When Things Stop Making Sense

Backward.

So, there I was, minding my own business, browsing the net as usual before I got down to serious work, and I happened upon a site I’ve become a bit of a fan of (http://feministe.us/blog) these days:

http://naijablog.blogspot.com/2008/04/condom-ban-in-anambra.html

http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2008/04/07/the-cost-of-pro-life-policies-27-nigerian-women-every-day-10000-nigerian-women-every-year/

The first article made my heart break a little. What’s the deal with us in this country? Why are we, as Nigerians, so SELFISH and hypocritical? What’s with all these people who are firmly implanted on their moral high horses? I’m so sick of this pretending to be holier-than-thou crap.

Another such case is the story of the rigged-in Senator (not so sure about this, but I’m hating right now), Ekaete, who feels that of all the laws she could be bringing into light (like addressing the abortion issue above for instance), she felt she ought to tackle ‘indecent dressing’. After all, if a woman gets harassed by a guy because she happens to be wearing something above her knees then it’s her fault, and not the randy, undisciplined fellow that can’t control himself *eye roll*.

Don’t act like y’all don’t see it, a wretched society of double standards and finger-pointing where most people are afraid to express themselves for fear of being condemned by the same people who get up to shadiness in their own homes. The same people who comfortably get away with all kinds of atrocities because they know they also live in a society where certain behavior is pushed into a cupboard, and silence is encouraged. It’s weird. It’s hypocritical. And I’m sick of it. They’ll all wear their best geles and laces and prance into church on Sunday and practically sleep on the altar, so other people will think they’re great, upright people. It’s BS. Women out there judging other young women, when their husbands are busy frollicking with the neighbour’s daughter, and they artfully ‘look the other way’. EEEUUURGGH.

One of my biggest fears for this country is that the backwardness and old-fashioned ignorance will still be carried on to our generation. Sure, a few people would snort and say, ‘Oh, they’re trying to copy Western culture’. I have to ask, is that a 100% bad thing? Riding in fancy cars and building lavish homes made of marble, have they been ingrained in the ‘Nigerian culture’ since the beginning of time? Can anyone fault how far we’ve come while ‘copying’ this EVIL culture? Why then, do we wear suits to work despite the fact that we live in a perpetually warm and unsavory climate for such clothing?

I read a story on Indemili’s (I apologize for messing up this name, but my computer crashed recently, and I lost a lot of my links, so if anyone knows who I mean, please let me know, I’ve been trying to relocate her blog for days) blog about women and keeping silent when their husbands maltreat them. That post hit a nerve. If the husband is cheating/beating his wife, it’s almost acceptable, if a woman has so much as a bad temper, she will be publicly shamed and reported.

The HYPOCRISY.

Now, I’m not advocating abortion or anything, I mean, if you put your foot in it, deal with it, don’t rob a human being of their chance at life, but I won’t hang anyone I knew for doing it. Our leaders and older folks keep on harping and singing about abstinence (which, FYI, I’m also not against), banning contraceptives, and preaching decent dressing like it’s ever made a difference. People have been fornicating since the word ‘GO’, so such laws, in times as these, when people are straying even further away from the prudish ideologies of our fathers (eg, no male friends, as in, like, seriously?) and many of these above-mentioned ‘moralists’ are sending their children to the (*omg evil*) West, are totally and completely POINTLESS. If nothing else, they’re further pushing people to commit their ‘sins’ in private, and dangerously.

Sigh…

I’m having expression problems. I’m tired of people quick to jump and judge, ‘OMG, look at her skirt, what a tart.’ Or ‘she had a child outside wedlock, she is incapable of ever finding love’, or something equally stupid.
Live and let live. You’re not perfect, so don’t pretend to be. I also don’t have anything against moral, decent people. I have a thing against those ‘decent’ people who feel it’s their place to put others down or lock them in a corner for their imperfections.

Damn… I’ve lost my train of thought for this rant. Please note I was being sarcastic with the whole evil West stuff.

