful for:
1) I’m alive! To those that owe me money, dislike big opinionated women and who I torment on a regular basis this might not be such good news. To all those not so happy about me being around, I wish you all scaly skin, rashes and killer pimples (Yes! I’m a Christian. What’s your point)?
2) I managed to get my bra unto the second hook today (round of applause please) and when I hold my breath and the light hits me from a certain angle, I can almost see a rib. Hmmm or maybe it was an imprint from that oh so tight sports bra? No! I will not depress myself. It was a rib.
3) I found a fiver in my jeans the other day when I was doing the laundry. Although the fiver has now gone on essentials like Marie Claire magazine and Red bull, it was still a happy moment and one the that emphasised the importance of doing laundry instead of spraying deodorant and Koko Chanel perfume on your clothes.
I can spell dafty. That’s what the perfume’s called. Bought it from a guy on the tube who assured me that Chanel was about to change its brand name and I will be the first to experience the new line. Smells a little like petrol but at £3 a bottle, bring it on. All smokers’ stay a respectful 20 meters away from me at all times.
4) Snogger Dude realised the error of his ways and now stalks me with phone calls begging for me to come back to him. Hehehehehehehehe! Naturally I’m being mature about the whole thing and not rubbing in the fact that he had me and lost me. Yeah right! In yer face Snogger Dude. Next time you will not treat Mena so callously. I am unique you know? I guess I should tell him I ain’t ever coming back but then that’s just being cruel….to me. How am I supposed to have any fun if I don’t keep his dream alive? I’ll let him figure it out for himself.
5) I have found a new celebrity to stalk. My love for Tyrese is dead! Long Live Basket Mouth. Everyone says you’re ugly but I love your nappy hair and irregular features. I will be in Nigeria soon dearest and hopefully if my sister Getting Married Chick manages to pull her finger out you will be all paid for during my stay and I can do with you as I please. Oh Joy!
6) I like my ibi ise. They are always trying to feed me chocolate and other fattening confectionery but other than that they are all quite sweet. To the person that left the Bounty on my desk even after reading the huge “Do not feed the big black Administrator” sign. Pray I never find out who you are because if I do…. Lets just say the new and improved filing system I will create for you won’t be funny.
7) I'm single but at least I'm not with any of my ex boyfriends or ex would be suitors. Ran into one of them other day and between the jumpe jeans and the blind must see bling, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. To think I spent hours listening to Anita Baker records and crying myself into a stupor wishing he would call me ? Now I know why the say be careful what you wish for.
8)I have my family and friends. I love them. They love me. They are my reason for getting up in the morning. Hmmm. I’m saying the words, I’m hearing the words but I just ain’t feeling the words because I know sometime soon at least one of them will say, do or think of ways to make my life miserable. The joy I take in paying them back though knows no bounds.
At the moment Bunnylicious is top of my hit list for rude and offensive comments and not baking me a 3 tier cake with raspberry and cream cheese frosting. You might well wonder what I want to do with a 3-tier raspberry and cream cheese frosted cake, seeing as I’m on a diet. The answer to that is nothing. I’m just exercising my in-law authority by telling her to make stuff. Anyway she made one for Preggy Chick just because she’s got a bun in the oven. Like she didn’t have fun making the bun and then she gets cake as well? Na lie! Me too I must eat cake or at least use it to decorate my kitchen. Her hubby Just So Dude is in town and her bunny tail is wiggling non-stop. I’ll wait till he’s gone (must maintain the loving and caring in- law persona in front of him) and then I’ll take the wiggle out her tail. Hehehehehe!
Ijebu Chick is always rude and offensive anyway so I can’t really hold that against her but the other day she called my legs “Yammy”. Can you imagine? My own legs “Yammy”. This was even after I showed her my FGC Ogbomosho Miss Hot Legs 1985 Sash, crown and gold embossed certificate. Anyway, I say nothing. Admittedly I haven’t shaved my legs since the last time a shoe buckle got snagged in the hairs (what? It’s cold and I’m using my body hair to conserve heat) but even then she should have been able to see the outline of my nubile young limbs. I am extremely hurt and will require serious begging in the form fried stew and a cheque before I calm down. I was going to report her to her hubby for punishment but I have a funny feeling she would enjoy it.
Getting Married Chick, you just don’t want me to be happy abi? Its bad enough I’m starving myself just so the kids at your wedding don’t think I’m the bouncy castle but to then have you tell me that you might not use my beloved Basket Mouth at your wedding after all…. THAT IS JUST MEAN! It’s not like anybody at wedding needs to eat. Are you going to trade the happiness of your sister for jollof rice? I suggest you get your priorities straight and whip out your checkbook.
Ah! Shouting at people always makes me feel better. Now that I’ve shared my reasons for being happy I suggest you all get lost and leave me to do some work before someone shouts at me and Blogging becomes my number 1 reason for being unemployed.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Time for a new me. Seriously! I mean it this time. Why are you on the floor laughing?
The other day as I was offered yet another piece of cake at my ibi ise, I glanced down at my Buddha belly and I decided enough was enough. It had to go. It was getting so big; chances were I would have to rent it its own apartment in the next couple of weeks. And seeing as I can hardly afford to pay for my non-ghetto mansion as it is, it was definately time to take action. You see, after years of procrastinating that I would assemble a capsule wardrobe so I could always look stylish, I’ve finally managed to do it by being too fat to fit into any of my clothes. I now have a capsule wardrobe of 3 shirts, I pair of trousers and a skirt. The only stuff left in my wardrobe that doesn’t cut off my circulation. Not bad you might say but that would be if the all actually matched. So I end up looking like Koko the clown at work every day. I know they all wanted to say something when I turned up in my fuchsia shirt and orange skirt combo but I think my branch wide memo about bullying and harassment in the work place put them off.
So I closed my eyes and said “No thank you” to that beautiful piece of Lemon cake with cream cheese frosting and raspberry filling (Oh God! What have I done? No please bring it back before the fatter cow from accounts eats it) and announced to the whole ibi ise to stop offering me yummy goodies. I WAS GOING ON A DIET!!!!! To which one of them waddles up to me and says “Diet? What do you need to diet for? You’re not fat. You look lovely”. God forgive me. I’m trying to be a better Christian/Normal person but the first thing that came into my head when she said that was “E no go better for you. You’re looking for a new roly-poly member to join your club abi? No be me you dey look for. Get thee behind me evil purveyor of calorie laden snacks”. I know their plan…they don’t want to pay me my pension abi. They just want to be deducting contributions from my already meagre salary and then kill me off with cakes before I can cash it in. They will not succeed.
Other than revolting against the perils of a food loving office, my sister "Thank God I’m engaged" nee "Hurry up and propose" Chick’s wedding is in December. I know…. she is so selfish. A loving sister would have waited till the invented a painless, totally free form of plastic surgery so I could at least have a fighting chance of looking decent in the wedding pictures and maybe nabbing a blokey.
Actually Niga would have been the perfect place to nab a blokey. What with them not being aware of my Police records for stalking and my multiple personalities, I could have nabbed myself a real finnneeee thing. But No…some people just couldn’t wait could they. Nope they just had to get married now cause they are in loveeeeeeeeeee. Yeah whatever! Real love could have waited till I found someone to buy my kidney so I could pay to get my tummy stapled. Now I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way …crap food and exercise. Thanks a lot sis…you’re a real star! But I’ll forgive you…only cause I have to with the whole Christain/Normal person thing I have going on.
Anyway you’re probably doing me a favour seeing as I’ve decided that I’ve been kidding myself trying to find a guy whilst I can’t even button up my jeans. I’ve always thought a guy would fall for the me inside and ignore the outside. I’m sure there are loads of guys out there that love big women but I think the majority of them are just guys that have issues paying for central heating and require a large woman to keep them warm when their portable fan heater breaks down in the winter. So I’ve decided to stop being a human heater and get my behind to the gym.
Ah the gym…my old friend. I give you my money and I usually end up not on a treadmill but on my sofa eating cake and telling myself I will go tomorrow or that the very act of paying money is a sign of commitment and God ultimately rewards commitment (as you can see I interpret my bible to suit my warped thoughts). Gyms love people like me. The story usually ends with me hiding behind my sofa as the Bailiffs pound on my door demanding money for unpaid membership fees. But not this time…I’ll show them and become pencil thin and people will have to beg me to put my clothes on as I parade around in me bikini all year long. Yes! even in the winter. So prepare yourselves people for the new me.
PS: This does not mean you are allowed to make comments or tackle me in the streets should you see me eating a Krispy Kreme donut. All such annoying people will thoroughly slapped, sat on and then slapped again for good measure.
So I closed my eyes and said “No thank you” to that beautiful piece of Lemon cake with cream cheese frosting and raspberry filling (Oh God! What have I done? No please bring it back before the fatter cow from accounts eats it) and announced to the whole ibi ise to stop offering me yummy goodies. I WAS GOING ON A DIET!!!!! To which one of them waddles up to me and says “Diet? What do you need to diet for? You’re not fat. You look lovely”. God forgive me. I’m trying to be a better Christian/Normal person but the first thing that came into my head when she said that was “E no go better for you. You’re looking for a new roly-poly member to join your club abi? No be me you dey look for. Get thee behind me evil purveyor of calorie laden snacks”. I know their plan…they don’t want to pay me my pension abi. They just want to be deducting contributions from my already meagre salary and then kill me off with cakes before I can cash it in. They will not succeed.
Other than revolting against the perils of a food loving office, my sister "Thank God I’m engaged" nee "Hurry up and propose" Chick’s wedding is in December. I know…. she is so selfish. A loving sister would have waited till the invented a painless, totally free form of plastic surgery so I could at least have a fighting chance of looking decent in the wedding pictures and maybe nabbing a blokey.
Actually Niga would have been the perfect place to nab a blokey. What with them not being aware of my Police records for stalking and my multiple personalities, I could have nabbed myself a real finnneeee thing. But No…some people just couldn’t wait could they. Nope they just had to get married now cause they are in loveeeeeeeeeee. Yeah whatever! Real love could have waited till I found someone to buy my kidney so I could pay to get my tummy stapled. Now I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way …crap food and exercise. Thanks a lot sis…you’re a real star! But I’ll forgive you…only cause I have to with the whole Christain/Normal person thing I have going on.
Anyway you’re probably doing me a favour seeing as I’ve decided that I’ve been kidding myself trying to find a guy whilst I can’t even button up my jeans. I’ve always thought a guy would fall for the me inside and ignore the outside. I’m sure there are loads of guys out there that love big women but I think the majority of them are just guys that have issues paying for central heating and require a large woman to keep them warm when their portable fan heater breaks down in the winter. So I’ve decided to stop being a human heater and get my behind to the gym.
Ah the gym…my old friend. I give you my money and I usually end up not on a treadmill but on my sofa eating cake and telling myself I will go tomorrow or that the very act of paying money is a sign of commitment and God ultimately rewards commitment (as you can see I interpret my bible to suit my warped thoughts). Gyms love people like me. The story usually ends with me hiding behind my sofa as the Bailiffs pound on my door demanding money for unpaid membership fees. But not this time…I’ll show them and become pencil thin and people will have to beg me to put my clothes on as I parade around in me bikini all year long. Yes! even in the winter. So prepare yourselves people for the new me.
PS: This does not mean you are allowed to make comments or tackle me in the streets should you see me eating a Krispy Kreme donut. All such annoying people will thoroughly slapped, sat on and then slapped again for good measure.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
New Year?! Where's the new me?
Happy New Year!
Sorry did you say something?
Oh it’s February and the New Year is over abi!
Tough!!!
Do I look like I am interested in your view on how my world should work?
I’m doing you lot a favour by turning up at all.
This year was supposed to be Blog free.
The plan was to get a raise or win the lottery (with my work ethic, winning the lottery is slightly more realistic) and then I wouldn’t need to discuss my constant traumas with non-medically qualified members of the public any longer. I was going to get myself a real therapist. Someone personally related to Freud (no quacks for me) with fancy letters after their names. They would have a couch and ask me deep and meaningful questions about my childhood and my oh so sensitive na… Bunny go go! Are you laughing over there? You want me to come over there and slap your tail off abi? Nonsense! Yeah where was I? Oh yeah! We would discuss my sensitive nature. I was going to deal with all my emotional and mental issues and become a well-rounded, independent woman about town. I would acquire an air of mystery and sophistication and stop hanging around clubs that have names like Peckham Rendezvous, drinking Supermalt with Ijebu Chick. Opps…sorry. I forgot you told your hubby you were going to the park to look for bush meat. By the way, you do know its illegal to kill anything in any of our Majesty, Queen Elizabeth's (all bow, curtsey please) parks abi? I’m just warning you because the day the catch you with your bow and arrow under your bubu I don’t think they will buy your story that you use it for personal protection.
But what can I say. Its 2007 and I’m single (lets not even discuss the prat I was swapping germs with just before the New Year).
Still not earning enough to buy my own little country and make myself supreme ruler (I would call it the Federal Republic of Menapolis and I would make everyone wear fat suits in honour of their great ruler. The only way to get a visa into my country would be to do a little dance routine for moi).
Still surrounded by loony tunes at home and in my working life.
I’m still a Telly tubby.
I’m starting to suspect Tyrese swings for the boys because I don’t know how any sane man can resist my many attributes.
But worst of all is, I am once again stuck with you guys. The things I’ll do for free therapy.
So what’s happened so far this year Mena you all ask?
Well lets see…Oh did I tell you Hurry up and propose chick has finally been proposed to?
Yep!
Despite the numerous anonymous letters sent to the groom telling him of her capacity to eat a whole cow under 10 minutes, fall asleep in the middle of a sentence and scatter her dead skin cells around like confetti, he still went ahead and asked the big question. It must be love. Either that or he can’t read. So till the wedding when she becomes Mrs. Market Boy she will henceforth be known as Engaged Chick. I am off to Niger in December to be bossed around by her and have my beautiful caramel complexion ruined by the blazing sun and mosquitoes. All of you try to keep this under wraps, as I don’t want my many Niger fans causing a riot at the airport on the day of my arrival. I am not sure what to get her as a wedding pressie but I think something personal and from the heart would be best. So I am currently working on a special dance/song routine for the reception. As soon as I find a way to get Customs to let me bring the 12 red bottomed baboons I’ll be using for the routine into the country, I’ll break the good news to her.
What else is going on???
Well I am about to embark on another crappy diet. No need Mena you all say. We love your voluptuous curves. Yeah that’s all well and good but I'm not sure my Manager is as loving of them. All my clothes are now so tight I spend every couple of minutes running to the loo to unhook my bra so I don't pass out from lack of oxygen. Something must be done. Not sure what yet but I'll start thinking about it right after I finish the cake in my fridge. Hey! Don't look at me like that. The Lord said waste not...
Moved out of the ghetto into the suburbs. It’s amazing. We have cool stuff like central heating. Sometimes I just switch it on and sit in front of the boiler watching the pilot light dance around in there. Who needs CSI when you've got that? Uhhhh and when you switch on the shower...don't tell anyone, but HOT WATER comes gushing out. My days of waking up at 5 in the morning to boil a kettle to have a bath are finally over. If I'd stayed in the Ghetto any longer my neighbours would have had me sectioned because I was planning to run out into the communal garden and have a shower whenever it rained just a get an extra hours sleep.
SE Chick has got a bun in the oven. I know! The filthy woman literally tied her hubby to the bed. The baby has already developed a healthy fear of me and refuses to move whenever I scream "Oi! Will you come on prostrate for your Aunty Mena" at his Mum's belly. Train them when they are young I say. By the time he's 18 months he'll be jumping off his high chair and prostrating whenever he hears me pressing the door bell.
