Forgive & Forget? I don't know about that.

I realised from a very early age that men cheat. I was 5 and Daniel with the dimples sat next to me in nursery. He would always scribble on my drawing paper during art and then give me half of his Samco chocolate milk at break time to make up for it (Yep! I’ve always liked bad boys). He was my first love. Who knows, we could have been married by now with little dimpled children running around if I hadn’t seen him giving his chocolate milk to that play ground hussy Tanwa. For goodness sake the girl didn’t even wear matching hair bands. I always had matching hair bands and socks too(Thanks Mum). Anyway, needless to say our chocolate milk affair came grinding to a halt. Any attempts by him to scribble on my drawing paper after that was met by banshee like screaming until Miss had to move his seat over to the other side of the room. He would throw little heart broken glances my way but I refused to acknowledge them as he had committed the greatest crime known to the fairer sex. He had shown interest in a girl other than me and I was not the forgiving type.

As I grew up there were other Daniels and sometimes there might even have been other Tanwa’s but I always reacted the same way when things weren’t going my way... I left. I would slam the door on that relationship humming under my breathe “You abandoned me; Love don’t live here anymore”. I would pack all my emotional baggage from each crappy relationship and move on to the next. The only problem with dragging all my issues with me was that I was always waiting for the poor guy to fail. Bags packed, I was just counting the days until he slipped up so I could go storming out of the relationship guns blazing, moaning to world that love had failed me again. I was so determined not to get taken for mug paranoia would kick in. Every call he got was from a girl. Every 5 minutes he was late was because he’d been in some woman’s arms. I would look for cracks where there were no cracks and if I couldn’t find any I would chip way with my insecurity chisel until I made a great big hole. Pretty soon the guy would get tired of my 3 am surprise visits just to tell him I miss him when all I really wanted to do was make sure he was alone. I would be yanking strands of hair off any woman he introduced as his cousin, sister or mother so I could get it DNA tested. NO MAN WAS GOING TO MAKE FOOL OUT OF MENA!!! Yes I was obviously in the first stages of madness but then I just thought I was hard.

Now that I’m one of the great unwashed I have a lot of time to ponder these deep emotional issues and I’m wondering if daddy dearest was right? He once told me all men cheat. He said what you need to ask myself is “Do you throw away a relationship you’ve worked on over wounded pride and broken trust or do you stick with it”? He told me that if he’s actually sorry for what he’s done then you need to weigh all the good against that one bad thing and figure out if all the good is worth giving up. He told me that I needed to learn to forgive or that I was going to be a very lonely woman. I can see where my dad is coming from and I’ve even tried applying his principles but you know the saying “You can forgive but you can’t forget”? Well who ever came up with that saying was absolutely right and therein lies my problem. At what stage in a relationship do I stop forgiving, kick his ass to the kerb and try to forget about him instead?
There used to be a man in my life who, lets just say he did a lot of stuff that I could neither forgive nor forget. So we went our separate ways. Fast forward to a couple of years later and he says he’s a whole new human being. I’ve forgiven him because hey I’m all holy and 10 commandments abiding now. He says he’s changed and sometimes it looks like he has. Sometimes he’s so good I shell out a mini fortune on wedding magazines and start thinking of baby names. Sometime he pisses me of so much I take a walk round my backyard to figure out where I can bury his body when I’m done chopping him up into little pieces. However regardless of if he’s being good or bad, the major problem is that I can’t forget the past. So in the midst of all the do I or don’t I take him back lies the disturbing fact that no matter how much you can forgive another human being the shadow of the hurt they caused you will always cloud your relationship.

So really what’s the point of even bothering if:-
I’m always going to think he’s lying before I think he’s telling the truth.
I’m always going to think he’s cheating when he comes in late or doesn’t pick up his phone.
I’m always going to wonder if he means it when he says he loves me.

I don’t get how other people do it? How on earth do they carry on when someone betrays their trust in a relationship? Is there some compartment in their brains where the store all the bad stuff to make way for the good? Because I sure can’t find mine. “So walk away” you say. “No point sending yourself to the loony bin worrying about stuff he might do because he’s done it before. If you can’t handle the heat Mena, We suggest you get out of the kitchen”. That’s easy for you lot to say but the problem is that how often is Mena going to walk away? So what do? Paint over all the bad memories and try to give this new and improved relationship a fair go or just accept the fact that my decision all those years ago was the right one and keep on dragging my now massive case of insecurities down life’s lonely highway?

I'm not that bored and lonley

It seems some of you are concerned by my sudden lack of a J.O.B. Not concerned enough I notice to send me money. Cheapskates!! You could at least all chip in for a care basket filled with goodies like Mineral make up and Clarins Beauty Flash Balm (I’ve been reduced to chopping the bottom of my tube of beauty flash balm just to maintain my healthy glow...Sob). Don’t know why I’m even surprised by my reader’s lack of initiative. You’re all just trying to punish me by letting my dewy soft skin get greasy and spotty so I’ll be forced to stay indoors and blog.

I’ll blog, but believe me it won’t be because of your diabolical plan but because I might perform Hari-kari on myself if I have to spend another afternoon watching Nigeze (No offence but there are only so many rappers and their crews dancing at Agege bus stop that a girl can watch. Give your grandma back her gold chains and go get a job) and rejecting friend requests from nonentity’s on face book to keep myself entertained.

"Come on Mena what makes you so special as to refer to these people as nonentity’s when they are just trying to reach out to you"? Yawn! I beg...You all talk too much. Less chit chat and more care package assembling please. Despite your goody goody “I want to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony” attitude. Life is no coke advert and we all know that there are people we wouldn’t be caught dead knowing in public.

So excuse me if I’m honest and refuse to accept Prince “Fine Boy” Okafor’s friend request. Firstly because I don’t know who the hell he is and secondly even if I did there is no way in hell I will be bringing down my street cred by admitting to knowing anyone who needs to reassure himself of his looks by calling himself "Fine Boy". Look, this is a girl who once denied her own boyfriend in public for turning up in less than flattering clothing. Harsh? Maybe but we didn’t come into the world together and love is for a season when you’re 18. Street cred on the other hand is forever. This is a boy I was happy to swap unidentified bacteria with so if could deny him I would suggest no one else should feel special.