Stick it in Your Eye – Why I Think I Rock (1)

I haven’t updated in… a while. I wish I had a good reason this time, like an illness or a trip to some exotic location. However, the simple thing is this: I was uninspired. Everyday it crossed my mind that I wanted to blog… but I didn’t. A couple of times I actually started a couple of posts, but I lost my fire halfway through. Again, no real reason for that either. Maybe I just had things on my mind that were beyond blogging about.

That said, I’ve been feeling strongly about a lot of things – like inequality to women, and Nigerian greed, and Obama running for President of the US, and total annihilation of mankind. I’ve also been nursing some scarily VIOLENT homicidal tendencies again (one of such was when I imagined beating a robber to death with my ultra large umbrella; I admit it freaked even me out).

I’ve been doing a lot of random, stupid stuff, like Social Networking. If you look to the right of my blog, you’ll see my Twitter updates :). I have also been accused of using ‘nerd slangs’ like ‘W00t’. I’ve been hearing that a lot more these days. Darkman actually called me ‘gadget girl’ once. Or twice. Just cos I have a huge action-packed iPod, a bulky phone and have my eyes greedily set on an HP dv9000t (*experiences a moment of euphoria at the thought*). A colleague once said I was almost a tomboy, too. Hmm.

I was reading a couple of things here and there, and being in a relationship has mad me really reflect on a few things about the future and marriage and (*gasp*) kids, and my career and after getting myself worked up over SOME things, I just thought, ‘you know what? Screw it. I rock.’ So for any guy/girl out there:

1. Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd. I embrace the classification wholeheartedly. I’ve played with computers since the days of DOS, and I still play with them now. Fair enough, I realised on Tuesday that I had an installaholic syndrome of just randomly installing any software that tickles my fancy (and you think after all this time I’d learn). I love playing games, I love phones chock full of features, I love just playing around brand new shiny laptops and pressing buttons (think of Dee-Dee, you’re close). I can successfully spend 24hrs on the net and not get bored. I’m now privy to saying things like, ‘OMG’ and ‘WTF’ in real life, and I love it.
2. Yeah, I listen to weird, obscure music. BITE ME for having a musical taste that spans beyond Boyz II Men and 2face. Yes, I listen to all the tracks on those popular albums no-one listens to. They’re actually good! So what, I listen to Enya while working, and Linkin Park when power-walking. Got a problem?
3. 3. Yeah, I’m a feminist. I think I fully accepted that fact this week. If any of you have happened to venture onto Nairaland’s Romance section recently, you’d see all the sort-of objectifyingly pointless topics on the ideal woman, and Nigerian women don’t do this and don’t that, and I admit, I got a bit peeved. Yeah, that’s right. You put up your feet up dear husband, and act like making money is so hard. Yet you want ur ‘perfect wife’ to be hot, good-looking, great in bed, great in the kitchen, employed, have a basketball team for children, a housekeeper, and SOMEHOW, also be loving and caring and submissive. *Eye roll*. I don’t do submissive. I can be feisty, and I HATE getting the lower end of the stick. And none of you give me that, oh, but it’s women’s lot. Yeah, WHATEVER. If you’re treating me like crap, you’ll have no peace. Guaranteed.
4. Yeah, I don’t REALLY care what you think. I mean, I don’t come off as a snob. Or a b****. But I’m not going to bend over backwards to impress anyone. If you don’t like me, it’s not taking years of my life. I have enough friends already.
5. Yeah, I’m never going to be THAT chick. I’m never going to enjoy shopping of any kind. I’m never going to care if I’m wearing the ‘latest’ fashion, whatever it is. I believe in timeless clothing. Nicely cut jeans with a flirty, sort-of low cut top never grows old. And no, I never saw the beauty in skinny jeans, and bright yellow bags. I can’t be bothered with 4 layers of make-up. Got pimples? They’ll go one day. No point lying to the general public. Lip gloss is still the best and only necessary form of makeup ever invented. Half the time, you’re going to catch me with my natural hair. It’s not long and glorious, is almost always due and in my weird permed style, and hasn’t been black since I was a kid. I look presentable and I still have stalkers, so I must be doing SOMETHING right.
6. Yeah, you know what? I’m overweight. I know. I look in the mirror everyday. Telling me that I am hasn’t taken the pounds off. If you like everything about me but my belly, you’ve got a problem I can’t help you address.
7. Yeah, I’m not a homely person. I clean my house because I have to. And I cook because it’s the only alternative to starvation. I’m no Jamie Oliver. I mean, I have most recipes up there in my head I think, and I’ve successfully done many dishes countless times, but if you’re looking for that gourmet Nigerian dinner of pounded yam and egusi soup, you’re on your own. If I’m a guest at YOUR house, you’d have to give me a really good reason (preferably financial, lulz) as to why I should enter YOUR kitchen or suddenly clean YOUR mess just cos I’m there.
8. Yeah, I’m a chick, but I’m not shallow. I feel embarrassed when chicks out there have this quest for money. I don’t get it. They have their own. They should spend it.
9. I really don’t need a guy. No guy has gotten me to where I am, and I refuse to compromise just so I can have a MRS attached to my name in forms.
10. Speaking of which, I have no plans of getting married before I’m 26. Where’s the rush? What’s the big deal? Ok, you’re married. So? What’s that magical benefit you’re receiving? You want kids now? Why? What’s the difference between today and next 2 years? Do you think marriage is child’s play? Do you think raising a family when you can barely feed yourself is fun? What’s wrong with you?