Really not a lot has happened so far but I've still got 10 whole months left to get up to mischief, lose enough weight to make another person, acquire loads of dosh, nab a man and indulge in lots of activities without the fear of being struck by lighting and of course become the me that no longer requires you quacks.
Sorry did you say something?
Oh it’s February and the New Year is over abi!
Tough!!!
Do I look like I am interested in your view on how my world should work?
I’m doing you lot a favour by turning up at all.
This year was supposed to be Blog free.
The plan was to get a raise or win the lottery (with my work ethic, winning the lottery is slightly more realistic) and then I wouldn’t need to discuss my constant traumas with non-medically qualified members of the public any longer. I was going to get myself a real therapist. Someone personally related to Freud (no quacks for me) with fancy letters after their names. They would have a couch and ask me deep and meaningful questions about my childhood and my oh so sensitive na… Bunny go go! Are you laughing over there? You want me to come over there and slap your tail off abi? Nonsense! Yeah where was I? Oh yeah! We would discuss my sensitive nature. I was going to deal with all my emotional and mental issues and become a well-rounded, independent woman about town. I would acquire an air of mystery and sophistication and stop hanging around clubs that have names like Peckham Rendezvous, drinking Supermalt with Ijebu Chick. Opps…sorry. I forgot you told your hubby you were going to the park to look for bush meat. By the way, you do know its illegal to kill anything in any of our Majesty, Queen Elizabeth's (all bow, curtsey please) parks abi? I’m just warning you because the day the catch you with your bow and arrow under your bubu I don’t think they will buy your story that you use it for personal protection.
But what can I say. Its 2007 and I’m single (lets not even discuss the prat I was swapping germs with just before the New Year).
Still not earning enough to buy my own little country and make myself supreme ruler (I would call it the Federal Republic of Menapolis and I would make everyone wear fat suits in honour of their great ruler. The only way to get a visa into my country would be to do a little dance routine for moi).
Still surrounded by loony tunes at home and in my working life.
I’m still a Telly tubby.
I’m starting to suspect Tyrese swings for the boys because I don’t know how any sane man can resist my many attributes.
But worst of all is, I am once again stuck with you guys. The things I’ll do for free therapy.
So what’s happened so far this year Mena you all ask?
Well lets see…Oh did I tell you Hurry up and propose chick has finally been proposed to?
Yep!
Despite the numerous anonymous letters sent to the groom telling him of her capacity to eat a whole cow under 10 minutes, fall asleep in the middle of a sentence and scatter her dead skin cells around like confetti, he still went ahead and asked the big question. It must be love. Either that or he can’t read. So till the wedding when she becomes Mrs. Market Boy she will henceforth be known as Engaged Chick. I am off to Niger in December to be bossed around by her and have my beautiful caramel complexion ruined by the blazing sun and mosquitoes. All of you try to keep this under wraps, as I don’t want my many Niger fans causing a riot at the airport on the day of my arrival. I am not sure what to get her as a wedding pressie but I think something personal and from the heart would be best. So I am currently working on a special dance/song routine for the reception. As soon as I find a way to get Customs to let me bring the 12 red bottomed baboons I’ll be using for the routine into the country, I’ll break the good news to her.
What else is going on???
Well I am about to embark on another crappy diet. No need Mena you all say. We love your voluptuous curves. Yeah that’s all well and good but I'm not sure my Manager is as loving of them. All my clothes are now so tight I spend every couple of minutes running to the loo to unhook my bra so I don't pass out from lack of oxygen. Something must be done. Not sure what yet but I'll start thinking about it right after I finish the cake in my fridge. Hey! Don't look at me like that. The Lord said waste not...
Moved out of the ghetto into the suburbs. It’s amazing. We have cool stuff like central heating. Sometimes I just switch it on and sit in front of the boiler watching the pilot light dance around in there. Who needs CSI when you've got that? Uhhhh and when you switch on the shower...don't tell anyone, but HOT WATER comes gushing out. My days of waking up at 5 in the morning to boil a kettle to have a bath are finally over. If I'd stayed in the Ghetto any longer my neighbours would have had me sectioned because I was planning to run out into the communal garden and have a shower whenever it rained just a get an extra hours sleep.
SE Chick has got a bun in the oven. I know! The filthy woman literally tied her hubby to the bed. The baby has already developed a healthy fear of me and refuses to move whenever I scream "Oi! Will you come on prostrate for your Aunty Mena" at his Mum's belly. Train them when they are young I say. By the time he's 18 months he'll be jumping off his high chair and prostrating whenever he hears me pressing the door bell.
Really not a lot has happened so far but I've still got 10 whole months left to get up to mischief, lose enough weight to make another person, acquire loads of dosh, nab a man and indulge in lots of activities without the fear of being struck by lighting and of course become the me that no longer requires you quacks.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Love School Drop Out
There was a day when I was about 9 and I just didn’t feel like going to school. I had learnt from an early age that there was no pulling the wool over my mum’s eyes when it came to being sick. Short of having a temperature of a 110° and growing new appendages in weird and unusual places, you were getting a tablespoon of Multivite/ Niverquine (depending on what kind of mood she was in), putting on your Bata sandals and going to school. So it was a good thing she was away when I decided to pull a sicky to get out of the fact that I hadn’t written some boring essay. I walked to my dad’s room; put on the appropriate I’m about to die face and knocked on his door.
Another thing I had learnt from an early age was that my dad is not a morning person and has no clue what to do with children. He likes his sleep. So me banging on his door was not appreciated.
“What do you want”? He yells from behind the door.
“I’m sick daddy”.
“What’s wrong with you”?
“I have a headache and my tummy hurts”.
“Fine, go back to sleep”.
End of conversation and mission accomplished.
I crawled back to bed and sniggered into my pillow as my saddo brother was dragged into the waiting car to several hours of pointless learning (I am still yet to find a situation where the Pythagorean theory comes in handy). Now looking back on that day I feel crappy. Not because I lied (I do that everyday. If I ever felt guilty about it I would be a total nutter in need of intensive therapy) or that I took joy in my brothers pain but because that was obviously the day they took all the girls into a separate room and taught them the 10 simple rules on having and keeping a relationship. Damn you! Mr Amadu and your stupid Muslim studies essay.
It’s happening again…Snogger dude has turned into a total weirdo and I’ve spent the last week looking for an NHS funded loony bin to check myself into. I spend all my time crying and singing, “Unbreak my heart” by Toni Braxton. Well I had to stop singing after the tenant association voted to evict me from my flat if the “Unholy howling” as they called it continued. I was hoping all this misery would help me lose some of my roundness but its actually having the opposite effect. But what the hell do I care. I did not attend or graduate from Relationship 101 so no point even attempting to look cute to get into another one.
Nope! No more of the opposite sex for me. I’m going adopt lots of cats and gerbils (I just like the word gerbil) and move to a cottage on a hill in Wales. I’ll knit jumpers for my cats cause its cold in Wales. Yep! That sounds like a plan to me. I know you’re all screaming "Mena don’t do it"!!!! You’re to lovely to be lost to the world knitting mittens for kittens (Hehe! That rhymes). Fine! I know you guys aren’t mentally capable of surviving without my words of wisdom. But something has to be done about my total lack of dating skills or my internal magnet that attracts every psycho, sex pervert and relationship phobic within a 5-mile radius. I simply can’t take another relationship catastrophe or I will simply have to find a way to grow facial hair and become a lesbian who lives on a hill in Wales knitting mittens for kittens.
Before I take drastic steps lets analyse me as a girlfriend. For once you guys might actually have some intelligent insight into my dilemma. Not holding my breath so you guys don’t hurt yourselves by thinking to hard.
WHAT MAKES MENA AN AWESOME GIRLFRIEND
I know I’m weird, have dodgy habits and can be a tad psycho but these are all loveable aspects of my personality once you get used to them. They make me interesting and fun to be with.
I’m a little round but its not like he was blind and didn’t see my baby bump before he asked me out. Anyway, I only look 3 months pregnant when I’m wearing my super pants.
Hmmm…Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn a face on my tummy and made it look as if it was singing by swaying side to side though. I thought it was hilarious but he did look kinda scared.
I’m not even concerned about my snogging skills because I have several written references testifying to my awesomeness in that department.
I can cook and I’m not talking dodo and eggs like some people whose names I won’t mention. Of course I’m not talking about you Grays nee SE Chick.
I brush my teeth.
I bathe regularly with smelly girly stuff. He sometimes says he doesn’t like my Bodyshop stuff as the all smell like food and it makes him hungry (Yep! He’s a weirdo). He doesn’t want to be thinking about food when he’s nibbling on my ear apparently. Like I care. The stuff costs a fortune and as long as it doesn’t get in the way of a good ear nibbling he can think I’m fruit salad for all I care.
I shave my legs, pittys and other areas. Yes sometimes he gets all baby like and sulks when I use his razor telling me I blunt the blade. What’s he saying exactly…that my body hair is made from titanium steel or what?
I only nag when absolutely necessary, like when he forgets to tell me how lucky he is to have me or chews his food in that caveman like manner or when he ignores me for football or when he doesn’t stroke my legs with the right amount of pressure or when he dozen’ t remember that its the anniversary of the first day he said the word girlfriend, cute, sexy or sleep over or….
Ok maybe I need cut back on my constant but highly constructive comments.
When the time is right he will benefit from the extensive knowledge gained from my pop-up Karma Sutra Manual. He keeps asking when the time will be right and I keep telling him when I need glasses from constantly being blinded from the glare of my yellow diamond engagement ring. Joker! No ones milking this cow without a down payment.
I pretend to listen when he starts going on about sports, politics and how many miles per gallon some blooming sport car goes. Obviously he does catch me out once in awhile and then I have to think fast before he gets moody. I find any sentence involving boobs; sex or booty usually distracts him long enough for me to wriggle out of it. Try this one ladies …when he says are you listening to me just go” Sorry baby. My bra just snapped and my boobs are just all over the place. Hang on while get changed” Wait a couple of minutes and then just go “Sorry baby…you were saying?” This buys you time to catch the end of Eastenders and avoid a night of your man sulking. Yes! I am a genius.
So tell me…what man wouldn’t want me?
So I just don’t get it.
Another thing I had learnt from an early age was that my dad is not a morning person and has no clue what to do with children. He likes his sleep. So me banging on his door was not appreciated.
“What do you want”? He yells from behind the door.
“I’m sick daddy”.
“What’s wrong with you”?
“I have a headache and my tummy hurts”.
“Fine, go back to sleep”.
End of conversation and mission accomplished.
I crawled back to bed and sniggered into my pillow as my saddo brother was dragged into the waiting car to several hours of pointless learning (I am still yet to find a situation where the Pythagorean theory comes in handy). Now looking back on that day I feel crappy. Not because I lied (I do that everyday. If I ever felt guilty about it I would be a total nutter in need of intensive therapy) or that I took joy in my brothers pain but because that was obviously the day they took all the girls into a separate room and taught them the 10 simple rules on having and keeping a relationship. Damn you! Mr Amadu and your stupid Muslim studies essay.
It’s happening again…Snogger dude has turned into a total weirdo and I’ve spent the last week looking for an NHS funded loony bin to check myself into. I spend all my time crying and singing, “Unbreak my heart” by Toni Braxton. Well I had to stop singing after the tenant association voted to evict me from my flat if the “Unholy howling” as they called it continued. I was hoping all this misery would help me lose some of my roundness but its actually having the opposite effect. But what the hell do I care. I did not attend or graduate from Relationship 101 so no point even attempting to look cute to get into another one.
Nope! No more of the opposite sex for me. I’m going adopt lots of cats and gerbils (I just like the word gerbil) and move to a cottage on a hill in Wales. I’ll knit jumpers for my cats cause its cold in Wales. Yep! That sounds like a plan to me. I know you’re all screaming "Mena don’t do it"!!!! You’re to lovely to be lost to the world knitting mittens for kittens (Hehe! That rhymes). Fine! I know you guys aren’t mentally capable of surviving without my words of wisdom. But something has to be done about my total lack of dating skills or my internal magnet that attracts every psycho, sex pervert and relationship phobic within a 5-mile radius. I simply can’t take another relationship catastrophe or I will simply have to find a way to grow facial hair and become a lesbian who lives on a hill in Wales knitting mittens for kittens.
Before I take drastic steps lets analyse me as a girlfriend. For once you guys might actually have some intelligent insight into my dilemma. Not holding my breath so you guys don’t hurt yourselves by thinking to hard.
WHAT MAKES MENA AN AWESOME GIRLFRIEND
I know I’m weird, have dodgy habits and can be a tad psycho but these are all loveable aspects of my personality once you get used to them. They make me interesting and fun to be with.
I’m a little round but its not like he was blind and didn’t see my baby bump before he asked me out. Anyway, I only look 3 months pregnant when I’m wearing my super pants.
Hmmm…Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn a face on my tummy and made it look as if it was singing by swaying side to side though. I thought it was hilarious but he did look kinda scared.
I’m not even concerned about my snogging skills because I have several written references testifying to my awesomeness in that department.
I can cook and I’m not talking dodo and eggs like some people whose names I won’t mention. Of course I’m not talking about you Grays nee SE Chick.
I brush my teeth.
I bathe regularly with smelly girly stuff. He sometimes says he doesn’t like my Bodyshop stuff as the all smell like food and it makes him hungry (Yep! He’s a weirdo). He doesn’t want to be thinking about food when he’s nibbling on my ear apparently. Like I care. The stuff costs a fortune and as long as it doesn’t get in the way of a good ear nibbling he can think I’m fruit salad for all I care.
I shave my legs, pittys and other areas. Yes sometimes he gets all baby like and sulks when I use his razor telling me I blunt the blade. What’s he saying exactly…that my body hair is made from titanium steel or what?
I only nag when absolutely necessary, like when he forgets to tell me how lucky he is to have me or chews his food in that caveman like manner or when he ignores me for football or when he doesn’t stroke my legs with the right amount of pressure or when he dozen’ t remember that its the anniversary of the first day he said the word girlfriend, cute, sexy or sleep over or….
Ok maybe I need cut back on my constant but highly constructive comments.
When the time is right he will benefit from the extensive knowledge gained from my pop-up Karma Sutra Manual. He keeps asking when the time will be right and I keep telling him when I need glasses from constantly being blinded from the glare of my yellow diamond engagement ring. Joker! No ones milking this cow without a down payment.
I pretend to listen when he starts going on about sports, politics and how many miles per gallon some blooming sport car goes. Obviously he does catch me out once in awhile and then I have to think fast before he gets moody. I find any sentence involving boobs; sex or booty usually distracts him long enough for me to wriggle out of it. Try this one ladies …when he says are you listening to me just go” Sorry baby. My bra just snapped and my boobs are just all over the place. Hang on while get changed” Wait a couple of minutes and then just go “Sorry baby…you were saying?” This buys you time to catch the end of Eastenders and avoid a night of your man sulking. Yes! I am a genius.
So tell me…what man wouldn’t want me?
So I just don’t get it.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Breaking News...Mena is happy!
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me and he loves me not? Stupid flower! Grow more blooming petals damn it! Lets start again…He loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, HE LOVES ME! hehehehehehe. Isn’t the whole wide world just peachy? Yeah there’s war, pestilence and I’m still round but hey everything on planet Mena is pretty cool.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t seem to have the usual urge scream at people and be generally obnoxious. I even gave up my sit on the bus today to a preggy lady. I don’t usually bother. I tend to stick out my own little Buddha belly as far as it will go and pretend to be expecting myself. I personally don’t see why I should suffer for someone else’s night of passion. I’m not jealous. No siree! I’m just bitter. Believe me there is a difference. Anyway, the way I see it I’m doing them a favour. Keeping those legs of theirs nice firm for all the ass kicking they are going to be doing to their other halfs once those contractions set in.