Let’s face it; Face book has nothing to do with friendship. It’s just an online popularity contest with everyone clamouring to get as many on their friends list as possible. Are those 2000 people on your list really your friends? If they are then you need to consider running for president mate. Yep! Face book is just another way for the popular kids to show off.

I’ve got more friends than you. So what? I choose to maintain my aura of mystery by only allowing a select few into my inner sanctum. That’s why I’m sticking with the 2 friends on my list (Thanks again for accepting my friend request mum and dad).

I’ve just been on holiday to the Bahamas here are my pics. Whatever! I’m a true patriot and that’s why my holiday pics show me pumping money back into the economy by chilling at llorin’s local hotspots.

I have a husband and I love him but why bother telling him even though he’s sitting right next to me. I’ll just update my profile to say “I still love my boo”. Oh my God!!!! Who cares???!!!! I don’t care if you have a hubby and a Brazilian lover or if you’ve just left work, had dinner or discovered the cure to infidelity. Actually I take back the last comment. Feel free to keep me updated on that necessary discovery. My point is if you have nothing interesting to say then please stop updating your profile every hour on the hour. This doesn’t make you interesting. It makes you annoying because my inbox is clogged with all your comment updates. Pick up the phone and call a few of these so called friends instead. Jokers!

Once again you’ve all managed to make me look evil and moany. I’m lovely really and I know when some of you see my hot profile pic on face book you just can’t help yourselves. You feel inexplicably drawn to reach out and try to get to know me. All I can say is I totally understand but please don’t do it. No matter how strong the urge is just say no because I really don’t want to be your friend.

I really don’t want to hook up with the girl I went to school with 20 years ago who stole my candy scented eraser. I don’t want to be reminded of my dodgy taste in men when the guy I thought was hot in secondary school gets in touch and I discover the bow tie was not a fashion phase he was going through. I don’t want to be friends with people who have the same last or first name as me...What’s that all about for God’s sake? Are you lot forming some kind of weird name cult? Look bottom line is if I want to make new friends I’ll go out and meet them like normal people and as for hooking up with old ones...Hmmm!Lets think carefully about this people because surely there must have been a reason why I stopped speaking to you in the first place?

Work is so overrated

Gee! It’s been over a year since I’ve updated my blog and I’ve kind of missed you guys and our little chats. After all it’s not everyday I get to impart my words of wisdom to millions of people. Ok maybe millions is a slight exaggeration but hey it’s my blog and I can throw in as many unverified facts and figures as I please. Anyway I'm not really sure you all deserve to have me back after the total lack of sympathy I received after the trauma of being banned from TK Maxx stores nationwide. I needed some time to cope with not being able to buy cut price designer goods.

"So why have you come back to us Mena"? you ask. "We thought you were too good for blogging"? You thought right peasants. I am too good for this hence my lengthy absence to pursue exciting new activities like cleaning my flat more than once a month, not allowing little old ladies to stop me in the street before I accept the fact that flowing chiffon kaftans are not appropriate for the British winter and getting to work at my contracted hours of 8.45am.

Ah yes! It’s been fun. I only wish I hadn’t wasted so much time and effort on the latter. I should have continued with my usual routine of strolling in at whatever time I finally manage to drag my fine tooshy into work after stopping for a Starbucks and muffin of course (No this is not why I am fat. I am fat because I am genetically predestined to be fat...ignoramus). My efforts at being a normal employee after my last performance review was obviously not taken into account because the other day Joan, my manager, called me into her office and...

“Mena I’m afraid I have some bad news”

“Bad news? What’s wrong? Is the sandwich guy not coming in today”?
Ricardo the sandwich guy...6ft 160 pounds of Brazilian hot stuff who is made even more gorgeous by the fact that come 11.30am he’s striding through the door bearing a variety of luscious snacks to keep a girl going. It would be a disaster if he didn’t turn up.

“Erm no, it has nothing to do with Sandwiches. The company has been badly affected by the recession and they are trying to cut costs where ever possible”.

Geez not again. It’s bad enough that the staff bathroom is now only supplied with industrial grade toilet paper. It’s so horrible I’ve actually had to start buying my own toilet paper instead of stealing it from work like I usually do. What on earth are they going make us give up now?

“We thought long and hard before making this decision and as painful as it is we have decided to let some people go”.

Ah ha! Finally my anonymous suggestions to HR have been taken into account and they are about fire my arch nemesis...Telly Tubby from Accounts. The bane of my life is now about to get her comeuppance. No one charges Mena £5.96 for paper clips and gets away with it. No siree!

“Having discussed it with upper management and other members of staff we have decided to let you go”.

I totally agree with your decision as nice as Telly Tu..., Sorry Amanda is, her people skills leave a lot to be desired.

“Sorry, you’ve lost me. What has Amanda got do with this? Why would I call you in here to talk about Amanda”?

Isn’t she the one leaving? Ok something’s wrong here. Maybe I should actually have been listening whilst she was talking instead of trying to think of witty one liner's to send Telly Tubby on her way. My current favourite is “Adiós muchachos. Don’t let the door hit your tubby bottom on the way out”. Anyway focus Mena! What is the boss lady saying? So far I’ve got bad news, recession, let someone go and the someone isn’t Amanda. Ok if it isn’t Amanda then .......Gee is it suddenly kind of warm in here?

“Sorry who’s leaving again” I ask even though the fact that she’s slowly edging her office chair closer to the fire escape is more or less an indication that it’s me.

“I’m sorry Mena but it has nothing to do with you. It was all based on a last in first out basis. So please don’t take it personally”.


“Oh I see. There’s obviously been some awful mistake with HR then because I wasn’t the last one in. The new document production girl was the last person we hired. Phew! That’s a relief I actually thought I was going to have slap you silly for a moment there and I can tell you that wouldn’t have been any fun for me as I just got my nails done. Cool I’ll get her to come in so you can ruin her day”.