There’s probably more. But I’m tired. And believe it or not, I actually have work to do. To be continued. Peace.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

So, due to certain events, and the last paragraph of my last post, I was passing through yesterday in a faintly foul and irritable mood. Like I mentioned to Naija Chickito, I thought it would only be fair if I avoided Darkman completely to prevent some psychological dagger throwing.

To add to that, for some reason, I couldn’t focus on anything, so I got absolutely NOTHING done. And I felt no shame. I did, however, install a demo of Tomb Raider: Legend on my system. That was my greatest accomplishment. I love that game. I was waiting until like 7 to launch it and give it a spin, but people just wouldn’t go away, so I left to go catch the bus.

Did anyone in Lag notice the awful fluke rainfall of Tuesday night?

It was hot. It was bloody hot. All day. And at night. I’ve been cursing this heat for over a week now. It doesn’t help that I’ve gotten this new hairstyle from hell that traps heat around my face and blocks all breeze whatsoever once I am out of the safety of a fully air-conditioned environment. It was hot. I was in a suit. But you know what, I walked. I power-walked to the bus park sweating in a very unladylike but very Onyeka-like fashion.

Got in the bus, the bus got moving, and I plugged myself into the lovely world of Enya, which quickly sent me into a snooze. As we approached Anthony, precisely Palmgrove, I looked out the window and noticed that there was a lot of loose, leafy debris jumping along the road. Hm.

I went back to Enya, then thought about it, and looked out again.

In the distance the air was brown and thick with dust and debris. Further away, I could see people running. Was there a fire?

I looked to the front of the bus. Lo, and behold, I saw drops of water on the windshield. Rain? Impossible. There were no drops on the side window. A minute later, I looked out again.
The road was wet. A glance towards the windshield confirmed muy thoughts. It was raining. Hard. Oh, God no, I thought. I was almost at Anthony Village, and the rain was getting worse with each inch we moved. It was finally time for me and three other people to get down. I consoled myself with this thought: Oh well, I was going to dry clean the suit anyway.

So I cover up my 4 day old hair and step into the chilly showers. It was unpleasant. There was a strong, cold wind, and I was drenched in seconds. We all ran together. Occasionally stopping under awnings to gather our courage, wading through flooded roads and enduring showers from speeding cars, I finally got home. And my dad wasted ten minutes in coming out to open the front door. My legs ached (I have a mild, inherited case of rheumatism) and I was shuddering. M

My dad SMILED at my pathetic figure when he saw me. I had to walk around with a mop everwhere I went until I dumped my soaked clothes, and there was no light, so a hot bath was out of the question.