Everything has just been kind of different lately. I guess its because I have a boyfriend. Hehehehehe. Gosh! I have to say it again…I have a boyfriend. Yes! People. No more Chinese take out for 1. It is now pounded yam a duex (Obviously not my choice. It’s only been a couple of weeks. A little more time and I can get the boy to eat Sushi). I’m sure those of you that know me well have only one question to ask.” How they hell did she pull it off”. To be honest, I’m asking the same question myself. It’s been hard keeping my true nature under wraps. I am after all a paranoid nutter. So It’s been a very long 6 weeks of
· Pretending to eat only HEALTHY stuff. Ben & Jerry’s have suffered a loss in profit since I met him. And yesterday the manager of the Golden Wok, my local Chinese take out, called by to just make sure I was still alive.
· Wearing full make up before I leave the house. Just in case he decides to surprise me by turning up at my office. All my colleagues think I’ve had botox or something but believe me its just Mac.
· If he stays over, waking up early to make sure my eyes aren’t crusty and to brush my teeth for my good morning snog. That’s a good 15 minutes of valuable sleeping time lost. And before all you family members start…my Barbie pyjamas stay on at all times. Well…98.45% of the time. Sometimes they just have a mind of their own. They must be those new self removing pyjamas just invented in Japan.
· Keeping my multiple personalities under check. I have been Mena the sane for the past 6 weeks and its been an absolute nightmare. Mena the crazy, Mena the sex starved but can’t have any and Mena the mean are all dying from neglect. How long must I wait before I can be the real me??? Boo hoo!
· Remembering not to pull my g-string out of my private places when we are walking down the street hand in hand. And not to walk around the flat without my boulder holders incase I turn round too fast and take one of his eyes out. Yep! Those babies can be lethal in the right setting.
· Curtailing the urge to call every 5 seconds just to check he hasn’t changed his number and moved to Japan.
· Reducing the number of times I’ve googled his name to ensure he isn’t wanted by the police for bigamy.
· Resisting the urge to slap him silly and stamp on his toes when he pisses me off by telling me my snoring is shaking the roof. Really!! The nerve of some people. Mena? Snore? As if. Ijebu chick has told me that the normal response is to maintain a dignified silence until he begs to be forgiven. I personally think slapping him silly will produce the same results, will be much faster and will definitely be much more enjoyable.
· Not balancing a plate of Nacho’s and a tub of Ben&Jerry’s Cookie Dough on my tummy whilst laughing hysterically at new and interesting ways to murder people on CSI. The last time I did that he was a tad weary about spending the night seeing as we had just had an argument about who snores louder (I obviously do but am I going to tell him that?) He kept looking under the mattress for hidden weapons.
· Not talking about Tyrese and his hot abs whilst he’s getting dressed, eating, in the shower etc This apparently makes him feel insecure. He should…Tyrese is a love god. Not that I’m complaining about my boo but hey I have to hear him go on about Angelina Jolie so me thinks we are even.
On the plus side
· He calls me …he has learnt the hard way that not calling results in me sulking for eternity and withdrawing snogging privileges.
· He says the sweetest thing.
· He doesn’t ignore me when I am sulking, which satisfies my constant need for attention.
· He’s seen my Buddha belly in the flesh and hasn’t gone blind, insane or left the country.
· He is a snogging wizard but that’s just between us guys…for any of you church goers, just ignore all references to snogging, sleeping over and self-removing pyjamas.
· He gives amazing cuddles
· He makes me laugh like crazy
· And he thinks I’m the sexiest being that ever lived…apart from Angela Jolie of course but I ain’t bitter. I’ve still got my life size Tyrese cut-out.
· He misses me when I ain’t there which, having come from a family that holds “A thank goodness she’s not here” party every time I leave the room, makes me feel kinda special.
Ok! Nobody go out to buy aso ebi just yet. Yes he seems normal but that’s only because I haven’t unleashed any of my personalities on him yet. For the next couple of weeks I will gently re-introduce all my other me’s into the relationship and see what happens. Come back next week to find out how Snogger Dude gets along with the many faces of Mena. I am off to wax my legs in case he wants to stroke them whilst watching Match of the day.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t seem to have the usual urge scream at people and be generally obnoxious. I even gave up my sit on the bus today to a preggy lady. I don’t usually bother. I tend to stick out my own little Buddha belly as far as it will go and pretend to be expecting myself. I personally don’t see why I should suffer for someone else’s night of passion. I’m not jealous. No siree! I’m just bitter. Believe me there is a difference. Anyway, the way I see it I’m doing them a favour. Keeping those legs of theirs nice firm for all the ass kicking they are going to be doing to their other halfs once those contractions set in.
Everything has just been kind of different lately. I guess its because I have a boyfriend. Hehehehehe. Gosh! I have to say it again…I have a boyfriend. Yes! People. No more Chinese take out for 1. It is now pounded yam a duex (Obviously not my choice. It’s only been a couple of weeks. A little more time and I can get the boy to eat Sushi). I’m sure those of you that know me well have only one question to ask.” How they hell did she pull it off”. To be honest, I’m asking the same question myself. It’s been hard keeping my true nature under wraps. I am after all a paranoid nutter. So It’s been a very long 6 weeks of
· Pretending to eat only HEALTHY stuff. Ben & Jerry’s have suffered a loss in profit since I met him. And yesterday the manager of the Golden Wok, my local Chinese take out, called by to just make sure I was still alive.
· Wearing full make up before I leave the house. Just in case he decides to surprise me by turning up at my office. All my colleagues think I’ve had botox or something but believe me its just Mac.
· If he stays over, waking up early to make sure my eyes aren’t crusty and to brush my teeth for my good morning snog. That’s a good 15 minutes of valuable sleeping time lost. And before all you family members start…my Barbie pyjamas stay on at all times. Well…98.45% of the time. Sometimes they just have a mind of their own. They must be those new self removing pyjamas just invented in Japan.
· Keeping my multiple personalities under check. I have been Mena the sane for the past 6 weeks and its been an absolute nightmare. Mena the crazy, Mena the sex starved but can’t have any and Mena the mean are all dying from neglect. How long must I wait before I can be the real me??? Boo hoo!
· Remembering not to pull my g-string out of my private places when we are walking down the street hand in hand. And not to walk around the flat without my boulder holders incase I turn round too fast and take one of his eyes out. Yep! Those babies can be lethal in the right setting.
· Curtailing the urge to call every 5 seconds just to check he hasn’t changed his number and moved to Japan.
· Reducing the number of times I’ve googled his name to ensure he isn’t wanted by the police for bigamy.
· Resisting the urge to slap him silly and stamp on his toes when he pisses me off by telling me my snoring is shaking the roof. Really!! The nerve of some people. Mena? Snore? As if. Ijebu chick has told me that the normal response is to maintain a dignified silence until he begs to be forgiven. I personally think slapping him silly will produce the same results, will be much faster and will definitely be much more enjoyable.
· Not balancing a plate of Nacho’s and a tub of Ben&Jerry’s Cookie Dough on my tummy whilst laughing hysterically at new and interesting ways to murder people on CSI. The last time I did that he was a tad weary about spending the night seeing as we had just had an argument about who snores louder (I obviously do but am I going to tell him that?) He kept looking under the mattress for hidden weapons.
· Not talking about Tyrese and his hot abs whilst he’s getting dressed, eating, in the shower etc This apparently makes him feel insecure. He should…Tyrese is a love god. Not that I’m complaining about my boo but hey I have to hear him go on about Angelina Jolie so me thinks we are even.
On the plus side
· He calls me …he has learnt the hard way that not calling results in me sulking for eternity and withdrawing snogging privileges.
· He says the sweetest thing.
· He doesn’t ignore me when I am sulking, which satisfies my constant need for attention.
· He’s seen my Buddha belly in the flesh and hasn’t gone blind, insane or left the country.
· He is a snogging wizard but that’s just between us guys…for any of you church goers, just ignore all references to snogging, sleeping over and self-removing pyjamas.
· He gives amazing cuddles
· He makes me laugh like crazy
· And he thinks I’m the sexiest being that ever lived…apart from Angela Jolie of course but I ain’t bitter. I’ve still got my life size Tyrese cut-out.
· He misses me when I ain’t there which, having come from a family that holds “A thank goodness she’s not here” party every time I leave the room, makes me feel kinda special.
Ok! Nobody go out to buy aso ebi just yet. Yes he seems normal but that’s only because I haven’t unleashed any of my personalities on him yet. For the next couple of weeks I will gently re-introduce all my other me’s into the relationship and see what happens. Come back next week to find out how Snogger Dude gets along with the many faces of Mena. I am off to wax my legs in case he wants to stroke them whilst watching Match of the day.
Monday, October 30, 2006
69,68,67..........
Yes! He called me. Yes! He still thinks I'm amazing and no he hasn't proposed yet. So can you all stop stalking me about my mystery man. We have more important thaings to talk about.
That phenomal event that happens every year is slowly during nearer. Its time to empty out your piggy banks and get all excited because there are only 69 more day to go till MY BIRTHDAY. Yep people! I’m getting older. Before, the very thought of an approaching birthday used to bring me out in a cold sweat. I would worry about wrinkles (not gonna happen …supple, smooth caramel skin is still as luscious as ever), losing my hip attitude (like that’s even possible) or worse …developing a penchant for thermal underwear. But I’m starting to realise that it will probably never happen. It’s the end of October, I can see my own breath and as my mother likes to say “it isn’t the weather for fashion”. That is just soooooooooo wrong Mama. If she weren’t my Mama I would lock her in her room with only a bowl of garri and some peanuts for daring to suggest that there was a time and place for fashion. Fashion is an all year thing, rain or shine, freezing temperatures or not. Hence my attire of a gypsy skirt, long boots, little white t-shirt and a sweater vest. I’m freezing my flat but cute ass off but at least I will die from hyperthermia whilst looking fashionable.
For all of you who are also eagerly anticipating my forthcoming birthday I just wanted to give you a few tips on how to make me happy on the day and ensure that you will not spend the rest of the year in traction or worse in the room with my mother struggling over the bowl of garri and peanuts. I know a lot of you are probably thinking of getting me the gift of “Love and Friendship” for my birthday. Awww! How sweet. Lets show Mena we care by telling her, going to visit her on the day or making her something out of recycled cardboard and a pair of old underpants. People, people, people! HOW MANY TIMES DID I CALL ALL OF YOU?? OK! LISTEN AND LISTEN GOOD
1. I speak to you guys all the time. Usually when I don’t want to I might add. You calling me on my birthday is fine but I’d better be sitting on an elephant called Dumbollina in Thailand, enjoying a five star holiday paid for by you when I get the call or don’t even bother. I’d also be very careful if that’s all you’re getting me. I you might want to start getting someone else to taste your food, start your car or basically just take on your identity until Mena’s rage has calmed down.
2. Please don’t visit me on my birthday unless you are bringing gifts, food, alcohol and the entire NBA squad wearing nothing but see through thongs. I know what I am looking for when I go and visit other people on their birthdays …FOOD! I refuse to allow anyone into my home without seeing a lovely wrapped pressie in his or her hands. The said pressie will be x-rayed to make sure it’s not an empty box wrapped with recycled wrapping paper to fool me into letting them into the house. What’s ahhh!!?? I don’t think you know the kind of family and friends I’m up against. They will go to any lengths to get a free meal. True… they all probably learnt from my example but even so they have taken it to a greater level. Before Hurry up Propose chick left the country, she could successful spend a whole month eating for free by calling up unsuspecting friends and family members after work, finding out what everyone was having for dinner and then going to visit the person with the best sounding supper. SE chick, before she got hitched also used to eat for free every weekend by coming to visit me and pretending she wanted to bond. Bonding… maybe 5minutes. The rest of the weekend was spent emptying my fridge and then having the nerve to call my stew funky! So I will not be cooking for anyone come January the 7th. There will be a slice of cake and some sparkling mineral water (no tap water seeing as its my birthday) for all gift-bearing visitors.
3. Ah! I laugh. Short of you being one of my nieces, I don’t want to see anything self produced. Even being under the legal working age is no excuse any more as far as I’m concerned. All kiddies get child benefit and I know how much it is. Enough to buy me a decent gift. All gifts of £20 and under will only be accepted from CHILDREN! My niece, Ibadan J Lo Princess please tell your mummy, Ijebu Chick to stop embezzling your funds to feed her husbands Big Tasty habit (don’t ask…I promise, you don’t want to know) and divert some of it to my birthday fund. Good girl.
I’m not a greedy person. In order to make things easier for you all I am giving you the opportunity to join the United Bank of Mena (UBM) where we have a special savings scheme especially for this occasion. You have 3 options to choose from
The No Good Friend saver – whereby you deposit £1 a day till my birthday, which will give a measly £69.00 to spend on me. Obviously I am worth more than this. I will accept your gift but know that you will be in the Raso section of my celebrity Moroccan wedding.
The Buddy saver - £3 per day you will have a decent £207 to spend on my oh so happy day. This will move you up in my estimation and you will actually get to see some of the celebrity guests at my forthcoming wedding.
The Ore Miiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!! Saver - This is the account I expect all family and REAL friends to contribute a mere £10 per day in order to buy me all the designer goods I deserve. With their £690 they are immediately bumped up to my second high table, which will be behind the table, the celebrity guests and I will be sitting on. You will get to watch the celebrities eat and might even get to touch or dance with one or two of them. Naturally this will be with my permission. I don’t want you disgracing me on the day by gushing all over Tyrese’s new best friend Chingy. Have you heard my man’s new song? I knew he would make a triumphant come back. Poo! Poo! to all you haters.
Anyway, I’ve truly given you more help than you all deserve on this issue. It is now time go out into the big wide world and find me the ultimate pressie. Good Bye & Good Luck!
That phenomal event that happens every year is slowly during nearer. Its time to empty out your piggy banks and get all excited because there are only 69 more day to go till MY BIRTHDAY. Yep people! I’m getting older. Before, the very thought of an approaching birthday used to bring me out in a cold sweat. I would worry about wrinkles (not gonna happen …supple, smooth caramel skin is still as luscious as ever), losing my hip attitude (like that’s even possible) or worse …developing a penchant for thermal underwear. But I’m starting to realise that it will probably never happen. It’s the end of October, I can see my own breath and as my mother likes to say “it isn’t the weather for fashion”. That is just soooooooooo wrong Mama. If she weren’t my Mama I would lock her in her room with only a bowl of garri and some peanuts for daring to suggest that there was a time and place for fashion. Fashion is an all year thing, rain or shine, freezing temperatures or not. Hence my attire of a gypsy skirt, long boots, little white t-shirt and a sweater vest. I’m freezing my flat but cute ass off but at least I will die from hyperthermia whilst looking fashionable.
For all of you who are also eagerly anticipating my forthcoming birthday I just wanted to give you a few tips on how to make me happy on the day and ensure that you will not spend the rest of the year in traction or worse in the room with my mother struggling over the bowl of garri and peanuts. I know a lot of you are probably thinking of getting me the gift of “Love and Friendship” for my birthday. Awww! How sweet. Lets show Mena we care by telling her, going to visit her on the day or making her something out of recycled cardboard and a pair of old underpants. People, people, people! HOW MANY TIMES DID I CALL ALL OF YOU?? OK! LISTEN AND LISTEN GOOD
1. I speak to you guys all the time. Usually when I don’t want to I might add. You calling me on my birthday is fine but I’d better be sitting on an elephant called Dumbollina in Thailand, enjoying a five star holiday paid for by you when I get the call or don’t even bother. I’d also be very careful if that’s all you’re getting me. I you might want to start getting someone else to taste your food, start your car or basically just take on your identity until Mena’s rage has calmed down.