“Ah no Mena. There hasn’t been a mistake. I’m sorry but the truth is that we took a vote and the ballot was unanimous. Everyone finds you rude, aggressive and difficult to get along with. We really can’t afford to keep you here any longer because it’s only a matter time before one of the other member's of staff takes us to court for employing a bullying psychopath”.

Emi Psychopath?? Breathe Mena. Remember the 12 steps to conquering your inner demons. Breathe, smile and repeat after me “I am an intelligent, superior and sexy woman who is surrounded by stupid and ugly people and I must always be patient and kind to those who are less hot than I am.”

“Joan please stop trying to open the fire escape and come and have a sit. I’m not sure why you are so anxious around me? Let’s sit down and talk about this like adults”. Wèrè! Feel free to jump out the window sef; I’ll be right behind you so I can kick your ass in mid air.

“You just threatened to slap me silly and you’re wondering why I’m anxious around you”?

“Joan, Joan, Joan. You really shouldn’t take everything I say so seriously. Can’t a girl crack a few jokes in the office? I think that’s what the problem is here. You all just don’t get my unique sense of humour. I’m not rude or aggressive; I’m just playing with you guys. This is so not a sacking issue. How about we plan an office night out and I take you guys to a couple of comedy clubs to get your humour juices flowing”?

“Look Mena I’m sorry but we’ve made up our minds and our decision is final. I would really appreciate it if we could end this on a dignified note. Please pack up your desk and leave peacefully or I’ll have to call security”.

Needless to say after sepeing on the whole office in Yoruba and attempting to help Telly Tubby lose a few pounds by chasing her round the office with stapler in order to give her free tummy tuck, I was forcibly removed from the office by security.
So you see it’s not worth being a diligent employee in the long run. If I’d known it was going to come to this I would soooo have stolen a whole lot more from the stationery cupboard.

Anyway here I am sitting at home forced to blog for entertainment because there’s only so much day time TV a girl can watch. My main worry not being how I’m going to survive without a 9 to 5 but more how the hell am I going to buy shoes??? Boo Hoo! This situation has allowed me time to think and I’ve decided I need to be amongst like minded people who get me and where better to find them than back home.

Yes blog fans I’m coming home. Where the crazies run free and people actually pay attention to the statement “Do you know who my father is”? Believe me it doesn’t work here. I’ve tried on several occasions when trying to get a decent level of customer service at Tesco’s. So as soon as some lucky lucky person who doesn’t believe in references and a decent work ethic snaps me up, I’ll be winging my way over to the sunny shores of Niaja.
See you guys soon.

No! That didn't just happen.

Mena is not happy! You wanna know why? Where are you going? Will you come back here? What do you mean you have stuff to do? Sit down my friend. Now listen…

As you might have read in my last blog I am being unfairly persecuted at work. All theses things they have said about me; It’s all lieeeeesss. Lies I tell you. I was feeling dopey so I decided to cheer myself up by doing some shopping. There I was in TK Maxx minding my own business and wondering why I couldn’t fit my delicate little tootsies into a pair of size 7 boots. Winter is fast approaching (yes I know it only May) and I need a new pair of boots. These are perfect. They are black, flat and long…very on trend. More importantly they are reduced to £29.99. Barrrrrrrrggaain!!! My leg must enter by force. I finally manage to zip them over my calves and hobble to the mirror to admire myself. Ok they pinch a bit but I’m sure that will pass. I’ve also lost all circulation in my lower region and I’m experiencing a peculiar tingling sensation. But I ain’t dead yet which means I should be able to manage them.

Brain to Mena: Shoes are too tight. Please return to the shelf and stop deceiving yourself.

Mena to brain: I am your master so I suggest you shut up with the unhelpful comments and start sending messages to the receptor cells in my feet telling them that they feel no pain.

Brain to Mena: have tried sending specified message but feet receptor cells are not responding. I fear they may all be dead.

Fine! I’ll take off the shoes but let it be known brain that I am not happy with your inability to withstand pain for fashion. As I struggle to remove my now swollen feet from the accursed boots I spot a woman heading towards my general direction. I eye her suspiciously. Has she spotted my boots? No! She can’t have them. They hurt like hell but I refuse to let another woman walk away with my on trend designer bargain whilst I’m forced to wear thick orthopaedic shoes from Clarks after killing all the cells in my feet. I’d rather buy them and just put them in my closet until my feet miraculously shrink than let her have them.

She stands a few meters away pretending to look at stuff and then finally approaches me.

"Sorry I couldn’t help noticing that the shoes you’re trying on were a bit tight. Do you mind if I try them on"?

Lady, hell yes I mind. Don’t come slinking over here with your I’m so skinny and hot I might just burst into flames attitude. But naturally being sane I didn’t say all that. I just put on my dealing with crazy members of the public persona, smiled and said

"I’m sorry but I’ve decided to get them".

"Oh, are you sure??? You did look very uncomfortable".

Ah ah ! Na fight? Did my feet write you a letter of complaint or what part of bugger off, I’m getting the shoes did you not get?

"I’m quite sure but thanks for your concern".

I quickly gather up my too small boots and head to the till. Standing on the line, waiting to pay I’m starting to have 2nd thoughts. Was I really going to buy these instruments of torture just because I don’t want someone else to have them? Hell yeah! Who cares if I never wear them? I’ll save them for Baskelina... mine and Basky’s love child. I’m sure they will be back on trend by the time she’s old enough.

"Excuse me" says a voice behind me.

It better not be skinny jeans chick or I might just snap and whooop her ass.

I turn round and gasp in horror as I am confronted by a clown thrusting a card in my face. On closer inspection I realise it’s just a lady wearing waaaaaayyyy too much neon eye shadow and unattractive clothes in primary colours


I take the proffered card, read it and realise that right here in TK Maxx, the home of designer bargains, my enemies have sent one of their minions to find me. They know I have promised not to sepe in exchange for not having to spend another millennium as a single and maybe unemployed woman. So they are taking advantage of the situation. People, her card read

Helga Putski
Specialising in makeovers, style advise and colour mapping.