Needless to say, the next day I got to work feeling like crap. I’m currently nursing a sore throat and aching limbs. Curse you, rain! I usually love you, but not right now!

Sigh…

To add to these instances, my sister got robbed again this morning. And that makes four in the past year. Four times. I felt so sorry for her when I came out of the house and saw her in the midst of all the street thugs that watch our area, her eyes shiny with unshed tears of frustration.

She’s lost so many phones you wouldn’t believe. She apparently struggled with her assailants, causing them to hit her over and over to let go of her bag and the bulky security guy that usually accompanies us to our bus-stops in the morning FOR SAFETY was absolutely useless. He claimed that they had guns and he was looking for a weapon. Complete, total BS. Couldn’t he have at least distracted them? Raised an alarm? His ‘boys’ weren’t far away, they could have come along if had. I tried telling her to just go home and take a break, but she insisted on going to work, and followed me instead.

My mum heard and called in a panic (mums, bless) and started asking what we could do. But you know what? You really can’t win these days. It made me realise that I too, had started getting comfortable when moving out to work in the mornings. I carry too much junk, and I don’t properly secure my valuables. We should be doing that, you know, especially if one is forced to roam the streets before dawn just to get to work in this jungle.

I’m off to drink hot tea. My throat burns.

Peace.

Sorry, You Said What – The Languag Debate

Traitor. Confused. Lagosian. Hybrid. Heck, even sad.

I’ve been called a lot just because due to some weird twist of fate that resulted in me not being able to speak either one of my parents’ languages. People have tried to make me feel bad or guilty about it. They’ve even tried to make me out as some kind of freak.

Frankly, I feel guilty. Because I don’t care.

I know, I know, it’s a tragedy, I can’t ‘identify’ with my people. It’s just something I can’t kill myself about. Probably if I cared more I would have been inspired to learn a smidge of Igbo. I hear a lot more Yoruba than I do of it, god knows!

And interestingly, it’s NOT because I grew up in Lagos! I lived a sheltered enough life, went to private schools where it was so common to not be able to speak your mother tongue, it was OKAY. I never once had an issue with it. At least, not till I got to my final year in University and I realised that my roommates were gossiping about me in a foreign language AND playing the same New Dawn CD by Yinka Ayefele day in and day out *many, many, many people… many, many, many people…*. The tarts.

So, it became a bit imperative to have impromptu sessions with Kitty, where I’d ask questions like: ‘What the heck does ko si mean?’

At a point though, I realised it was a bit of a lost cause, cos barely managing to understand what they were saying about me did not benefit me in any way. So once again, I stopped caring, and also became an ardent Ayefele music recogniser. Yes. I can even smile when I hear that Many People bit.

Fast forward to my current workplace. It’s an issue of ‘Oh, you’re name is Onyeka?’ Cue the switch to Igbo. I don’t get it. I think even if I DID speak the language, I won’t speak it all that often cos I’m unbelievably comfortable with the English language. It’s the language I grew up speaking, analysing and I express myself EXCELLENTLY in it. I felt funny even saying French phrases in class –now that’s another language I know better than my mother tongue. If someone says something to me in a language, and I understand it, I’ll reply in English, cos you know what? It’s what I prefer. I could only use it to talk to old relatives and conc Igbo people, cos my friends are all Yoruba ANYWAY.

A few people tried to blame my parents for my mono-grammar (yeah, I totally made that word up). I frankly can’t blame them much. They speak different languages, and as such speak English to each other. It really didn’t start bugging them until late that my sis and I couldn’t understand diddly-squat, and even then, like me, their discomfort didn’t last.

Another funny thing I’ve been asked on many occasions is that whole, ‘But what if you want to discuss in private, something’s that a secret? How would you do it?’