2. Please don’t visit me on my birthday unless you are bringing gifts, food, alcohol and the entire NBA squad wearing nothing but see through thongs. I know what I am looking for when I go and visit other people on their birthdays …FOOD! I refuse to allow anyone into my home without seeing a lovely wrapped pressie in his or her hands. The said pressie will be x-rayed to make sure it’s not an empty box wrapped with recycled wrapping paper to fool me into letting them into the house. What’s ahhh!!?? I don’t think you know the kind of family and friends I’m up against. They will go to any lengths to get a free meal. True… they all probably learnt from my example but even so they have taken it to a greater level. Before Hurry up Propose chick left the country, she could successful spend a whole month eating for free by calling up unsuspecting friends and family members after work, finding out what everyone was having for dinner and then going to visit the person with the best sounding supper. SE chick, before she got hitched also used to eat for free every weekend by coming to visit me and pretending she wanted to bond. Bonding… maybe 5minutes. The rest of the weekend was spent emptying my fridge and then having the nerve to call my stew funky! So I will not be cooking for anyone come January the 7th. There will be a slice of cake and some sparkling mineral water (no tap water seeing as its my birthday) for all gift-bearing visitors.
3. Ah! I laugh. Short of you being one of my nieces, I don’t want to see anything self produced. Even being under the legal working age is no excuse any more as far as I’m concerned. All kiddies get child benefit and I know how much it is. Enough to buy me a decent gift. All gifts of £20 and under will only be accepted from CHILDREN! My niece, Ibadan J Lo Princess please tell your mummy, Ijebu Chick to stop embezzling your funds to feed her husbands Big Tasty habit (don’t ask…I promise, you don’t want to know) and divert some of it to my birthday fund. Good girl.
I’m not a greedy person. In order to make things easier for you all I am giving you the opportunity to join the United Bank of Mena (UBM) where we have a special savings scheme especially for this occasion. You have 3 options to choose from
The No Good Friend saver – whereby you deposit £1 a day till my birthday, which will give a measly £69.00 to spend on me. Obviously I am worth more than this. I will accept your gift but know that you will be in the Raso section of my celebrity Moroccan wedding.
The Buddy saver - £3 per day you will have a decent £207 to spend on my oh so happy day. This will move you up in my estimation and you will actually get to see some of the celebrity guests at my forthcoming wedding.
The Ore Miiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!! Saver - This is the account I expect all family and REAL friends to contribute a mere £10 per day in order to buy me all the designer goods I deserve. With their £690 they are immediately bumped up to my second high table, which will be behind the table, the celebrity guests and I will be sitting on. You will get to watch the celebrities eat and might even get to touch or dance with one or two of them. Naturally this will be with my permission. I don’t want you disgracing me on the day by gushing all over Tyrese’s new best friend Chingy. Have you heard my man’s new song? I knew he would make a triumphant come back. Poo! Poo! to all you haters.
Anyway, I’ve truly given you more help than you all deserve on this issue. It is now time go out into the big wide world and find me the ultimate pressie. Good Bye & Good Luck!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Ooooopppppssss!!!!!!!
I made a bit of a boo boo this morning and said something I shouldn’t have.
OK! I’m going to tell you all a little secret. Haven’t you all noticed I ain’t as cranky as I used to be? What do you mean you haven’t noticed any difference in my demeanour? I blame you all not…it’s my fault that I have dedicated 100’s of man-hours in keep you lot entertained. Anyway I shall not let you infringe on my happiness. The reason I’ve been in a good mood is that I’ve been making up for lost time in the snogging department.
Mena! Good Christian girl like you snogging a man?? Yes o! I am and I’m liking it. Nothing like a good snog to blow away the cobwebs. Anyway I ain’t divulging any names, numbers or shoe sizes. But if you really most know, Biiiiiiiiiiigggg feet. No! I haven’t been playing “Lets make a baby”. Me and my sis “Hurry up and propose chick” devised a clever method of figuring these things out. I obviously can’t share any details with you because all the male readers of this blog will be forced to resort to drastic measures in order to make themselves look extra large. Don’t worry fella’s…it ain’t what you got, it’s what you do with it. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… So sure a guy said that. Please don't clog up my inbox with complaints about my attitude to soldier sizes. Anyone thats knows me knows that that ain't important. Wow! Is that my nose getting longer?
Anyway I’m telling you all this in confidence. My mother must not hear that I’m even in regular contact with a man let alone snogging him. She has the local printing offices number on speed dial. Any sign of a relationship and she'll have my picture printed and stamped on bucket for mass distribution before you can say “Wedding”. So it’s all Hush! Hush!
He’s nice, he’s sweet, and he says all the right things unless he’s trying to be a smart ass and then feels the need to quote stuff to me in Yoruba (Hey! I didn’t say he was perfect). Bottom line is I like him and I think he likes me. That was till this morning, when just as I was about to hang up he said “bye” and blew me a kiss (aw shucks…ain’t that just dandy) and I replied “Bye! Love you too”. 2 seconds after I said it, my heart literally stopped beating and I started to hyperventilate. What the hell had I been thinking? Its been what? 3 weeks and I uttered the “L” word. The funny thing is I ain’t even feeling the “L” word at the moment. I like him yeah but this is me…I don’t get excited about anything until I’m wearing a ring and I have him chained up in the basement so he can’t escape. I just don’t know where it came from.
Anyway I immediately back tracked and said
“Sorry didn’t mean to say that.”
“You love me?” he replies, laughing uncontrollably
“No! I just said I didn’t mean say that”
“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it”
What planet is this guy from? I’m a woman I’m programmed to say things I don’t mean. Anyway at this stage I feel stupid and get all defensive.
“I was thinking of someone else,” I said
“Really”?
“Yeah really”
“Who”?
“Sorry”?
“Sorry yourself (told you he wasn’t perfect)…who were you thinking of?”
“My brother.”
Great Mena! Now he probably thinks you have an incestuous relationship with your brother and that your parents are actually first cousins.
“You tell your brother you love him when you hang up”? He asks…I think I can detect panic.
“Yep! We’re close like that”.
“All right then…if you say so”.
Anyway he says “Bye” still sniggering to himself and I go the ladies to see if I can flush myself down the loo. I give up people! What’s a girl got to do to keep a guy around here? He always calls me during his lunch break. I have 15 more minutes of waiting to see if I’ve managed to scare him off. Keep your fingers crossed!!!!!!!!!!
OK! I’m going to tell you all a little secret. Haven’t you all noticed I ain’t as cranky as I used to be? What do you mean you haven’t noticed any difference in my demeanour? I blame you all not…it’s my fault that I have dedicated 100’s of man-hours in keep you lot entertained. Anyway I shall not let you infringe on my happiness. The reason I’ve been in a good mood is that I’ve been making up for lost time in the snogging department.
Mena! Good Christian girl like you snogging a man?? Yes o! I am and I’m liking it. Nothing like a good snog to blow away the cobwebs. Anyway I ain’t divulging any names, numbers or shoe sizes. But if you really most know, Biiiiiiiiiiigggg feet. No! I haven’t been playing “Lets make a baby”. Me and my sis “Hurry up and propose chick” devised a clever method of figuring these things out. I obviously can’t share any details with you because all the male readers of this blog will be forced to resort to drastic measures in order to make themselves look extra large. Don’t worry fella’s…it ain’t what you got, it’s what you do with it. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… So sure a guy said that. Please don't clog up my inbox with complaints about my attitude to soldier sizes. Anyone thats knows me knows that that ain't important. Wow! Is that my nose getting longer?
Anyway I’m telling you all this in confidence. My mother must not hear that I’m even in regular contact with a man let alone snogging him. She has the local printing offices number on speed dial. Any sign of a relationship and she'll have my picture printed and stamped on bucket for mass distribution before you can say “Wedding”. So it’s all Hush! Hush!
He’s nice, he’s sweet, and he says all the right things unless he’s trying to be a smart ass and then feels the need to quote stuff to me in Yoruba (Hey! I didn’t say he was perfect). Bottom line is I like him and I think he likes me. That was till this morning, when just as I was about to hang up he said “bye” and blew me a kiss (aw shucks…ain’t that just dandy) and I replied “Bye! Love you too”. 2 seconds after I said it, my heart literally stopped beating and I started to hyperventilate. What the hell had I been thinking? Its been what? 3 weeks and I uttered the “L” word. The funny thing is I ain’t even feeling the “L” word at the moment. I like him yeah but this is me…I don’t get excited about anything until I’m wearing a ring and I have him chained up in the basement so he can’t escape. I just don’t know where it came from.
Anyway I immediately back tracked and said
“Sorry didn’t mean to say that.”
“You love me?” he replies, laughing uncontrollably
“No! I just said I didn’t mean say that”
“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it”
What planet is this guy from? I’m a woman I’m programmed to say things I don’t mean. Anyway at this stage I feel stupid and get all defensive.
“I was thinking of someone else,” I said
“Really”?
“Yeah really”
“Who”?
“Sorry”?
“Sorry yourself (told you he wasn’t perfect)…who were you thinking of?”
“My brother.”
Great Mena! Now he probably thinks you have an incestuous relationship with your brother and that your parents are actually first cousins.
“You tell your brother you love him when you hang up”? He asks…I think I can detect panic.
“Yep! We’re close like that”.
“All right then…if you say so”.
Anyway he says “Bye” still sniggering to himself and I go the ladies to see if I can flush myself down the loo. I give up people! What’s a girl got to do to keep a guy around here? He always calls me during his lunch break. I have 15 more minutes of waiting to see if I’ve managed to scare him off. Keep your fingers crossed!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Would you like me to call you Sir too?
A guy I’ve been talking to for a little while sent me something today with the heading
“Read and Learn”. It’s apparently an actual extract from a sex education school textbook for girls, printed in the early 60’s in the UK & written by a woman!
“When retiring to the bedroom, prepare yourself for bed as promptly as possible. Whilst feminine hygiene is of the utmost importance, your tired husband does not want to queue for the bathroom, as he would have to do for his train. But remember to look your best when going to bed.
Try to achieve a look that is welcoming without being obvious. If you need to apply face cream or hair rollers wait until he is asleep as this can be shocking to a man last thing at night. When it comes to the possibility of intimate relations with your husband it is important to remember your marriage vows and in particular your commitment to obey him.
If he feels that he needs to sleep immediately afterwards, then so be it. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes; do not pressure him in any way to stimulate intimacy. Should your husband suggest congress then agree humbly, all the while being mindful that a mans satisfaction is more important than a woman’s. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment, a small moan from yourself is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment that you may have had.
Should your husband suggest any of the more unusual practices, be obedient and uncomplaining but register any reluctance by remaining silent. It is likely that your husband will fall promptly asleep so adjust your clothing, freshen up and apply your nighttime face and hair care products. You may then set the alarm so that you can arise shortly before him in the morning. This will enable to have his morning cup of tea ready when he wakes.
Well naturally! After I finished rolling around under my desk with laughter and disbelief. I started thinking…this guy was kidding right? He wasn’t trying to send me subtle subliminal messages about what he would be expecting in the near future was he? He’d seemed all right so far …you know; He calls, he’s sweet, never forgets his wallet at home and knows where to put his lips for those all important goodnight kisses but this e-mail might be a sign. My mother always says watch what a guy finds funny because it tells you how their mind works. According to that train of thought, I’m spending a lot of time with a guy who expects me to sleep in full MAC foundation, no head scarf (like he’s going give me back my money when my afro kinky starts looking like a hedge) and not complain when he introduces a variety of garden vegetables into our after hours activities. Hmmm.. Maybe I was tad hasty in buying that copy Bride magazine then. But really fellas you all aren’t still thinking like that are you?
It’s not fair! How come everything is always down to us …the fairer and more intelligent of the species? I’m referring to us women just in case any of you male readers were deluding yourselves. I know we messed up at the beginning of time with the whole apple-eating incident but it’s about time you guys took some share of the blame. After all its not like we mashed up the apple and called it Pate. You all knew what you were doing but it seems we women are meant to keep sucking up to you guys forever.
"What’s she going on about now?” says the unattractive guy with no girlfriend in the corner. What I’m going on about now is we do everything for you guys. We have to carry you around for 9 months. Endure untold pain to shove your ungrateful behinds into the world. Nurse and look after you till we are legally able to kick you out of our home. Any of us who aren’t related to you have to cope with dating you, sleeping with you, making you feel like a man (even though some of you really deserve a nappy and a rattle) and when you’ve finally worn us out we agree to marry you and start the cycle all over again by having your kids.
“Well if you feel that way you can always start batting for the other side”. Believe me…if I could I would. I would embrace girly love, artificial insemination for when my biological clock starts ticking and a lifetime partnership with someone who knows the difference between foreplay and sticking their tongue in my ear for 2 minutes. Yep! I don’t think I would be missing much…after all where’s the fun in dating someone who is programmed to think that most of the work needed to keep a relationship going is down to me.
“That’s not fair” some of you say. But lets look at it this way... if any of you guys have done the following please send me an e-mail immediately so I can put you in the Blokey Hall of Fame
1) Bought kinky underwear to get your woman all excited?
2) Made lunch when all her girlfriends popped round to visit to watch the Final of American next top model (our equivalent of match of the day)?
3) Cut your hair like Tyrese, Denzel or JJ from Good times when your girl said she thought they were hot?
4) Gone an imaginary food diet when she pointed out that your beer belly was getting a tad big?
5) Agreed to get out of bed at midnight to pound yam for your in-law who turned up unexpectedly?
That’s just a few from the endless things we women do to keep you guys happy and the relationship on an even keel. So if any of you are expecting the 60’s to make a come back in the form of total submissiveness…please send me £3 zillion pounds for the time machine which is currently under construction my shed. Jokers!
“Read and Learn”. It’s apparently an actual extract from a sex education school textbook for girls, printed in the early 60’s in the UK & written by a woman!
“When retiring to the bedroom, prepare yourself for bed as promptly as possible. Whilst feminine hygiene is of the utmost importance, your tired husband does not want to queue for the bathroom, as he would have to do for his train. But remember to look your best when going to bed.
Try to achieve a look that is welcoming without being obvious. If you need to apply face cream or hair rollers wait until he is asleep as this can be shocking to a man last thing at night. When it comes to the possibility of intimate relations with your husband it is important to remember your marriage vows and in particular your commitment to obey him.
If he feels that he needs to sleep immediately afterwards, then so be it. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes; do not pressure him in any way to stimulate intimacy. Should your husband suggest congress then agree humbly, all the while being mindful that a mans satisfaction is more important than a woman’s. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment, a small moan from yourself is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment that you may have had.
Should your husband suggest any of the more unusual practices, be obedient and uncomplaining but register any reluctance by remaining silent. It is likely that your husband will fall promptly asleep so adjust your clothing, freshen up and apply your nighttime face and hair care products. You may then set the alarm so that you can arise shortly before him in the morning. This will enable to have his morning cup of tea ready when he wakes.
Well naturally! After I finished rolling around under my desk with laughter and disbelief. I started thinking…this guy was kidding right? He wasn’t trying to send me subtle subliminal messages about what he would be expecting in the near future was he? He’d seemed all right so far …you know; He calls, he’s sweet, never forgets his wallet at home and knows where to put his lips for those all important goodnight kisses but this e-mail might be a sign. My mother always says watch what a guy finds funny because it tells you how their mind works. According to that train of thought, I’m spending a lot of time with a guy who expects me to sleep in full MAC foundation, no head scarf (like he’s going give me back my money when my afro kinky starts looking like a hedge) and not complain when he introduces a variety of garden vegetables into our after hours activities. Hmmm.. Maybe I was tad hasty in buying that copy Bride magazine then. But really fellas you all aren’t still thinking like that are you?