I eye her slowly wondering why this woman in florescent eye shadow felt the need to annoy me. What exactly had she seen that made her think I needed her services?? Is she blind or can’t she see I’m already a vision of loveliness in my Island Cosmetics (You can all laugh. The lipstick I’m wearing is 99 pence and apart from a slight stinging sensation and an inability to feel the right side of my face, it’s just as good as Mac. I will need all my dole money for food so time to start looking for alternatives to my luxury brand)? Not to mention the fact that I am buying this seasons “it” boots. Are those the actions of someone that needs style advise? OK! My hair might be a tad due but I’m hot enough to get away with it. Anyway if her eye shadow and panda eyelashes were anything to go by there was no way in hell I was letting her near me. The age of disco is dead woman. Keep your day glo colours to yourself.

I give her back her card, smile sweetly and say thanks but no thanks. She looks shocked.

"Are you sure? The consultation is free and I really think you could benefit from it".

OK! Enough is enough. I took the 1st insult on the cheek but now it’s going too far. I only promised not to sepe, I didn’t say anything about not throwing tight designer shoes at people.

“I’m really not interested thank you all the same“.

“OK that’s fine. Maybe you might be interested in my other services” she says offering me another card.

I sigh and take the card out of politeness and read the words

Helga Putski
Immigration Lawyer

"Who sent you"?

"I beg your pardon"

"You are begging my pardon? I SAY WHO SEND YOU COME?? Ta lo ron e wa" ?

"I’m sorry I don’t understand what you are saying" she says starting to shuffle away.

"Where are you going? Sebi you want to be helpful. Come here let me help you be helpful". I said heading towards her.

"No really it’s quite alright. I didn’t mean to offend you".

"You imply that I look like an unattractive illegal immigrant then you say you didn’t mean to offend me? Na lie! You cannot say that and get away with. Come here and let me show you something".

I reach into my handbag and...

“Securityyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!” Help me she’s got a gun!!!

What the hell?! What gun? I was going to show her my Pali with 100% authentic visa.

Next thing I know I am being tackled to the floor by some overzealous gorilla in an unattractive red TK Maxx t-shirt, my hand bag is ripped from my hand and my “it” boots go flying through air and right into the arms of skinny jeans chick.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!! My boots!!!!! Get off me you pillock. She’s stealing my boots.

And so she was. Skinny Jean chick was making a run for it to the nearest till and the girl wasn’t looking back. In the meantime I was having my face shoved into the unwashed floor of TK Maxx surrounded by a crowd of cheapskate shoppers who can’t pay full price for designer stuff. This soooooo cannot be happening.

Mena on the dole?

Help! Mena is in trouble. This is not the time to tell me off over my lack of dedication to blogging. I am being falsely accused of crimes I have not committed. I need a pro bono employment lawyer ASAP. Let me start from the beginning. I got into work and….

I’m sooooooooooo bored!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ve been here for an hour and I’ve already cleared out my desk drawer…so that’s where I put that half eaten bag of plantain chips. Eya! And I’ve already cursed that roly-poly from accounts as she was seen loitering round my desk the afternoon it went missing. I suppose I should apologise to her for putting those drawing pins in her chair support in retaliation. The poor thing hasn’t been able to sit down properly for a month. Actually, won’t bother with the apology. There were rumours of disciplinary action being taken should the culprit ever be caught. I can barely afford to buy luxury brand goods like Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut; so getting disciplined or sacked is not on my future agenda. I feel remorse so that should suffice.

Within the hour I have also made a full set of matching paper clip jewellery. Very Stylish. As a gesture of goodwill I walked over to Telly tubby who, with the whole drawing pin/back incident, was perched precariously on a stool, to offer to make her some. She eyes me suspiciously as I approach (she knows I did it but she has no proof. Hehehehehe. Sorry Lord I am very remorseful).

“Hello look what I made”.

Her eyes rove over my paper clip adorned features and then do you know what Tinky Winkys sister said to me?

“Mena I hope you know it’s against office policy to use stationery supplies for your personal amusement”.

Emi personal amusement? This is a legitimate business enterprise. One-day paper clip jewellery will adorn the likes of P Diddy. It will be the new bling of choice and this one is talking about personal amusement. Nonsense. You see Lord? Not that I am justifying the drawing pin incident for which we have ascertained that I feel remorse, but some people deserve to be pricked by sharp pointy things for their stupidity. I hissed and started walking back to my desk.

“Mena before you go”…

I turned around and the crazy thing had pulled out her calculator and was typing away.

“Mena according to my calculations you now owe the company £5.96 for the paper clips. I would appreciate it if you could hand over the money to anyone in the accounts department before the end of the day then we won’t have to take further action”

I don suffer finish. £5.96 for what? God forbid I should give my KFC variety meal money (I beg shut up. I have decided to accept my faith as a plus size midget and will no longer tolerate any comments about my eating habits) to these people. This is bullying in the work place. I stomp back to my desk, grab my coat and head out for an early lunch.

I feel better. I have taken my frustration out on a defenceless breadcrumb coated chicken and chanced an old woman for the last sit on the bus. I will ignore these peasants that do not know that in my country my papa could have them knee capped. I will give them their £5.96 and make up for it by stealing toilet roll and window cleaner from the supply cupboard. I am at peace and all is well with the world again. I settle down at my desk and start going through my e-mails. There is one from HR. What is it now? Why won’t this people just let me do some work and go home. That thing better not have gone to report me or else she will find more than drawing pins her chair next time. Its because I am God fearing Christian woman that I haven’t gone to visit one of those Marabouts of International fame to help me use juju to glue her mouth shut. Nonsense…she should keep trying me.




Dear Mena

With regards to your progress within the company I am afraid to say that several issues have been brought to our attention that we would like to discuss with you during your appraisal next week.

1) It has been pointed out that you are in the habit of kissing your teeth at other members of staff. As you can appreciate they find this behaviour rude and aggressive. I can appreciate we all get stressed in the office at times but kissing your teeth and leaving voodoo dolls of other members of staff around the office is not the best way to address the issue.