Er… I’ll leave the room!? That’s the worst argument for speaking a language I’ve ever heard. It’s not like Igbo, or even Yoruba is horribly uncommon. Chances are, if you switch languages, you’ll STILL be understood. Abi I lie? Another one is the ‘if there’s a war/coup/political-tribal disaster how would your people know you’re on of them?’ *Eye roll* He-llo. I know people that can speak like 3 languages. What’s your point? Besides, if there WAS a war… I really doubt I’d stick around!!! ‘What if people are talking about you in another language?’ Um…so? Ignorance is bliss sometimes, men.

I’m not arguing or justifying myself. I just don’t see it as that big a tragedy. It’ll lead to the dilution of my culture. Perhaps. But highly unlikely. The ratio of us Traitors to you Good guys is like 1 to 50. So far my English has served me well. And while it would be cool to be able to speak another language, I admit I’m in no hurry to learn any. Does that make me such a horrible person???

You Know What, SCREW the Countdown

Eji, what can I say, you have a ‘dark gift’ of making me get off my lazy butt and writing a post. But I’ll be the first to admit, the countdown thing wasn’t such a thrilling idea. It did’t help that I’ve been crazy busy these past few days. And NOOO, it’s not cos of Darkman this time. This time, I simply do not have the free time to sit down and compose a post. That and the fact that I’m still inspirationally challenged… so here’s what’s happening to me right now.

It’s 2 weeks till Christmas, and I still haven’t bought Christmas Lights. Which, reminds me, are my best part of the season, people! I love ’em, blue, yellow, green and red, sparkling and ‘cascading’. I love seeing shiny Christmas trees, and I love it even more when people go out of their way and decorate EVERYTHING. Street lamps, trees, gates… the whole 9 yards baby!

Anyway, I’ve officially reached that point in my life when I haven’t got much to complain about. I’ve been thinking about it since Sunday, and it’s like, I have a LOT to be grateful for in this yuletide season. It’s 6 weeks to my 21st birthday, and all of a sudden things have fallen into place. So, let me say:

I’m grateful.

My job, which was once so depressing and boring that I’d look with dread at the office when coming in the morning, as somewhat livened up. Of course now, it’s become an issue of being careful of what you wish for, cos now, I don’t even have time to go out for lunch. Not that I really used to, but saying I wanted to… I wouldn’t … well, be able to.

I gotta man. And it’s GOOD. Of course now, it’s going so well, I fear I might be becoming a bit paranoid. It’s almost like a part of me is waiting for it to go wrong, and that makes me feel soo bad and angry. But I’ll get over it. I hope.

I’m getting a car… HELL YEAH! Well, it’s not a new car. It’s not even a really cool car. It’s my mum’s Nissan Bluebird. Old as hell vehicle, but the it moves, it looks clean, it’s an automatic, and the AC works. Really, what else am I asking for? I’m not greedy! ^^ It’s meant to come back from the mechanic’s tomorrow… fingers crossed I’ll be cruising on the weekend!

I want to go out grooving this weekend, considering as Kitty’s coming to stay over. I haven’t seen her in a while… or heard any of her funny insults. It could be fun. But… my dad. Oh, my dad. My dear, dear ‘understanding’ father who doesn’t 100% trust me, and thinks I’m lying when I say I want to stay over at Bus’s house. He banned me from staying over anywhere EVER. Sigh. I’ll find a way around it. By hook, or crook. I’m too young/old for this crap.

I’m also brainstorming on a laptop. Anyone with advice on that would be appreciated. I have to choose between an HP Pavillion dv9000 that has all the features EVER including 320gb HDD, 2GB RAM, 2GHz processor and 17″ display, tv tuner … so on and another one with 1gogb hdd, 2gb ram and a 1.5ghz, no bluetooth and 15k extra on the bill. Why? Because the first one has a processor noone encourages me to use. To be fair, I don’t really need bluetooth, but I’ve gotten greedy on features, and I feel a notebook without bluetooth is a bummer. Anyone with an idea of an HP Pavillion that actually runs on Intel, has 2gb ram and 17 inches will be loved for life.

That’s me. For now. Maybe something exciting will crop up. Maybe not. I’m at this point where I found I don’t care anymore. I’m just so OK. ^^

Hm (*ponders thoughtfully*) …

Eji, you’re probably right. Upon reflection, maybe it IS cos of Darkman.