It’s not fair! How come everything is always down to us …the fairer and more intelligent of the species? I’m referring to us women just in case any of you male readers were deluding yourselves. I know we messed up at the beginning of time with the whole apple-eating incident but it’s about time you guys took some share of the blame. After all its not like we mashed up the apple and called it Pate. You all knew what you were doing but it seems we women are meant to keep sucking up to you guys forever.
"What’s she going on about now?” says the unattractive guy with no girlfriend in the corner. What I’m going on about now is we do everything for you guys. We have to carry you around for 9 months. Endure untold pain to shove your ungrateful behinds into the world. Nurse and look after you till we are legally able to kick you out of our home. Any of us who aren’t related to you have to cope with dating you, sleeping with you, making you feel like a man (even though some of you really deserve a nappy and a rattle) and when you’ve finally worn us out we agree to marry you and start the cycle all over again by having your kids.
“Well if you feel that way you can always start batting for the other side”. Believe me…if I could I would. I would embrace girly love, artificial insemination for when my biological clock starts ticking and a lifetime partnership with someone who knows the difference between foreplay and sticking their tongue in my ear for 2 minutes. Yep! I don’t think I would be missing much…after all where’s the fun in dating someone who is programmed to think that most of the work needed to keep a relationship going is down to me.
“That’s not fair” some of you say. But lets look at it this way... if any of you guys have done the following please send me an e-mail immediately so I can put you in the Blokey Hall of Fame
1) Bought kinky underwear to get your woman all excited?
2) Made lunch when all her girlfriends popped round to visit to watch the Final of American next top model (our equivalent of match of the day)?
3) Cut your hair like Tyrese, Denzel or JJ from Good times when your girl said she thought they were hot?
4) Gone an imaginary food diet when she pointed out that your beer belly was getting a tad big?
5) Agreed to get out of bed at midnight to pound yam for your in-law who turned up unexpectedly?
That’s just a few from the endless things we women do to keep you guys happy and the relationship on an even keel. So if any of you are expecting the 60’s to make a come back in the form of total submissiveness…please send me £3 zillion pounds for the time machine which is currently under construction my shed. Jokers!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Breaking up ain't that hard to do.
I know I know…I just haven’t been feeling inspired lately. For some odd reason there is actually nothing going on in my life. OK I lie …there is but I just ain’t ready to share. Actually that’s another lie…I do want to share but I’m learning the art of self-control. No more divulging intimate secrets of my love life to members of the general public. This why I am still single. You guys misrepresent everything I say and then I sound like a pyscho. So we’ll just have to talk about something else. Lets see…politics? Nah! You guys just aren’t clued up in that direction are you. The current trend for 80’s fashion in the year 2006? Oh no I’ve got a good one…convenience products or services in the 21st century.
Ok! I’m all up for modern day living and making life as convenient as possible. I have my moments when, if I could find someone and pay him or her to carry me on his or her back to the bus stop just to shave 3 minutes off my journey time I would. I’ve been tempted to buy crust less bread from the supermarket just so I don’t have to do it myself and believe me should they ever event the self brushing toothbrush I’ll be first on the queue. But there are certain pleasures in life that one shouldn’t relinquish to someone else to do for a fee. Amongst the top 3 are eating, sex and breaking up with annoying cretins.But a company in Belgium obviously doesn’t think so. They have just started the worlds first ever break up agency. For a fee, they will call up your unsuspecting bloke/girlfriend and tell them that you will no longer be requiring their services. Where, I ask you is the fun in that?
Breaking up with someone is hard but gosh it’s the price you pay for agreeing to go out with a self-certified lunatic in the first place. You sure as hell didn’t ask anyone to go on the first date for you, have your first snog, sleep with him/her or wear the sexy nurses uniform you used to spice up the cold winter nights (yes bunny…there are many costumes out there…our brother cannot live by furry love alone) So why should you get off easy when everything turns sour?
Digressing slightly, I have noticed a gap in the market for kinky costumes for women who want to tantalise their hot-blooded Niger men. So I have decided to set up my own agency “Local Love.com”. Yes peeps! I am setting up my own business... oh won't Mama and Papa be proud. I shall be supplying costume's to tantalise the African man’s vivid fantasy. I see my top three sellers being:
The Market Seller – An outfit consisting of a wrapper, un matching blouse, scarf, slippers and metal tray. Oranges, Guguru and epa or ice water can be supplied at an extra cost.
The House Girl - Also comes with a wrapper, oversized t-shirt, shuku wig, slippers and broom. Stick on tribal marks can be provided at an extra cost.
Federal Government College Sweetheart - Check pinafore in a variety of primary colours, thick rubber soled Bata sandal, white knee socks and unflattering school beret. Oxford maths set and graph paper optional. For those extra kinky ones amongst you I can supply a pot bellied father to stroll in every time you are about to get some action for that truly authentic feeling.
Any interested parties should contact me privately for hire charges and delivery times. No bunny…No family discount.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand.
Breaking up can be painless when handled in the right way. Here is my easy guide to Dumping and getting dumped without any drama. I ain’t even charging you guys so I would appreciate a little gratitude.
1) As the Dumper, please feel free to point out all nasty, filthy habits you have in order to make the Dumpee feel better. After all you’ve probably found yourself a hotter partner already, so no need to point out to the Dumpee that the reason they are getting dumped is that their little soldier is a very little soldier and their feet smell of cheese. You can laugh over this with your girlfriends later.
2)If the Dumpee insists that they can live with your little foibles then feel free to bring up the issue of marriage, children, a proper 9-5 job (No! singing in a band isn’t a job unless they have a record deal and are number one in the charts…and even this does not apply if said band is based in Niger) depending on which one the Dumpee is allergic to. This should have the Dumpee feeling cornered and they might be willing to discontinue the conversation in order to escape discussing the forbidden topic.
3)Should you be cohabiting with the intended Dumpee, then at least a week of poor personal hygiene, running up a huge phone bill talking to your mama about the latest lace, refusing sexual favours (not sure they’ll want any if you’re keeping up the lack of personal hygiene) and starting every sentence with “my ex used to…” should do the trick.
4)If all that fails then the usual not returning calls might send the message home.
5)Or you can just send them a text, e-mail, fax or postcard saying” Can’t you take a hint Einstein? You’re dumped!!”
6)Naturally the Dumpee will be hurt but they should not resort to burning the Dumpers car, flat or Italian shoe collection. You will only get arrested and become someone’s plaything in jail.
7)The Dumpee should maintain a dignified front when they see or speak to the Dumper about splitting their Boney M record collection or picking up their spare underwear from the love nest.
8)By all means, the Dumpee can spend all other times crying their eyes out and listening to “End of the road “ by Boyz to men.
9)The Dumpee should also take comfort in the fact that the heart breaking ordeal will help them lose weight and one day soon they will meet someone who appreciates a smaller soldier and the smell of cheese in the morning.
10)Try not to be too horrible either as a Dumpee or Dumper, as karma might just catch up with you in your next relationship.
Having been on both sides of the coin best piece of advice I can really give is don't give up. Yeah it hurts like hell now but believe me it does get better.
Ok! I’m all up for modern day living and making life as convenient as possible. I have my moments when, if I could find someone and pay him or her to carry me on his or her back to the bus stop just to shave 3 minutes off my journey time I would. I’ve been tempted to buy crust less bread from the supermarket just so I don’t have to do it myself and believe me should they ever event the self brushing toothbrush I’ll be first on the queue. But there are certain pleasures in life that one shouldn’t relinquish to someone else to do for a fee. Amongst the top 3 are eating, sex and breaking up with annoying cretins.But a company in Belgium obviously doesn’t think so. They have just started the worlds first ever break up agency. For a fee, they will call up your unsuspecting bloke/girlfriend and tell them that you will no longer be requiring their services. Where, I ask you is the fun in that?
Breaking up with someone is hard but gosh it’s the price you pay for agreeing to go out with a self-certified lunatic in the first place. You sure as hell didn’t ask anyone to go on the first date for you, have your first snog, sleep with him/her or wear the sexy nurses uniform you used to spice up the cold winter nights (yes bunny…there are many costumes out there…our brother cannot live by furry love alone) So why should you get off easy when everything turns sour?
Digressing slightly, I have noticed a gap in the market for kinky costumes for women who want to tantalise their hot-blooded Niger men. So I have decided to set up my own agency “Local Love.com”. Yes peeps! I am setting up my own business... oh won't Mama and Papa be proud. I shall be supplying costume's to tantalise the African man’s vivid fantasy. I see my top three sellers being:
The Market Seller – An outfit consisting of a wrapper, un matching blouse, scarf, slippers and metal tray. Oranges, Guguru and epa or ice water can be supplied at an extra cost.
The House Girl - Also comes with a wrapper, oversized t-shirt, shuku wig, slippers and broom. Stick on tribal marks can be provided at an extra cost.
Federal Government College Sweetheart - Check pinafore in a variety of primary colours, thick rubber soled Bata sandal, white knee socks and unflattering school beret. Oxford maths set and graph paper optional. For those extra kinky ones amongst you I can supply a pot bellied father to stroll in every time you are about to get some action for that truly authentic feeling.
Any interested parties should contact me privately for hire charges and delivery times. No bunny…No family discount.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand.
Breaking up can be painless when handled in the right way. Here is my easy guide to Dumping and getting dumped without any drama. I ain’t even charging you guys so I would appreciate a little gratitude.
1) As the Dumper, please feel free to point out all nasty, filthy habits you have in order to make the Dumpee feel better. After all you’ve probably found yourself a hotter partner already, so no need to point out to the Dumpee that the reason they are getting dumped is that their little soldier is a very little soldier and their feet smell of cheese. You can laugh over this with your girlfriends later.
2)If the Dumpee insists that they can live with your little foibles then feel free to bring up the issue of marriage, children, a proper 9-5 job (No! singing in a band isn’t a job unless they have a record deal and are number one in the charts…and even this does not apply if said band is based in Niger) depending on which one the Dumpee is allergic to. This should have the Dumpee feeling cornered and they might be willing to discontinue the conversation in order to escape discussing the forbidden topic.
3)Should you be cohabiting with the intended Dumpee, then at least a week of poor personal hygiene, running up a huge phone bill talking to your mama about the latest lace, refusing sexual favours (not sure they’ll want any if you’re keeping up the lack of personal hygiene) and starting every sentence with “my ex used to…” should do the trick.
4)If all that fails then the usual not returning calls might send the message home.
5)Or you can just send them a text, e-mail, fax or postcard saying” Can’t you take a hint Einstein? You’re dumped!!”
6)Naturally the Dumpee will be hurt but they should not resort to burning the Dumpers car, flat or Italian shoe collection. You will only get arrested and become someone’s plaything in jail.
7)The Dumpee should maintain a dignified front when they see or speak to the Dumper about splitting their Boney M record collection or picking up their spare underwear from the love nest.
8)By all means, the Dumpee can spend all other times crying their eyes out and listening to “End of the road “ by Boyz to men.
9)The Dumpee should also take comfort in the fact that the heart breaking ordeal will help them lose weight and one day soon they will meet someone who appreciates a smaller soldier and the smell of cheese in the morning.
10)Try not to be too horrible either as a Dumpee or Dumper, as karma might just catch up with you in your next relationship.
Having been on both sides of the coin best piece of advice I can really give is don't give up. Yeah it hurts like hell now but believe me it does get better.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
The silent treatment
Did I mention I wasn't speaking to Hmmm Dude? After seeing me in my Primark nighty and not saying anything constructive, I decided to withhold the pleasure of my conversations from him.
At what age do you have to stop using not speaking to someone as a weapon??
I only ask because I still do it. Yes I know its childish but sometimes you just can’t be arsed to speak to someone who is pissing you off. You don’t want to give them the impression that you have forgotten or forgiven their transgressions by engaging in conversation with them. The most I'm willing to do is the odd nod, grunt or disapproving stare in the culprit’s general direction. You might all think this is extremely immature for a woman of my superior intellect, but do I look bothered by your opinion? When you all start taking notice of my requests for money then maybe I might be interested in the fact that you all have something to contribute.
So today eager beavers we are going to talk about fights, keeping malice and making up. “Why such a depressing and hostile subject Mena ?” you all ask. We thought you were going to talk about the new men in your life. My response to that question is get your OWN blinking blog. When you signed up for the Mena experience you should have read the fine print. If you want to talk about rainbows, fairies and little people that live in the mushrooms at the bottom of your garden Cbeebies has a website. In here we talk about real stuff. Anyway back to the original topic of conversation.
There are 4 kinds of fights
The Schizophrenic
This is when you think you are having an argument with someone and the other party is totally oblivious to your seething rage. So technically when you think about it you’re actually having an argument with yourself. That is not a good thing. There are many people wandering around the wards of mental hospitals that have arguments with themselves. You’re probably thinking that by shouting and screaming, this situation can be quickly turned into a 2 man show but it ain’t that simple. To actually get yourself into a schizophrenic type argument to begin with... the other person is probably related to my ex boyfriend. A man incapable of showing any emotions and who met every angry question with stony silence or stretching his neck past my hulking frame so he could watch telly. Ah yes people! I have had many a one sided argument and this is why you should never rely on anything I say. All that talking to myself is bound to have had some effect on my sanity. The best way to resolve this is not to scream, shout or make demands. Just say nothing and give monosyllabic responses to everything. I give the other person 24 hours and they will be begging to know what the matter is.
The Mule
This is an argument whereby you know there is no chance in hell of you winning. Probably because you were in the wrong to begin with but pride, stubbornness or whatever will not let you back down. Yep! You’d rather sleep on the sofa till eternity than admit that you don’t know who the current president of Yugoslavia is (I do know but I’m not helping you ignorant lot by telling you am I?). This argument is usually resolved when the bigger person (which is probably not yourself) extends the hand of friendship. For people in a relationship…it ends when one of you gets tired of humping the pillow for company.
The Time Bomb
This argument usually occurs between mates. Someone says or does something you don’t like. They tell you you look a tad rounder than usual or they borrow something without asking. You usually say something at the time but said friend is very dismissive of your reaction. So you say nothing. You bury that “I want to kick your ass to the moon feeling” and say nothing. But the next time they eat your last tic-tac or drop a piece of fluff on your already filthy carpet. You go nuclear on their ass and refuse to speak to them again…ever.
The Misunderstanding
This is usually a boy vs. girl argument. They say something we don’t like and when they realise we are about to do them some serious damage in the nether regions the claim it was all a “Misunderstanding”. Usually resolved with flowers, chocolate and movie type sex.
Anyway I’m being good at the moment. Still speaking to most people I know and anyone I’m not speaking to needs to sit in dark room somewhere and think about what they’ve done.
At what age do you have to stop using not speaking to someone as a weapon??
I only ask because I still do it. Yes I know its childish but sometimes you just can’t be arsed to speak to someone who is pissing you off. You don’t want to give them the impression that you have forgotten or forgiven their transgressions by engaging in conversation with them. The most I'm willing to do is the odd nod, grunt or disapproving stare in the culprit’s general direction. You might all think this is extremely immature for a woman of my superior intellect, but do I look bothered by your opinion? When you all start taking notice of my requests for money then maybe I might be interested in the fact that you all have something to contribute.
So today eager beavers we are going to talk about fights, keeping malice and making up. “Why such a depressing and hostile subject Mena ?” you all ask. We thought you were going to talk about the new men in your life. My response to that question is get your OWN blinking blog. When you signed up for the Mena experience you should have read the fine print. If you want to talk about rainbows, fairies and little people that live in the mushrooms at the bottom of your garden Cbeebies has a website. In here we talk about real stuff. Anyway back to the original topic of conversation.