2) You constantly use the word “Weree” when dealing with staff and customers. During your last review you were asked about this and you told us that it was a term of endearment from your country. Further investigation has led us to believe that this is not necessarily true. I have been informed that it is actually a way of implying that someone is insane. Why would you want to say this to people?


3) You were observed shouting at candidate as he tried to help himself to the complimentary chocolates in reception. I believe the phrase you used was “Na your papa own Cadbury’s? Abi you no know say you go chop before you come for interview. I beg leave the thing for me my friend.” Might I remind you that they are “Complimentary” and that your role is to ensure that you make our guests feel comfortable?


4) You are constantly inappropriately dressed for the office. Your manager has addressed this issue with you previously, when you turned up to work in what I believe you called a “bubu” and flip-flops. Whilst we are sympathetic to your weight issues, we are a place of business and not your local Weight Watchers meeting. We cannot have you representing us to our clients dressed in that manner.


5) You have had 68 sick days since taking up employment with us. Whilst I appreciate that you come from a large family with several wives. I find it odd that your step grand parents seem to only pass away on Fridays and Mondays. Also you were observed taking part in Karaoke night at the Lion & Bear pub on a day you had called in sick with tonsillitis. Also might I add that not liking your weave does not constitute as mental stress and is not a legitimate reason to take a day off.


6) You have been observed shoving foreign objects into the photocopier. I am assuming this is so you can call out the service engineer, who has previously made a complaint against you for sexual harassment. Might I remind you that we have to pay for the call out charges and that this not a singles bar but a serious place of business. You have been warned on many occasions regarding your predatory behaviour towards our male clients.


7) The cleaning supplies in the office are meant for the office. You seem to think they are perk of working for us as you have been observed on many occasions taking toilet roll and other cleaning supplies for your own personal use. All missing supplies will now be deducted from your salary.

I hope you will be able consider your response to this points over the weekend so we can have a productive meeting on Monday.

Have a great weekend

HR Team

My own don finish. They are going to sack me!

It's good to talk

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...I have a boil in my ear. I promise, I no longer let Pedro the Pizza delivery boy lick my ear as part payment for my weekly meat feast pizza. My elderly neighbour caught us at it on the driveway the other day and called the police. I was cautioned for lewd conduct and sadly Pedro is now on a ship back to Mexico cursing the day he met my broke ass self. Don’t know why he’s pissed at me. Not my fault he’s illegal. Anyway I have to be careful. Can’t afford to get anymore cautions from the Met police or my dream of waving a red passport around might stay just that. Anyway, I suspect I've been bitten by some poisonous tropical spider which stowed away in my recent delivery of Basky Monthly. Oh my God! I've been poisoned. How can this be?? So young, so beautiful and so unsnogged by Basky and yet I am about to be snatched from the world. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????!!!! Boo hooo!

Sniff. Okay Mena, no more hysterics. You will continue to maintain a calm and dignified demeanour. Yes the world is about to lose a good thing but think what they have gained from your very existence. Sniff...true. I should start preparing for my grand exit. I guess I should sort out my assets.

Dear Ma & Pa Mena,

Please find listed below instructions on how to divide my vast wealth.

To the person who loved me most and appreciated my heart, mind and tremendous spirit...ME! I leave my shoes, bags, clothes, money and other amazing accessories. Please ensure that I am buried with ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL my property. If see anybody rocking my Fake Louis Vuitton Luggage (Yes even you mother dearest) I will have to take a leave of absence from heaven to come and haunt you. I'm not talking about Casper the friendly ghost hunting . I mean the “Haven't slept in a week because I see dead people” kind of haunting.

To the British Government, I leave my National Insurance Card. Please check my number against your tax records and give me back all the money you stole under the pretext of saving it for me until I am too old to work. You thought I would forget abi? No be so. I beg write me a cheque and let my people bury me with my hard earned money.

To Ijebu Chick, Bunnylicious, Essex Chick nee SE Chick, I have left money for my parents to pay a Mallam to come to your various houses everyday to administer 5 hooootttt slaps and 5 lashes of his koboko. You may think I am being cruel and vindictive (next time you will know who you are calling fat and bow legged. I am CUUUUUUUURRRVVYYY dammit!) But it is for your own good. I feel you all need someone to keep you in check whilst I’m not here so you don’t become more wayward than you all already are.

To my other assorted friends and family members, please distribute these signed pictures of me. So they can gaze upon my beautifully regular features everyday and realise what a good thing they had.

PS: Mama & Papa should I become famous after passing over. Please dig me up every month to deposit any future royalty checks.

Sniff…that was so emotionally draining. Who would have thought such a little person had so much to give. I think I’m going to have a nap. Between the realisation that I might never have my fairytale wedding to Basky showcased on The Bisi Olatilo Show, the stress at ibi ise and lack of sleep; I am quite knackered. I can hear you uncaring cretins saying "Ah! Ah! Mena. No be just typing you dey type for this your J.O.B? Not exactly physically taxing". All I can say to that is bad bele no go kill you. And don’t even try and turn the lack of sleep thing into anything sleazy. It’s all down to my inability to turn off my mobile phone…ever!

Just the other day I was having the most amazing dream. I was in a village looking cute in my wrapper and being chased round the well by Basky in a loin cloth. And just as he's about to catch me...his mobile phone starts ringing!!!!!! What the h...! We are in some back water village. How on earth is he getting reception and it suddenly dawns on me that ITS ALL A DREAM!!!!!!!!!!! I'm not about to be dragged into a hut caveman style and ravished. Boo Hoo!

I rub my delicate peepholes and glance at my Barbie Princess alarm clock. Yes I'm 31. What’s your point? If my mother had bought me a Barbie doll when I was a child. I wouldn't now feel the need to relive my childhood with Mattel accessories. Instead she bought me one of those plastic dolls Danfo drivers used to put in front their vans. I'm still traumatised by the experience. Please send money to ease the pain.