Mehhhn, I’m whipped.

Moving On?

I wasn’t going to share too much about this. But I think I need the objective opinion of an un-biased third party.

In my last post I mentioned I’d found a place. And I really have. It’s not too far from where I currently stay during the week. In fact, it’s even closer to where I get my staff bus, but from another side. The friend that helped me find it, a classmate from school was able to get it at an amazingly affordable price, and we’re supposed to be roomies.

Honestly, I didn’t plan to move till next year Jan (my 21^st) or so. But I guess I could hold it till then. So, last night I launched the idea to my mother. I’ve done something similar recently, when Kitty was getting a place, and she was all up for it then, so I didn’t expect the reply she gave me.

“Your father won’t have it”

I won’t say all she said, but she gave reasons and excuses ranging from the timing to me following peer pressure (??!) to safety to the classic: it’s not right for a chick to stay alone when she’s not abroad or married.

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. Times are changing, by God, and I won’t be held hostage by an old way of thinking. Besides, I won’t be ALONE, I’ll be living with someone. I was too shocked by her reaction to put up a more intelligent argument. She said I should wait. I said I was planning to wait till next year, and she said it was STILL too soon. That I was thinking like a guy.

Come next year, I’ll probably hear the some story. And by then, I won’t have this opportunity. It’s ridiculous. There’s no harm in it. And I don’t think anyone I know sees it either. I live at Agbara, for goodness sake, and it’s FAR. Where I stay during the week, Anthony, is way too small to make sense. Besides, this way, I’m out of everyone’s hair (and vise versa), and there’s more room for my sis. I don’t really eat at Anthony cos I leave by 5.45 every morning and get back past 9. So basically all I do is sleep and bathe. Nothing to miss there.

I’m going to pay for it, anyway. So what’s the problem?

Oh, what will people think? Or, what, no-one will be able to ‘monitor’ me anymore??? I want my shot at independence, and this concept of going from the clutches of my father’s house to my marital home has never fared well with me.

I’m upset. I really wanted to be able to move out with as little bad blood as possible, but it’s looking like a pipe-dream. My sister said I should do it, the few friends I told said I should do it… I’ve prayed on it. What should I do? This won’t be waiting for me forever. I need to make a decision now. Put my foot down and alienate myself from my parents… or stay where I am and revel in trapped misery?

Oh Baby 2 – The Horrid Conclusion

Babies. Kids. CHILDREN. Little angels. Miracles. God’s gifts.

Little devils. Rampaging rugrats. Proverbial pains.

Everyone has their own opinion of them. I once wrote about how I was craving a lil one to cuddle. Just cuddle. Then return. You know like a rental.  But that was just a phase I thought I was passing through.

It wasn’t. I’ve actually found myself becoming more open-minded to human beings below the age of 13. I was once initially very disturbed by this because it meant I was becoming in touch with my maternal side. And this only meant to me that I was getting old. But I feel better about it now. I still don’t know what to do with ickle ones beyond pulling their cheeks, but chances are that these days, if you lock me in a room with a 2 year old, you MAY NOT find me pressed against the window an hour later.

They’re really cute things. Most children. Till they cry, of course, then they’re just little torturous monsters who are being difficult to hurt you.

Anyway, I was watching Eastenders last week – YES, I watch Eastenders – And i watched an episode where this woman was in labour and almost gave birth on a train. I watched in amused horror as her body proceeded to do al the things she didn’t want it to do. How she hit her friend who was helping her out, and finally when she finally had the kid, and was at home, her dad was like she shouldn’t be going out so soon cos of the ‘stitches’.

I think that last bit got me the most. STITCHES? Oh gawd. I mentioned this to my sister last night and she upset me further by telling me about her former roommate who was stitched back after birth AND made to sit on hot water.