There are 4 kinds of fights
The Schizophrenic
This is when you think you are having an argument with someone and the other party is totally oblivious to your seething rage. So technically when you think about it you’re actually having an argument with yourself. That is not a good thing. There are many people wandering around the wards of mental hospitals that have arguments with themselves. You’re probably thinking that by shouting and screaming, this situation can be quickly turned into a 2 man show but it ain’t that simple. To actually get yourself into a schizophrenic type argument to begin with... the other person is probably related to my ex boyfriend. A man incapable of showing any emotions and who met every angry question with stony silence or stretching his neck past my hulking frame so he could watch telly. Ah yes people! I have had many a one sided argument and this is why you should never rely on anything I say. All that talking to myself is bound to have had some effect on my sanity. The best way to resolve this is not to scream, shout or make demands. Just say nothing and give monosyllabic responses to everything. I give the other person 24 hours and they will be begging to know what the matter is.
The Mule
This is an argument whereby you know there is no chance in hell of you winning. Probably because you were in the wrong to begin with but pride, stubbornness or whatever will not let you back down. Yep! You’d rather sleep on the sofa till eternity than admit that you don’t know who the current president of Yugoslavia is (I do know but I’m not helping you ignorant lot by telling you am I?). This argument is usually resolved when the bigger person (which is probably not yourself) extends the hand of friendship. For people in a relationship…it ends when one of you gets tired of humping the pillow for company.
The Time Bomb
This argument usually occurs between mates. Someone says or does something you don’t like. They tell you you look a tad rounder than usual or they borrow something without asking. You usually say something at the time but said friend is very dismissive of your reaction. So you say nothing. You bury that “I want to kick your ass to the moon feeling” and say nothing. But the next time they eat your last tic-tac or drop a piece of fluff on your already filthy carpet. You go nuclear on their ass and refuse to speak to them again…ever.
The Misunderstanding
This is usually a boy vs. girl argument. They say something we don’t like and when they realise we are about to do them some serious damage in the nether regions the claim it was all a “Misunderstanding”. Usually resolved with flowers, chocolate and movie type sex.
Anyway I’m being good at the moment. Still speaking to most people I know and anyone I’m not speaking to needs to sit in dark room somewhere and think about what they’ve done.
I'm all sweetness and light....
Desola! or whatever your name is. You better hurry up with this dying process you’re going through because I will only update my blog when I am good and ready.
Really! The nerve of some people. Do you think I come to work to blog? No I am here to check my e-mails from potential partners on African Love Connection (I hear my profile “Sexy Caramel Mama” is very popular), browse the net, call my soon to be school teacher sister in Niger(ha ha! Next time you will not forsake me for a man) and criticise the dress sense of all those that walk into my office. So please …all of you …no one should harass me again. OK?!
Anyway, seeing as I'm here already... let me take pity upon you sad people and just share a few thoughts with you. Firstly I need to ask you all a question…Do I seem like a mean person to you guys? I know that slanderous bunny look alike sister in-law of mine has been spreading rumours that I have multiple personalities but we all know she just hating a sister for her hotness. It’s just that these days I’m not really the nicest of people.
Take yesterday…
After I got home from work, tied my wrapper village style round my neck, put on some beads for good measure and assumed the personality of Princess Nena “The beautiful one who most be obeyed” there was a knock on the door. I was obviously upset at being interrupted as I was just about to tuck into a plate of eba and spinach, (look…even hot, public school girls get ras cravings ok!). I opened the door to be confronted by my neighbour holding a cup. I eyed said cup and neighbour suspiciously. I had heard of such people who go from door to door asking for free goods in the spirit of neighbourly kindness. My spirit of Neighbourly kindness was away on vacation and I was not a happy princess Nena.
“Yes” I said
She looked me up and down like I was some kind of freak.
“Yes”! I said again.
“Oh sorry. I was just admiring your outfit. Are you off to a party”.
Peasant I thought. Does this look my ceremonial wrapper?
“No” I said.
“Is there something I can help you with”?
“Yes I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar and some milk”?
Sugar!!! Was this woman mad?? Did she not see the wrapper clinging to my hot Atkins created curves? Did I look like someone that ate sugar? And what did she mean by borrow? Was she planning on returning the cup of milk to me sometime in the near future with interest?
“I don’t have any sugar I’m afraid”.
“Oh that’s a shame, how about some milk then? I was just going to make a cup of tea and I noticed I’d run out. Where are you from? Your outfit looks very ethnic”.
Story, story …my eba is getting cold with all this gist. Lets focus on the job at hand please.
“I’m Nigerian. I’ll just see if I have some milk”.
Opening my refrigerator I noticed I did have some milk but only enough for me to eat my Snap, crackle and pop in the morning. I figured I might as well be nice and let her have it. Seeeeeee…I am a nice person.
“Here you go,” I said.
“Oh”! She said
“Haven’t you got any full fat milk”?
Once again the peasant has managed to annoy Princess Nena.
Did I look like someone who drank full fat milk (shut up ijebu chick…It was a rhetorical question and I don’t need any lip from you)?
“No that’s all I’ve got I’m afraid”.
“Oh well I guess it will have to do”.
Physco! Like she’s doing ME a favour by accepting the milk. At this stage I’ve lost all interest in being polite.
I took my milk out of her grasping little hands and said “No don’t be silly. If it’s not what you are used to then by all means try the lady downstairs”. And promptly shut my door.
I could hear the freeloader muttering obscenities outside. She’s lucky I didn’t have a royal executioner at hand to deal with her rude self. Anyway, I thought I handled myself quite well. Didn’t have to slap anyone silly to get my point across. Fine she was over 70 and a tad feeble but that’s no excuse for upsetting Princess Nena.
Hmmm but it did make me think though …Maybe I’m too hard on you guys. After all, all you want is to get to know me better and try to live your boring little lives through mine. So I hold my hands up. I have no excuse. I’ve been a bad, bad girl for not updating my blog. I deserve to be punished. I need to be taken over a big strong knee and spanked… preferably by Hassan. Who is Hassan you might all ask? Well Hassan is the love god who is at this very moment bent over my fax machine trying to fix it. Yes people …Mena is in love with the fax repair man. Would it be considered sexual harassment if I slightly pinched his toohsy on my way back to my desk?
What about Tyrese? You gasp in shock. Tyrese ko Tyresi ni. I am tired of having all my love letters returned by his security detail and I just think that restraining order asking me not contact him again was a tad overzealous. Really! You tell a guy you are going to cut off his little soldier if you find out those rumours about him and Vivica Fox are true and he suddenly gets all legal on your ass. Anyway I have decided I don’t want him anymore. Not because some judge in LA said so but because I’ve just decided I don’t need him anymore.
Right now I have men crawling out of the woodwork. Yep! Mena is regular light bulb these days just attracting men like moths to a flame. It’s like that old saying,”You spend ages waiting for a bus and 3 come along at once”. I guess telling you about them is one way to fill up my blog. But not today because Hassan has just asked if he can crawl under my desk to check the wiring for the fax and I really don’t think I can focus with him down there.
Really! The nerve of some people. Do you think I come to work to blog? No I am here to check my e-mails from potential partners on African Love Connection (I hear my profile “Sexy Caramel Mama” is very popular), browse the net, call my soon to be school teacher sister in Niger(ha ha! Next time you will not forsake me for a man) and criticise the dress sense of all those that walk into my office. So please …all of you …no one should harass me again. OK?!
Anyway, seeing as I'm here already... let me take pity upon you sad people and just share a few thoughts with you. Firstly I need to ask you all a question…Do I seem like a mean person to you guys? I know that slanderous bunny look alike sister in-law of mine has been spreading rumours that I have multiple personalities but we all know she just hating a sister for her hotness. It’s just that these days I’m not really the nicest of people.
Take yesterday…
After I got home from work, tied my wrapper village style round my neck, put on some beads for good measure and assumed the personality of Princess Nena “The beautiful one who most be obeyed” there was a knock on the door. I was obviously upset at being interrupted as I was just about to tuck into a plate of eba and spinach, (look…even hot, public school girls get ras cravings ok!). I opened the door to be confronted by my neighbour holding a cup. I eyed said cup and neighbour suspiciously. I had heard of such people who go from door to door asking for free goods in the spirit of neighbourly kindness. My spirit of Neighbourly kindness was away on vacation and I was not a happy princess Nena.
“Yes” I said
She looked me up and down like I was some kind of freak.
“Yes”! I said again.
“Oh sorry. I was just admiring your outfit. Are you off to a party”.
Peasant I thought. Does this look my ceremonial wrapper?
“No” I said.
“Is there something I can help you with”?
“Yes I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar and some milk”?
Sugar!!! Was this woman mad?? Did she not see the wrapper clinging to my hot Atkins created curves? Did I look like someone that ate sugar? And what did she mean by borrow? Was she planning on returning the cup of milk to me sometime in the near future with interest?
“I don’t have any sugar I’m afraid”.
“Oh that’s a shame, how about some milk then? I was just going to make a cup of tea and I noticed I’d run out. Where are you from? Your outfit looks very ethnic”.
Story, story …my eba is getting cold with all this gist. Lets focus on the job at hand please.
“I’m Nigerian. I’ll just see if I have some milk”.
Opening my refrigerator I noticed I did have some milk but only enough for me to eat my Snap, crackle and pop in the morning. I figured I might as well be nice and let her have it. Seeeeeee…I am a nice person.
“Here you go,” I said.
“Oh”! She said
“Haven’t you got any full fat milk”?
Once again the peasant has managed to annoy Princess Nena.
Did I look like someone who drank full fat milk (shut up ijebu chick…It was a rhetorical question and I don’t need any lip from you)?
“No that’s all I’ve got I’m afraid”.
“Oh well I guess it will have to do”.
Physco! Like she’s doing ME a favour by accepting the milk. At this stage I’ve lost all interest in being polite.
I took my milk out of her grasping little hands and said “No don’t be silly. If it’s not what you are used to then by all means try the lady downstairs”. And promptly shut my door.
I could hear the freeloader muttering obscenities outside. She’s lucky I didn’t have a royal executioner at hand to deal with her rude self. Anyway, I thought I handled myself quite well. Didn’t have to slap anyone silly to get my point across. Fine she was over 70 and a tad feeble but that’s no excuse for upsetting Princess Nena.
Hmmm but it did make me think though …Maybe I’m too hard on you guys. After all, all you want is to get to know me better and try to live your boring little lives through mine. So I hold my hands up. I have no excuse. I’ve been a bad, bad girl for not updating my blog. I deserve to be punished. I need to be taken over a big strong knee and spanked… preferably by Hassan. Who is Hassan you might all ask? Well Hassan is the love god who is at this very moment bent over my fax machine trying to fix it. Yes people …Mena is in love with the fax repair man. Would it be considered sexual harassment if I slightly pinched his toohsy on my way back to my desk?
What about Tyrese? You gasp in shock. Tyrese ko Tyresi ni. I am tired of having all my love letters returned by his security detail and I just think that restraining order asking me not contact him again was a tad overzealous. Really! You tell a guy you are going to cut off his little soldier if you find out those rumours about him and Vivica Fox are true and he suddenly gets all legal on your ass. Anyway I have decided I don’t want him anymore. Not because some judge in LA said so but because I’ve just decided I don’t need him anymore.
Right now I have men crawling out of the woodwork. Yep! Mena is regular light bulb these days just attracting men like moths to a flame. It’s like that old saying,”You spend ages waiting for a bus and 3 come along at once”. I guess telling you about them is one way to fill up my blog. But not today because Hassan has just asked if he can crawl under my desk to check the wiring for the fax and I really don’t think I can focus with him down there.
Friday, September 08, 2006
"Hurry Up and Propose Chick" has left the building.
I don’t really want to be blogging right now. I actually have work to do and I’m feeling dopey. But seeing as you are all ingrates, some of you have already started getting on my case about how I’m not committed to my blog etc Look people! The only thing I want to be committed to is Tyrese or any other man who isn’t a midget (I have nothing against short blokes but I’m short myself and I would like to give my kids some kind of chance in life), insane or living in the basement of his Mama’s house. So excuse me if I’m not blogging every minute that God sends but I am actually in the middle of living my life.
The only reason I’m here today is because my sis “Hurry up and propose chick” has deserted moi. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!! BooooooooooooHoooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! Sob! She has deserted me and headed back to Niger to be with a man…yuck! Useless man wrapper sister. You would think blood would be thicker than water but naturally things are bound to be different where I’m involved. Anyway I’m used to being treated atrociously by my numerous family members so I’ll just chalk it up with her other misdemeanours. All these sins against moi will be reflected in my wedding pressie to them of a goat.
Actually think I’m being overly considerate, after all a goat is an extremely useful 3 in 1 gift. It’s an automatic lawnmower, security system (goats can be extremely vicious. We had one as a child and I remember many a Saturday afternoon spent having my bottom moulded back into shape after the stupid thing caught me on its patch. Probably explains the current flatness of afore mentioned butt) and a holiday food source. Yep! Nothing like watching a butt-kicking goat getting roasted to make a sore butt feel better. Will definitely be getting them one…They both need a good butt kicking.
Anyway I am now dopey, as I have no one to boss around and feel superior to anymore. What is a girl to do?? Maybe I shouldn’t see this as a bad thing after all she wasn’t what you would call a perfect younger sister. She was rude, disrespectful, opinionated, bossy, a stealer of my accessories and a supplier of embarrassing stories about me to potential hubbies. She also didn’t appreciate Tyrese. Hmmmm…maybe my life is actually going to get better now that her desperate behind is safely in Niger. She’s about to start NYSC so if I’m reeeeeeaaaaallly lucky she will be sent to some village in the boondocks where ass-kicking goats roam freely. Only the local palm wine seller Romeo will speak English. So she will be forced to endure hours of “Baby I dig you well well! Make we sit under the palm tree and talk about our union of love” just so she doesn’t go crazy with boredom. She will be forced ride her tricycle (yes I meant the little three wheeled bike. On her Youth corp. salary she can’t afford an adult sized bike) to the nearest town to send me telegrams begging me to send her essentials like Mac foundation, floss and tic tacs. Ah if only dreams came true.
Whilst she is busy fending of the palmy seller I will be holding auditions for a new and improved younger sister. One with the following attributes:
1) Extremely flat ass. I just think its plain rude to have a bigger ass than your older sister.
2) No fashion sense, as I am tired of having all my nice stuff stolen.
3) Has no qualms about coming over to my flat at unsociable hours to cook, clean and baby-sit.
I personally don’t think that’s a lot to ask for but you these small girls of now days all have attitude problems. All applicants please send a list of your best dishes and a picture of your rear end.
But to be honest...I'm going to miss my little sis like crazy and I hope Niger is all she hopes it will be and more.
The only reason I’m here today is because my sis “Hurry up and propose chick” has deserted moi. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!! BooooooooooooHoooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! Sob! She has deserted me and headed back to Niger to be with a man…yuck! Useless man wrapper sister. You would think blood would be thicker than water but naturally things are bound to be different where I’m involved. Anyway I’m used to being treated atrociously by my numerous family members so I’ll just chalk it up with her other misdemeanours. All these sins against moi will be reflected in my wedding pressie to them of a goat.
Actually think I’m being overly considerate, after all a goat is an extremely useful 3 in 1 gift. It’s an automatic lawnmower, security system (goats can be extremely vicious. We had one as a child and I remember many a Saturday afternoon spent having my bottom moulded back into shape after the stupid thing caught me on its patch. Probably explains the current flatness of afore mentioned butt) and a holiday food source. Yep! Nothing like watching a butt-kicking goat getting roasted to make a sore butt feel better. Will definitely be getting them one…They both need a good butt kicking.