Where was I? Yeah I looked at my alarm clock and it's 11.30pm. Who dares call Mena at this hour interrupting her beauty sleep? It’s Mama Mena from Lagos. Panicking I grab the phone.

“Mum what’s the matter“?

The only time my mum calls at this hour is when I’m in a whole heap of trouble. My mind is on overdrive trying to remember what lie I might have told or what amount I kinda borrowed without asking when it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t lived with my parents in years. So I couldn’t possibly be in any kind of trouble. Maybe it was something else. Maybe she was finally going to tell me the truth about why I’m the only hot member of my family. My true royal heritage was about to be revealed to me. Sultan of Brunei watch out! Your illegitimate daughter is on her way home. I am hardly able to contain my excitement.

I’m like “Mum are you alright? Do you have something you want to tell me“?

“I’m fine. We were just discussing the wedding and we were thinking maybe you should wear iro and buba“.

I’m confused. What wedding? Had someone come to ask for my hand in marriage without asking me first? Or had my mother lost her mind through years of waiting for me to bring a guy home and finally accosted Brother Tobias, our driver, and made me his 3rd wife? My heart is beating at 10 times the normal rate now.

“Mummy what have you done o??? The Lord says his time is the right time o. Don’t do something we will all regret. What wedding are you talking about again and more importantly why the hell would you think I would be caught dead in an iro and buba”?

There’s a pause on the phone and my mother finally responds

“O ti ya were ni? Why are you shouting at me? Pa Mena!!!!!!! Your daughter is shouting at me o. When I told you not to let her go London you didn’t listen. I told you all the women in my family have attended Ogbomosho Girls Grammer School for generations but no. That’s not good enough for your “Little Princess”. See your “Little Princess” now? She is sitting there unmarried, probably smoking Ganja and shouting at her own mother on the phone. 9 months I carried you and because you are now breathing by yourself you are wasting your oxygen shouting at your mother abi? Pa Mena! Where are you going? Come and talk to your daughter o! Oh! They’ve started African Movie Magic. Is it a new episode? OK! I’m coming. Let me finish this girl off. En hen. Where was I“?

“Look Mum I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I was sleeping and I was just a little confused about what wedding you were talking about“.

“You must still be sleeping. I’m talking about your sisters wedding of course“.

Oh her! Gee I can breathe again. Yeah what about the crazy psycho’s wedding?

“Your cousins and I have been thinking that maybe you should all wear iro and buba but I will discuss it with you tomorrow they are starting movie magic“. Click.

Its at times like these you need to remember the "Honour thy mother and father" part of the 10 Commandments because I was about to call her back and scream “Where are my real parents”? And hang up. Instead I snuggled back into bed and prepared to go back to my dream of being chased round a village well by Basky in a loin cloth and then…RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

Somebody better be dying. Its Ijebu Chick otherwise known as “Pain in my delicate backside”. I was going to ignore her but seeing as she was preggies I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt that it was an important call.

Mena: Hello! Are you in labour?
Ijebu Chick: No.
Mena: Are Ibadan J Lo Princess and your Hubby ok?
Ijebu Chick: Yes. I called because....

CLICK! Yeah I hung up on her. You want to make something of it? I beg. She ain't in labour and everybody else is fine. You people think it's easy to have a dream about Basky in wide screen Technicolor? I've been praying and fasting for 2 solid weeks for this miracle (Sorry fellow prayer group members. I know we were meant to be doing it for world peace but certain things are more important). If I'm quick I might be able to get back to where I left off.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiinngg...Lord why? I've been so good this week. I didn't curse anybody even when they deserved it. I didn't steal toilet roll from the office bathroom when I ran out at home. All I want is 5 minutes with Basky. Just let me see what is under the loin cloth and I will call her back. Riiiiiiiiiinnnng. Fine! I'll pick it up but I just want the record to state that I think this is very severe punishment for lying to the pastor and fellow prayer group members.

Mena: Hello
Ijebu Chick: Whats wrong with your phone?
Mena: I don't know. It must be your signal. Whats up?
Ijebu Chick: I can’t see my feet
Mena: Sorry? (Has this woman been sniffing folic acid again?)
Ijebu Chick: My tummy is blocking my feet, so I can't see them.
Mena: What do you want to see them for? Just keep wiggling your toes to make sure they haven't fallen off.
Ijebu Chick: Why would they fall off?

I don't know crazy woman. Why they h... are you calling me at this indecent hour and expecting me to make sense.

Mena: Is that why you called me?
Ijebu Chick: No! Actually I wanted to find out if you knew where I could get a Mobile policeman uniform on the down low.

Lord please tell me it’s alright to trash this woman senseless the minute she pops out that baby. I'll do it whilst she's still in the Maternity ward so they can transfer her directly to A&E.

Ijebu Chick: Hello?? Are you still there? Mena!
Mena: Sorry…Even if I knew where to get one, why would you want one?
Ijebu Chick: Promise not to tell anyone?

I am now awake with all thoughts of Basky’s loin cloth momentarily forgotten. There is nothing like those 5 little words “Promise not to tell anyone” to signify that hot gist is about to land. Fluffing up pillows and opening the can of Red bull I keep on my bedside table for such emergency situations.

Mena: Yeah I promise(My fingers are crossed, so dosen't count)
Ijebu Chick: Ok! IT Dude (Her hubby) told me yesterday that his fantasy is to dress up like a Mobile policeman, arrest me for driving without my particulars and then have his wicked way with me.

Thank you Lord! I now realise you were not trying to punish me for lying at prayer group but rather to reward me for no longer stealing ibi ise supplies. This gist is hot. I am already planning who I can tell even as she is talking.

Mena: Really?
Ijebu Chick: Do you think it’s weird?

Weird ke? This one don pass weird my friend. I understand dressing up as a fireman, sailor, soldier, as a NORMAL policeman or even Santa Claus. But a Mobile Policeman?? That just takes razzness to a whole new level. Maybe if I liked you I would tell you run now and go and meet your mama for village before he asks you to dress up as a pure water seller. Unfortunately I feel you deserve the severe beating that Mobile policeman like to dish out with their batons to non particular holding drivers such as yourself.

Mena: No dear it’s not weird at all. It’s quite a common fantasy actually. Don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with my contacts and you and your (kinky weirdo) hubby can be rocking the night fantastic by the weekend.


Ijebu Chick: You’re a star. Sorry for calling you so late. I’ll let you get back to sleep. Click

That’s right sucker. Keep thanking me. As sweet as your gist was, it doesn’t totally make up for the lack of Basky action (hope he doesn’t have any weird fantasies o. My mama no raise kinky pikin). So will have to find a way to make you pay. I’ll just start by anonymously posting this interesting piece of info on your face book page and then see where else my spirit takes me.

Yeah! I've got problems too

Before you start, I now have a new complaints system. Anyone not happy with the regularity or content of the blog should direct their views to dontyouhaveajob@loser.com I promise, my team of highly trained customer service agents (who said you can’t teach a red bottomed baboon to respond to e-mails)and myself will respond to your queries ASAP(wait I dey come).

Look guys I’ve been MEGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAA busy. Not only have I had to hold down a 9-5, which believe me is hard if you have an aversion to work of any kind and a total dislike of other human beings. Yep! Actually just discovered that. Don’t actually like other people. Not just annoying ones who crowd your space and try and read your monthly Basky newsletter over your shoulder on the tube. Just all people in general. What’s the point of you all? No really? You just kinda crowd up the planet and make a whole bunch of noise. None of you are particularly interesting, attractive or witty. But hey! Guess you all can’t be me. Having to deal with work is bad enough but then throw in the stress of parents, crazy sister getting married and planning a trip to Nigeria…I’m about to have a nervous breakdown.


So it really doesn’t help that some of you have chosen this time to turn to me for advice. But to prove that I am not totally heartless and without some compassion. I will take time out of my hectic schedule and share a few words of wisdom. So let’s do this


Dear Mena

I am 35 and like you I am also a very sophisticated woman who has difficulty in meeting the right man. But I think my luck is changing. There has been a guy who has shown some interest in me. He is 40, extremely attractive, very loving and kind. He isn’t working at the moment though and money is tight. I have tried suggesting some job opportunities to him but he says he is waiting to find his true calling in life. This being the case we don’t go out a lot but stay at his bed-sit eating Big Mama bread with sardines whilst he reads me poetry. He doesn’t always have credit but flashes me all the time to call him. I am starting to fall for his charms but my friends think it's a bad idea to date a guy with no money. What do you think? Surely love conquers all?


Dear Confused

I beg come closer. No closer so you can hear what I am going to say well well. Confused…RUNNNNNNNNNN!!! Excuse me if I sound like a gold digging garden implement but you ain’t no spring chicken and definitely don’t have time to be playing love in Tokyo with a man who is allergic to work. Contrary to what you might think, no be love dey keep you warm in the winter. Na British Gas and last time I checked they don’t accept poetry as payment for central heating. I have no objection to someone having a hard time getting to where they want to be in life but if at 40 you never find your true calling then you need to be at church begging for break through not trying to romance women in your one room bachelor pad. Shame no even catch both of you? Him for being a good for nothing lay about and you for being the kind of woman that can be enticed by Big Mama bread and Titus. I beg respect yourself. Just because you are lonely doesn’t mean you should fall for the first guy that shows some interest. If he is serious about building something meaningful then he needs to get his act together or you will both find out the hard way that there is more to a relationship than love. Now get out of my office joker.

PS: If you were really sophisticated you wouldn’t be caught dead eating Pafun in some bed-sit in the middle of nowhere listening to substandard poetry.


Next!

Hey Mena

Long time reader, first time writer. I’m a big fan and really hope you can help me with this situation. I have been dating this guy for 8 years and even though we are both financially secure he still becomes evasive whenever the issue of marriage comes up. I am afraid that he is losing interest in me. Do you think I should get pregnant in other get a proposal out of him and keep him for good?


Dear Desperate

I think what you should do is stop reading my blog. I am horrified that my literary skills are being wasted on someone with a brain the size of a peanut. Firstly if he’s been milking the cow for 8 years (please don’t even bother lying that you’ve been abstaining) without even putting down a ring as a down payment then you need to realise that he ain’t gonna buy you. Not even if you throw a calf into the equation. Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t perfect. We’ve all given away free milk at some point or the other to guys who we thought were the ones but 8 years!!!!!!!!! Let’s use an analogy us ladies will understand. It’s like Fendi letting you take a spy bag out of the shop for free and then turning up 8 years later to collect their money. Would you give them money or throw their out of season USED bag out the window and tell them to hot foot it off your property? Them throwing in a free purse that I didn’t want or ask for isn’t going to help either. I would keep my money and go buy this seasons “It” bag. So I suggest you keep your legs closed and your ovaries in check. I’ve noticed that with guys, if they want to marry you, unless theres a whole bunch of factors in the way, they don’t take 8 years to do it. If he loves you, he will marry you and if he doesn’t, it’s time to move on. 8 years might seem a like a huge chunk of your life wasted but it’s definitely better than a lifetime of regret.

Gee! I thought I had issues but compared to you lot I’m kinda normal. Alright. One more nugget of wisdom and I’m out of here.


Hi Mena

I’m kinda embarrased writing to you, being a guy and all, but I figured that I need a woman’s perspective on this. I’m interested in this girl and I think she likes me too but I’m reluctant to make a move because I think she might be a tad more experienced than I would like. I’m no prude but don’t like the idea of my girl and maybe future wife being a notch on several guys bedposts. I want to be fair about this and not be a male chauvinist, so what do you think is an acceptable number of partners for a woman to have?