Anyway I am now dopey, as I have no one to boss around and feel superior to anymore. What is a girl to do?? Maybe I shouldn’t see this as a bad thing after all she wasn’t what you would call a perfect younger sister. She was rude, disrespectful, opinionated, bossy, a stealer of my accessories and a supplier of embarrassing stories about me to potential hubbies. She also didn’t appreciate Tyrese. Hmmmm…maybe my life is actually going to get better now that her desperate behind is safely in Niger. She’s about to start NYSC so if I’m reeeeeeaaaaallly lucky she will be sent to some village in the boondocks where ass-kicking goats roam freely. Only the local palm wine seller Romeo will speak English. So she will be forced to endure hours of “Baby I dig you well well! Make we sit under the palm tree and talk about our union of love” just so she doesn’t go crazy with boredom. She will be forced ride her tricycle (yes I meant the little three wheeled bike. On her Youth corp. salary she can’t afford an adult sized bike) to the nearest town to send me telegrams begging me to send her essentials like Mac foundation, floss and tic tacs. Ah if only dreams came true.
Whilst she is busy fending of the palmy seller I will be holding auditions for a new and improved younger sister. One with the following attributes:
1) Extremely flat ass. I just think its plain rude to have a bigger ass than your older sister.
2) No fashion sense, as I am tired of having all my nice stuff stolen.
3) Has no qualms about coming over to my flat at unsociable hours to cook, clean and baby-sit.
I personally don’t think that’s a lot to ask for but you these small girls of now days all have attitude problems. All applicants please send a list of your best dishes and a picture of your rear end.
But to be honest...I'm going to miss my little sis like crazy and I hope Niger is all she hopes it will be and more.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
It may be a blinddate but I ain't blind
Wow! That’s what you are all thinking. 3 additions to the blog in one week. Go Mena! Go Mena! I know…I’m way to good to you guys. Please feel free to show your appreciation in monetary terms. I can hear you stingy ones out there grumbling (Ijebu Chick, I know you are not called that because of the geography of your birth. Please extract at least £20 from the money you hide in your knicker drawer) about my constant demands for funds. You can’t blame me for wanting to continue to live my lavish lifestyle. Rocking fake Gucci, Fendi and Prada ain’t cheap you know. Anyway don’t get used to this constant blogging. I have J O B and don’t have time for all this bonding. The only reason this week has been so bloggy is because the curse is upon me. So everything annoys me and hence I have more to moan about.
I work in an office with 5 other women and believe me for one week in every month we all get verrrrrrry touchy. All the men huddle in a little corner of the office in fear for their lives. Yesterday was a particularly bad day for the men in the office because one of the girls went on a crappy blind date. He was awful, she told him in a nice way he was awful. Yes fella’s! When a girl tells you “I like you but I just want to be friends”. She really means “God forbid I should let anyone I know see me with you in public, let alone think we are dating”. You would think he would take rejection like a REAL MAN and move on but we all now that there is no such thing as a real man. They are a myth created a long time ago by Loser Dudes to ensure that we poor girls keep dating them in the hope that we might eventually run into one. Anyway not being a REAL MAN he proceeded to demand £39 from her as payment for the food and entertainment during the date. All in all it wasn’t a good day to be a man.
Have any of you ever been on a blind date??? Don’t be shy…just stick does hands up and be counted. Chances are we’ve all been there and done that. In this day and age there is no shame in it. The shame comes from having to narrate the horror of what happened to you to your friends afterward because apart from the one instance of IT Dude and Ijebu Chick don’t know of any successful blind dates. Actually did I ever tell you their story??? Well it was like this….
Once upon a time there was a girl called Ijebu Chick who lived in a ghetto castle in London with SE chick. After many a moon of being chased and dating raso princes who drove Toyotas and considered singing Ololufemi songs as the height of romance. Ijebu Chick grew bored. Sometimes she wondered, “Could there be more to life and love? Surely there must be something better than being fed pounded yam by your man? Or going for strolls round Peckham market” One day whilst sitting in her ghetto castle watching Sura the Tailor or was it Samanja? It escapes me…a friend called her up and asked her over for dinner. “I would like you to meet a friend of my husbands” she said. Ijebu chick pondered and then thought what the hell! She turned up and was immediately wowed by the non rasoness. He could say a whole sentence in English without breaking into Yoruba. Several scoops of Hagendaz later (and you all think I’m a cheap date. Might I point out that a meal at Nando’s is nothing less than £5.99, whilst Hagendaz is like 3 quid. I rest my case) the girl was a goner. So they fell in love, got married and had a little Ibadan/Ijebu princess and lived happily ever after. Awwwwwwwww…. That’s the way we all hope blind dates will end but in reality it’s a whole different story.
I am going to be unselfish and use myself as an example for the what and what not to expect from a blind date. Woe betide anyone who feels the need to use these to insult or ridicule me in future.
Do consider the person setting you up on the blind date before saying yes.
Someone at work once set me up on a blind date. She said her boyfriend had a really hot friend that I just had to meet. Being single, bored and desperate I thought what the hell. What I actually should have been thinking was… Wasn’t this the girl that told me last week that she thought Shabba Ranks was hot??? And whose boyfriends sole ambition in life was to see how much jewellery he could fit round neck before he collapsed under the sheer weight of them. So what on earth could this guy possibly look like if that was the scale she was working from? I never actually found out as during the date I was constantly being blinded by the glare from the light hitting the 24-carat grill in his mouth.
Do expect to pay for your meal and his
Guys I’m not difficult. I know I sound evil most of the time but that’s just a façade I put on. Me…I’m all sweetness and light until some guy offers to take me out to dinner and then expects me to pay. I’m all down for equal opportunity dating but If you CALL ME, ASK ME out to dinner and YOU PICK THE RESTAURANT…please don’t expect my visa card to make an appearance at any point during the night. Once went on a blind date with a guy who instructed me not to eat anything as he was taking me out for a slap up meal. You know what I’m like when it comes to food, especially free food. I was all excited. He came to pick me up and said he needed to stop to get some cash. Lo and behold his card was refused at every major cash point in London. At this stage I was sooo hungry and fed up I was quite happy to gnaw my own feet off just so I wouldn’t pass out. We ended up at Pizza Hut where I had to pay for dinner and then the stupid pot bellied dwarf had the nerve tell me not to put mushrooms on the pizza because he didn’t like them. Naturally I ordered extra mushrooms and took great joy in watching him pick them off. To say the least I didn’t bother taking his calls after that.
Don’t expect a happy ending
I’ve been on dates where you actually have a nice time. You actually think this might be going somewhere and then the glow of the date wears off. Ladies! We aren’t the only ones who make an effort for the first date. Guys have been known to have a bath, comb their hair and even floss to make a good impression. They will appear charming, witty and on the ball during dinner. Hold open your door as you enter their borrowed from a mate to impress car. Buy you popcorn to share in the cinema. Give you a peck on the chick when they drop you off at home. You call your girlfriends and talk till 3am planning your wedding because as far as you are concerned this is it. The next date or 2 though are totally different. At this stage they’ve probably heard from the person who set you guys up that you like them. They figure if they’ve got you to date number three you are a goner; So no need to pretend. Your next date goes like this:
1) Instead of picking you up in his mates Beemer he tells you to meet him at the movies instead.
2) He tells you he has given up his job in the city to find his true calling. So no dinner this time as his giro cheque hasn’t cleared.
3) He tells you buy yourself a tub of popcorn, as the one he just bought won’t be enough for both of you. He also throws in the fact that you managed to eat more popcorn than him the last time you shared.
4) You almost crack your skull open when the door you thought he was going to hold open for you whacks you in the face.
5) He does see you to your front door though more because you can’t walk straight after the door incident and he figures after 3 dates he deserves the prize of seeing you without any clothes on.
I could go on and on but to be honest it would just make life harder for the guys at work as all this constant reminiscing is bound to put me in a man-hating mood. So people live and learn. Enjoy your blind date. If it turns out crappy, just move on and laugh about it and if it turns out to be a fairy tale in the making…don’t tell me about it. I’ll only become more bitter and twisted.
I work in an office with 5 other women and believe me for one week in every month we all get verrrrrrry touchy. All the men huddle in a little corner of the office in fear for their lives. Yesterday was a particularly bad day for the men in the office because one of the girls went on a crappy blind date. He was awful, she told him in a nice way he was awful. Yes fella’s! When a girl tells you “I like you but I just want to be friends”. She really means “God forbid I should let anyone I know see me with you in public, let alone think we are dating”. You would think he would take rejection like a REAL MAN and move on but we all now that there is no such thing as a real man. They are a myth created a long time ago by Loser Dudes to ensure that we poor girls keep dating them in the hope that we might eventually run into one. Anyway not being a REAL MAN he proceeded to demand £39 from her as payment for the food and entertainment during the date. All in all it wasn’t a good day to be a man.
Have any of you ever been on a blind date??? Don’t be shy…just stick does hands up and be counted. Chances are we’ve all been there and done that. In this day and age there is no shame in it. The shame comes from having to narrate the horror of what happened to you to your friends afterward because apart from the one instance of IT Dude and Ijebu Chick don’t know of any successful blind dates. Actually did I ever tell you their story??? Well it was like this….
Once upon a time there was a girl called Ijebu Chick who lived in a ghetto castle in London with SE chick. After many a moon of being chased and dating raso princes who drove Toyotas and considered singing Ololufemi songs as the height of romance. Ijebu Chick grew bored. Sometimes she wondered, “Could there be more to life and love? Surely there must be something better than being fed pounded yam by your man? Or going for strolls round Peckham market” One day whilst sitting in her ghetto castle watching Sura the Tailor or was it Samanja? It escapes me…a friend called her up and asked her over for dinner. “I would like you to meet a friend of my husbands” she said. Ijebu chick pondered and then thought what the hell! She turned up and was immediately wowed by the non rasoness. He could say a whole sentence in English without breaking into Yoruba. Several scoops of Hagendaz later (and you all think I’m a cheap date. Might I point out that a meal at Nando’s is nothing less than £5.99, whilst Hagendaz is like 3 quid. I rest my case) the girl was a goner. So they fell in love, got married and had a little Ibadan/Ijebu princess and lived happily ever after. Awwwwwwwww…. That’s the way we all hope blind dates will end but in reality it’s a whole different story.
I am going to be unselfish and use myself as an example for the what and what not to expect from a blind date. Woe betide anyone who feels the need to use these to insult or ridicule me in future.
Do consider the person setting you up on the blind date before saying yes.
Someone at work once set me up on a blind date. She said her boyfriend had a really hot friend that I just had to meet. Being single, bored and desperate I thought what the hell. What I actually should have been thinking was… Wasn’t this the girl that told me last week that she thought Shabba Ranks was hot??? And whose boyfriends sole ambition in life was to see how much jewellery he could fit round neck before he collapsed under the sheer weight of them. So what on earth could this guy possibly look like if that was the scale she was working from? I never actually found out as during the date I was constantly being blinded by the glare from the light hitting the 24-carat grill in his mouth.
Do expect to pay for your meal and his
Guys I’m not difficult. I know I sound evil most of the time but that’s just a façade I put on. Me…I’m all sweetness and light until some guy offers to take me out to dinner and then expects me to pay. I’m all down for equal opportunity dating but If you CALL ME, ASK ME out to dinner and YOU PICK THE RESTAURANT…please don’t expect my visa card to make an appearance at any point during the night. Once went on a blind date with a guy who instructed me not to eat anything as he was taking me out for a slap up meal. You know what I’m like when it comes to food, especially free food. I was all excited. He came to pick me up and said he needed to stop to get some cash. Lo and behold his card was refused at every major cash point in London. At this stage I was sooo hungry and fed up I was quite happy to gnaw my own feet off just so I wouldn’t pass out. We ended up at Pizza Hut where I had to pay for dinner and then the stupid pot bellied dwarf had the nerve tell me not to put mushrooms on the pizza because he didn’t like them. Naturally I ordered extra mushrooms and took great joy in watching him pick them off. To say the least I didn’t bother taking his calls after that.
Don’t expect a happy ending
I’ve been on dates where you actually have a nice time. You actually think this might be going somewhere and then the glow of the date wears off. Ladies! We aren’t the only ones who make an effort for the first date. Guys have been known to have a bath, comb their hair and even floss to make a good impression. They will appear charming, witty and on the ball during dinner. Hold open your door as you enter their borrowed from a mate to impress car. Buy you popcorn to share in the cinema. Give you a peck on the chick when they drop you off at home. You call your girlfriends and talk till 3am planning your wedding because as far as you are concerned this is it. The next date or 2 though are totally different. At this stage they’ve probably heard from the person who set you guys up that you like them. They figure if they’ve got you to date number three you are a goner; So no need to pretend. Your next date goes like this:
1) Instead of picking you up in his mates Beemer he tells you to meet him at the movies instead.
2) He tells you he has given up his job in the city to find his true calling. So no dinner this time as his giro cheque hasn’t cleared.
3) He tells you buy yourself a tub of popcorn, as the one he just bought won’t be enough for both of you. He also throws in the fact that you managed to eat more popcorn than him the last time you shared.
4) You almost crack your skull open when the door you thought he was going to hold open for you whacks you in the face.
5) He does see you to your front door though more because you can’t walk straight after the door incident and he figures after 3 dates he deserves the prize of seeing you without any clothes on.
I could go on and on but to be honest it would just make life harder for the guys at work as all this constant reminiscing is bound to put me in a man-hating mood. So people live and learn. Enjoy your blind date. If it turns out crappy, just move on and laugh about it and if it turns out to be a fairy tale in the making…don’t tell me about it. I’ll only become more bitter and twisted.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Sign here
Just thought of another reason why I hate Mondays.
I slave all day at work and today is the one day I have nothing to look forward to when I get home. There is absolutely nothing to watch on telly. As I occasionally remember to pay my monthly TV license fee I think I am allowed to complain about the utter rubbish I am being forced to watch on a regular basis. Yes! I could read a book but my imagination has now been totally corrupted by my constant need for Tyrese. I see him everywhere. You try reading Little Women with Tyrese as ALL the characters. Doesn’t have the same effect. It actually gets creepy after awhile. A full skirt and bowed hat are so not a look he should be experimenting with.
Anyway I don’t want to read a book. I want to be a couch potato. Scoffing down my dinner whilst being thrilled by the joy of modern day programming. I tell you, if I didn’t have Dr.Who saving the world every Saturday night I might actually be forced to leave my house and do something sociable like visit someone. Yuck! Doesn’t even bear thinking about. I shall start a petition to bring back decent programmes. Classics such as Hawaii 5 O, Kojak and my all time favourite SPACE 1999(I secretly used to pretend I was Mia. Turn into monster and eat my younger brother when he was p…… me off). I can hardly wait. I expect all of you to agree with me and sign my petition. You cannot enjoy my ranting and then expect me to go home and suffer the torment of Big Brother, X factor and assorted crappy channel 5 documentaries.
Cable is just as bad…especially now that they have refused to reconnect me to the Naughty Housewife channel. Really! I think I was totally justified in not paying for Tyrese does Texas. I fell asleep 5 minutes into the film (was exhausted from watching Tyrese does Las Vegas and Tyrese sings the blues naked). So technically didn’t watch it and so don’t see why I have to pay for it. I’m starting to weaken though. I need my Tyrese fix and seeing as he hasn’t got his lazy ass up to record another album; MTV doesn’t show any videos of him. So I can’t get any freebie looks at him. That’s it I’ve made up mind. I will be starting another petition to get my man Tyrese back into the studio or at least making another unwatchable “Too fast to Furious” movie. THERE WILL BE NO DEBATES ON THIS ISSUE! YOU WILL ALL SIGN.