Dear Fair Guy

Are you a virgin? If the answer to that question is no, then don’t let the door hit your male chauvinist ass on the way out. If the answer is yes, same response (na me tell you make you no do). Why do all guys want us to be as pure as the driven snow? Maybe if you guys didn’t spend all your time trying to trick us into bed with promises of false love, then some of us might actually not have that many notches on our bed posts to begin with. I know some of us girls (like some of you guys) are just nympho sex freaks, in which case I would be tad concerned about leaving her alone in a men’s locker room. But hey! At least you know she’ll be able to rock your world when the time comes. You know what? I don’t know if this girl has had 1 or 100 guys. What I do know is if you like someone and want to start something new, then start something new and leave the past where it belongs.

I’m worn out and need my daily dose of Basky love. So if you’ll excuse me. I’m off to put on my slinky nightie and hop into bed to watch my Boo on You tube. Whilst I’m bonding, do check out Ayo.

ayo - down on my knees

Lovin her...

Don't I just sound soooooooo

SEXY!

Thanks to a recent visit to Olawunmi's blog. I have discovered the joy of voice messaging. Leave me a message or else.....

Mena says...

Watch this!!!!!!!!




Don't know if you guys have heard of this series back home but you've got to watch it. I've only just discovered it and I loved it sooo much. If I could sell my sister's left butt cheek to see the second series right now, I would. I would sell mine but I've hardly got any ass as it is. Anyway you can watch the entire 1st series for free at

http://www.cucirca.com/2007/05/27/watch-heroes-online/

Don't say I never give you anything.


Listen to this!



Hmmmm Dude sent me this guys CD a while back when we first started getting close and before he started smoking illegal substances(how on earth do expect me to believe that boy ain't smoking weed? It's either that or he crazzzzzzyyy). His name is Kuku. He's a Nigerian based in America. You might have heard of him already, seeing as I tend to be extremely slow sharing with the masses. He's really cool and I can't wait till he comes to play in the UK. Check him out at

http://www.kukulive.com

Enjoy!

My Boo! How could you?

Uhhhh!! Look what I found whilst looking for Nigeria related info online. I thought I better brush up on "Whats hot" and "What's not" seeing as I will be home in December. Naturally my Boo is on the "What's hot" list. Look at him looking all smart in his suit with his hair glistening in the Lagos moonlight(swoon). I think I will e-mail it to myself at work and make it my screen saver. It will calm me down when Telly tubby from accounts comes to my desk tomorrow to ask me some pointless work related question that I can't be ar... to answer. Anyway back to more important things. Seeing if we can find more piccies of my boo.



Kata! Kata! don happen. Basssssssssssssssskkkkkkkkyyyy!!!!! Who be that practically sitting on your lap??? Did they not have enough chairs at the event or what's with the closeness? Breathe Mena...breathe. It's nothing. She's probably his personal stylist. She's probably got a big ol tub of Brycleem or Twist n go in that deceptively small looking clutch bag of hers. Ready to jump into action as soon the lights from the camera start to dry out my Boo's nappy locs. That's it! Thats all it is. No need to spend your rent money buying a ticket to Lagos to slap anyone silly. Remember what you learnt at Anger managment classes Mena. Deep breath's. It's nothing. Once I get to Lagos I can ensure that all female non entourage members(who will be personally vetted by myself of course) will be seated 40 paces from my Boo at all times. OK! I feel better. Not perfect...but better.

I guess I can't blame you. It's not your fault you're irresistible to the opposite sex. I mean hot looks, charm and enough rib cracking jokes to last a life time??? What more could a woman want? Wellllll... actually I have a list of things you might want to go over just to ensure you are totally ready for the Mena in December. I ain't saying I won't accept any future proposals from you without them but it would considerably drop the bride price my father has in mind(10 years of UK education ain't cheap buddy)! So take note:

1)Cooking Skills

Don't get me wrong my Boo. I ain't one of these new age women who refuses to cook because a couple of my fellow sisters burned their bra's. I love to cook but I also love to feel special and there's nothing that makes a woman feel more special than coming home to find her hubby in nothing but an apron and a smile, making dinner. Might not actually get to eat any dinner with whole apron thing going on but it's the thought that counts.


2)The patience of a Saint

Yes! My niece Ibadan J Lo princess might finger paint all over your brand new Porsche in florescent pink paint so it matches her Malibu Barbie convertible. My great aunt twice removed might soak her false teeth in your best brandy and if my soon to be brother in law, Market Boy's, phone plays Shina Peters "Fuji Garbage" one more time... They annoy even me Boo and they are MY FAMILY. So if you are willing to meet them, spend time with them and still want to snog me afterwards...you've got be a keeper.


3)The ability to turn a blind eye

To the fact that I probably will never shave my legs again once we get married or my inability to bring myself to cook anything more complicated than bread and stew. We are married now. All that one I dey do before na for show. £30.00 for a full set of acrylic nails? Never again brotha. If I take that one to the market you and that your crazy auntie that likes to pop by unannounced(you're bound to have one. Everyone does) will be eating cow leg and snails for 3 months straight. Nope, the days of wearing make up, shaving, getting my hair and nails done and cooking Chicken a la king are over. Stuff like that will be saved for special occasions like anniversaries, your birthday and Independence day.

4)Generosity

A guy who comes home and says "...And I saw something I thought you might like whilst I was out today." gets less sex than one who comes home and says " I was out today and I got you this because it looked like something you might like." See the difference? You have been warned!I ain't greedy but I like a surprise gift as much as the next person. Doesn't have to be big or expensive. Even a magazine will do it. It's just nice to know you were thinking about me Boo.

You taking notes Basky?? You better be because I'll be home soon and will be giving a pop quiz. You fail and I might just have to heal my broken heart in Tyrese's muscly arms.

PS: There's no need to be nice to Ijebu Chick after we get married. She's mean and dosen't appreciate your hotness. She prefers Dbanj.

By the way, Ijebu Chick your Hubby know se you dey look half naked musicians on the internet? No be Open University he tell you to come check so he could sign you up for English speaking classes? Asewo!

Yeah, he's cute I guess. Has that whole rippling torso, harmonica playing thing going on. If you hadn't already captured my heart I might be tempted. But I'm a one man woman. You just wait till Johnson Baby oil and I finish with you. You'll be all glistening torso too Basky.

Don't mess with my spread!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.