You will also be campaigning for a channel dedicated only to Law and Order and CSI 24 hours a day, 7days a week. I love those programmes. Anything that shows you how to dispose of people and not get caught gets my vote. I have a lot of people on my “You’re lucky I don’t want to go to prison” list. Number 1 being that annoying woman on the bus. She’s there every single day on my way home from work. She spreads all her stuff over the adjoining seat and then makes you wait 5 minutes before she moves her stuff, grumbling all the time she’s doing it . Once you’ve finally managed to get your self settled on the few inches she’s generously given you (seeing as she obviously owns the entire transport network) she then proceeds to whip out her phone and have the loudest conversation in the world. I’m just waiting for them to show an episode where a woman is beaten to death with her mobile phone and then chucked through the window of the top deck of a moving bus. That is day I wait for in joyful anticipation.
But really, coming from a country whereby interrogation involves being beaten half to death with a baton and where most confessions start with the words “ I confess officer now please stop stepping on my privates, get your Alsatian to stop gnawing on my toes and please release my 96 year old mother and her entire village from the holding cell”… I am constantly fascinated by all the technology that goes into finding out who did what to whom. Don’t get me wrong…I’m not dissing my beloved country but people lets be real. Raise up your hands anyone who has ever bothered reporting a crime to the police in Nigeria. What would be the point? Not sure they even bother teaching forensics at Police College these days. Do we still have Police College?? Hmmmm…I’m depressed now. My dreams of one day becoming Niger’s top criminologist have now turned to dust. Sob!
I have nothing to look forward to tonight and I might be forced to call unsuitable men due to sheer boredom. Speaking of which Hmmm Dude resurfaced again last week after I banished him from Mena world for being an annoying twerp. You would think he would be grovelling and sobbing for forgiveness but being a man he just calls and wants to start gisting like I spoke to him yesterday instead of 6 months ago. Not falling for that trick. He either gets his grovelling groove on or he can go back to having pointless conversations with girls that don’t have my intellectual appeal.
Anyway I actually haven’t done any work today. Payday is fast approaching and I refuse to suffer the indignity of buying Asda’s own brand toilet paper next week because I had my pay docked for entertaining you guys. So goodbye and good riddance.
I slave all day at work and today is the one day I have nothing to look forward to when I get home. There is absolutely nothing to watch on telly. As I occasionally remember to pay my monthly TV license fee I think I am allowed to complain about the utter rubbish I am being forced to watch on a regular basis. Yes! I could read a book but my imagination has now been totally corrupted by my constant need for Tyrese. I see him everywhere. You try reading Little Women with Tyrese as ALL the characters. Doesn’t have the same effect. It actually gets creepy after awhile. A full skirt and bowed hat are so not a look he should be experimenting with.
Anyway I don’t want to read a book. I want to be a couch potato. Scoffing down my dinner whilst being thrilled by the joy of modern day programming. I tell you, if I didn’t have Dr.Who saving the world every Saturday night I might actually be forced to leave my house and do something sociable like visit someone. Yuck! Doesn’t even bear thinking about. I shall start a petition to bring back decent programmes. Classics such as Hawaii 5 O, Kojak and my all time favourite SPACE 1999(I secretly used to pretend I was Mia. Turn into monster and eat my younger brother when he was p…… me off). I can hardly wait. I expect all of you to agree with me and sign my petition. You cannot enjoy my ranting and then expect me to go home and suffer the torment of Big Brother, X factor and assorted crappy channel 5 documentaries.
Cable is just as bad…especially now that they have refused to reconnect me to the Naughty Housewife channel. Really! I think I was totally justified in not paying for Tyrese does Texas. I fell asleep 5 minutes into the film (was exhausted from watching Tyrese does Las Vegas and Tyrese sings the blues naked). So technically didn’t watch it and so don’t see why I have to pay for it. I’m starting to weaken though. I need my Tyrese fix and seeing as he hasn’t got his lazy ass up to record another album; MTV doesn’t show any videos of him. So I can’t get any freebie looks at him. That’s it I’ve made up mind. I will be starting another petition to get my man Tyrese back into the studio or at least making another unwatchable “Too fast to Furious” movie. THERE WILL BE NO DEBATES ON THIS ISSUE! YOU WILL ALL SIGN.
You will also be campaigning for a channel dedicated only to Law and Order and CSI 24 hours a day, 7days a week. I love those programmes. Anything that shows you how to dispose of people and not get caught gets my vote. I have a lot of people on my “You’re lucky I don’t want to go to prison” list. Number 1 being that annoying woman on the bus. She’s there every single day on my way home from work. She spreads all her stuff over the adjoining seat and then makes you wait 5 minutes before she moves her stuff, grumbling all the time she’s doing it . Once you’ve finally managed to get your self settled on the few inches she’s generously given you (seeing as she obviously owns the entire transport network) she then proceeds to whip out her phone and have the loudest conversation in the world. I’m just waiting for them to show an episode where a woman is beaten to death with her mobile phone and then chucked through the window of the top deck of a moving bus. That is day I wait for in joyful anticipation.
But really, coming from a country whereby interrogation involves being beaten half to death with a baton and where most confessions start with the words “ I confess officer now please stop stepping on my privates, get your Alsatian to stop gnawing on my toes and please release my 96 year old mother and her entire village from the holding cell”… I am constantly fascinated by all the technology that goes into finding out who did what to whom. Don’t get me wrong…I’m not dissing my beloved country but people lets be real. Raise up your hands anyone who has ever bothered reporting a crime to the police in Nigeria. What would be the point? Not sure they even bother teaching forensics at Police College these days. Do we still have Police College?? Hmmmm…I’m depressed now. My dreams of one day becoming Niger’s top criminologist have now turned to dust. Sob!
I have nothing to look forward to tonight and I might be forced to call unsuitable men due to sheer boredom. Speaking of which Hmmm Dude resurfaced again last week after I banished him from Mena world for being an annoying twerp. You would think he would be grovelling and sobbing for forgiveness but being a man he just calls and wants to start gisting like I spoke to him yesterday instead of 6 months ago. Not falling for that trick. He either gets his grovelling groove on or he can go back to having pointless conversations with girls that don’t have my intellectual appeal.
Anyway I actually haven’t done any work today. Payday is fast approaching and I refuse to suffer the indignity of buying Asda’s own brand toilet paper next week because I had my pay docked for entertaining you guys. So goodbye and good riddance.
Once upon a time.....
Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!! Please not another Monday. I so don’t think I can handle another one, especially not after the weekend I just had. Contrary to what you might all be thinking I’m not about to launch into some tale of woe. I’ll do that later. First I just want to tell you all that Bunny go go licious has finally got her man. Yep! That’s right the 5 year romantic saga of the girl with the bunny pants and the guy with the pristine finger nails has finally reached the end of another chapter. On the 19th of August 2006 She finally said “I do” to Just So Dude and now they are going to ride off in the sunset and make little bunnies and dudes. Sniff! I love a happy ending.
It was a lovely day. She looked lovely, he looked lovely and naturally I looked amazing. It just felt really nice to be part of something so special. I think sometimes going to weddings when you hardly know the people involved; you forget what the whole things about. You’re more interested in what the bride is wearing and who is sooooo not looking right in their “its way too tight but you were £2.50 on sale at Karen Millen dress.” By the way …excuse me whilst I digress for a moment… I might be mistaken but aren’t we in the year 2006?? That’s what I thought so why do some brides still insist on wearing…God I can’t even bring myself to say it…gloves??
I read Ijebu Chicks vast Ovation collection (I know! She is just so rass. I only read them so I can actually have a conversation with her. I am so thoughtful) and I don’t get why all these women are wearing gloves. Are they cold? Did they forget to get a manicure before their big day? It just doesn’t work ladies. It ruins your look and how the hell are you supposed to keep a firm grip on your groom if you are wearing slippery satin gloves? You need flesh-to-flesh contact. That way when it gets to the vow stage and you detect any sweat on his palms. You know to hold on tight and give the male members of your family the signal to barricade the doors against any escape attempts. So please no gloves. Especially not those lacy fingerless ones…you ain’t Madonna and even she doesn’t wear them anymore. Hurry up and propose chick let this be a warning to you. I don’t care if Market boy has a lacy hand apparel fetish. You will not be allowed to disgrace the family by wearing such on the big day. Keep your kinky get up for the boudoir.
I am glad to say that Bunny go go licious did the sensible thing and stayed away from gloves. Good thing too as I wouldn’t have wanted to ruin her big day by wrestling her to ground at the alter and pulling them off. Might also have had to give her a few quick slaps just to make sure she realised the severity of her crime against fashion. Nah! I lie. The slapping would really just be for my benefit. Nothing like a good slapping to relieve tension.
Anyway as I was saying before I got sidetracked …when you see 2 people you’ve known for so long,who you actually care about, stand up there and say they are ready and willing to deal with the future together…it puts a whole new spin on a wedding. I loved it and I know they are just going to be soooo happy together. Especially Bunny as she now has me as a sister in law. I will be there to dish out awesome advice on all aspects of marriage. My specialties being how to show the PROPER RESPECT to your sister in-law. How to prepare gourmet meals for your sister in-law and the most important one, How to ensure your sister in-law is happy at all times. She will need to start lessons soon as is she already slacking in her duties. I have not even had a good morning Aunty sister in-law phone call today not to mention a hand delivered breakfast of an Akara sandwich (Akara between 2 slices of white bread buttered with onions and tomatoes delicately sliced. Yum! Yum!) and a mug of Olvatine with 2 sugars. I will be holding a family meeting if this problem has not been rectified by tomorrow morning.
All this university girls sef. They think they are too good to wake up early in the morning to feed their family members. I blame the boy. I told them all they needed was a girl that could say “yes”, “Thank you” and “I’m in the mood”. But would they listen? Of course not. They wanted girls that could discuss the political climate in Timbuktu. Just selfish if you ask me. Its not like their wives belong to just them. They belong to the WHOLE family. But seeing as they have now been spoilt by being allowed to discuss things other than what they are making for dinner and what colour underwear they have on, I just don’t get any respect. Yep! Will definitely be holding a family meeting.
I’m sure the women libbers are out in force to scold me for having such negative views on my sister in-laws. As Ijebu chick likes to say “ Sebi you too will marry” Err… yeah! I will to a billionaire only child whose parents are also only children and live permanently in a secluded island in the Bahamas. So will not have to deal with Akara sandwich runs before I head off to work in the morning. Hahahaha! I’m so clever.
Look its not like they both didn’t meet me before the decided to say yes. They had their chance to escape but they chose to stay, as I am obviously irresistable. So let this be a lesson to you single ladies out there. The most important thing in your future hubby is not his looks, conversation, size of his bank balance or other physical appendages. It is the saneness of his family.
You’re probably thinking if I managed to fool Bunny, Ijebu chick and Market boy (yep he’s still around and unaware of the terrors that await him) with my level of insanity. Then what hope is there for you poor girls? Well the long and short of it is there isn’t any. Crappy, annoying and mentally deranged in-laws are part and parcel of the whole marriage drama. There’s nothing you can do to change them so the best thing to do is just go with the flow and remind yourself constantly who and what you’re accepting them for.
Tomorrow when I wake Bunny up at 5.30am to make sure she gets my Akara sandwich to me piping hot. She will look into the face of her happily snoring hubby, refrain from cursing me in Yoruba and get up to wash the beans. Ahhh! Another happy ending.
It was a lovely day. She looked lovely, he looked lovely and naturally I looked amazing. It just felt really nice to be part of something so special. I think sometimes going to weddings when you hardly know the people involved; you forget what the whole things about. You’re more interested in what the bride is wearing and who is sooooo not looking right in their “its way too tight but you were £2.50 on sale at Karen Millen dress.” By the way …excuse me whilst I digress for a moment… I might be mistaken but aren’t we in the year 2006?? That’s what I thought so why do some brides still insist on wearing…God I can’t even bring myself to say it…gloves??
I read Ijebu Chicks vast Ovation collection (I know! She is just so rass. I only read them so I can actually have a conversation with her. I am so thoughtful) and I don’t get why all these women are wearing gloves. Are they cold? Did they forget to get a manicure before their big day? It just doesn’t work ladies. It ruins your look and how the hell are you supposed to keep a firm grip on your groom if you are wearing slippery satin gloves? You need flesh-to-flesh contact. That way when it gets to the vow stage and you detect any sweat on his palms. You know to hold on tight and give the male members of your family the signal to barricade the doors against any escape attempts. So please no gloves. Especially not those lacy fingerless ones…you ain’t Madonna and even she doesn’t wear them anymore. Hurry up and propose chick let this be a warning to you. I don’t care if Market boy has a lacy hand apparel fetish. You will not be allowed to disgrace the family by wearing such on the big day. Keep your kinky get up for the boudoir.
I am glad to say that Bunny go go licious did the sensible thing and stayed away from gloves. Good thing too as I wouldn’t have wanted to ruin her big day by wrestling her to ground at the alter and pulling them off. Might also have had to give her a few quick slaps just to make sure she realised the severity of her crime against fashion. Nah! I lie. The slapping would really just be for my benefit. Nothing like a good slapping to relieve tension.
Anyway as I was saying before I got sidetracked …when you see 2 people you’ve known for so long,who you actually care about, stand up there and say they are ready and willing to deal with the future together…it puts a whole new spin on a wedding. I loved it and I know they are just going to be soooo happy together. Especially Bunny as she now has me as a sister in law. I will be there to dish out awesome advice on all aspects of marriage. My specialties being how to show the PROPER RESPECT to your sister in-law. How to prepare gourmet meals for your sister in-law and the most important one, How to ensure your sister in-law is happy at all times. She will need to start lessons soon as is she already slacking in her duties. I have not even had a good morning Aunty sister in-law phone call today not to mention a hand delivered breakfast of an Akara sandwich (Akara between 2 slices of white bread buttered with onions and tomatoes delicately sliced. Yum! Yum!) and a mug of Olvatine with 2 sugars. I will be holding a family meeting if this problem has not been rectified by tomorrow morning.
All this university girls sef. They think they are too good to wake up early in the morning to feed their family members. I blame the boy. I told them all they needed was a girl that could say “yes”, “Thank you” and “I’m in the mood”. But would they listen? Of course not. They wanted girls that could discuss the political climate in Timbuktu. Just selfish if you ask me. Its not like their wives belong to just them. They belong to the WHOLE family. But seeing as they have now been spoilt by being allowed to discuss things other than what they are making for dinner and what colour underwear they have on, I just don’t get any respect. Yep! Will definitely be holding a family meeting.
I’m sure the women libbers are out in force to scold me for having such negative views on my sister in-laws. As Ijebu chick likes to say “ Sebi you too will marry” Err… yeah! I will to a billionaire only child whose parents are also only children and live permanently in a secluded island in the Bahamas. So will not have to deal with Akara sandwich runs before I head off to work in the morning. Hahahaha! I’m so clever.
Look its not like they both didn’t meet me before the decided to say yes. They had their chance to escape but they chose to stay, as I am obviously irresistable. So let this be a lesson to you single ladies out there. The most important thing in your future hubby is not his looks, conversation, size of his bank balance or other physical appendages. It is the saneness of his family.
You’re probably thinking if I managed to fool Bunny, Ijebu chick and Market boy (yep he’s still around and unaware of the terrors that await him) with my level of insanity. Then what hope is there for you poor girls? Well the long and short of it is there isn’t any. Crappy, annoying and mentally deranged in-laws are part and parcel of the whole marriage drama. There’s nothing you can do to change them so the best thing to do is just go with the flow and remind yourself constantly who and what you’re accepting them for.
Tomorrow when I wake Bunny up at 5.30am to make sure she gets my Akara sandwich to me piping hot. She will look into the face of her happily snoring hubby, refrain from cursing me in Yoruba and get up to wash the beans. Ahhh! Another happy ending.
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