Once upon a time, I had this romantic view of things, saying, why can’t I go natural, it’s all good. I used to harass B when she used to say she had no plans of a natural birth and I laughed when the other B said I should be her surrogate.  Times have changed. And the more stories  hear (and the more they all get medically proven), the more HORRIFIED I am of doing things God’s way. Sure, women have been doing it for CENTURIES and whatever, but right now, that’s like saying, people used to travel across countries using donkeys.

It’s possible, but it’s so MUCH easier to fly, isn’t it? My point, exactly.

So, it’s official. I don’t see myself having a natural birth.  Call me what you wish.  I don’t care. I think it’s fair enough that you have to carry this selfish, heavy being for 9 months, and deal with all the pregnancy drama, bloating, swelling and the likes. In fact I think I’m being very generous.

Besides, that way, if my child ends up hating me in the future, it’ll be like, ‘ah, well, at least i didn’t have to endure 12 hours of excruciating pain’.

🙂

Hellish Stuff

I left my house at 5.30 this morning. Why? Cos of those dam rats! The instant i stepped into my room last night, there it was, ruing of the window in front my bed. I did nothing. Instead, I picked up the bag I dropped and walked out the way I came. My sis and I seriously contemplated telling my dad. But he was being his usual, charming self, complaining about pointless things, and succeeded in pissing us off. You know there’s something wrong if you can’t tell ur father there are creatures living with you cos he won’t be of any use. Sleeping last night was not enjoyable. I had to wrap my feet, and my eyes kept popping open.

I had a dream I got a free laptop and was left home alone. Only for my ‘boyfriend’ to turn up being some cute but annoyingly smiley blond guy(????). Signs of the times?

Anyway, I left early this morning cos D’s not going to work today. I haven’t followed him since Monday cs he didn’t have “fuel”, instead he followed his dad. I’ve already mocked/insulted him sufficiently for that.

But, lo, our staff bus… 3 of them, zoomed past me as I stood at what I was told was the rendezvous point, despite my fanatical waving and looks of desperation. I was seriously considering taking PT, but then this guy stops in front of me. Some middle-aged police officer (STALKER) that lives around me, who (for some reason) I keep jamming, and who I also found to my horror, works as part of the security at my bank.

But I entered.

Cos I’m retarded. It was only about twenty minutes, but it felt like YEARS. He did the usual. Misyanned, asked for my number (of which I gave my old no that’s probably been barred by Celtel), told me how the first day he saw me… you know the rest. But the red light went up when he tried to take my hand. I recoiled so quickly he reversed the action. I stayed in that position till I got to work.

Needless to say I almost flew out before the car stopped. He was acting hurt, asking if I was married (that question has become disturbingly common these days), if not, wasn’t he man enough??? Oh, the revulsion.

I guess I don’t need to say I’ve sworn to not enter the cars of stalkers. These are the moments when I appreciate following D ever so much, even he has his own pervy moments.

At least I can swat him.

2 Ways To NOT Start The Day

Didn’t start this morning too well, in fact, let’s just say it started from last night when my sister had one of many shout-fests. She pissed of my dad about something, and he chose to lecture BOTH of us about it. I wasn’t impressed, and I showed no sympathy for her plight when she was whining to me about it. I’m not even sure when it crossed over into an argument, with me expressing frustration with her attitude and her trying, and failing, to point out my own problem. At one point she just started making things up, then pulling a “I’m not going to indulge you” stance when I told her to prove it. *eye roll* I admit, on more than one occasion I told her that she could move out if she wanted. God knows she’d save a lot of us a lot of trouble.
And as usual, when I argue with someone (which is almost always HER, beyond which I’m not a very argumentative person) I spend about 5 or 10 minutes reflecting on the things I said, and why I couldn’t have said something meaner. It’s a very heat-of-the-moment kinda thing cos by the nest morning, I’m dead grateful I didn’t say THAT. I’m not a bitch. I don’t believe in saying unnecessarily hurtful things to people.

This morning, I wasn’t sure what the deal was with work considering that there’s an impending strike, but my ride said his office had given them the go-ahead to not come to work if they don’t want to. My dad told me the strike would commence on Wednesday, so I sent my ride a text about this, pleading that he should let me know if he was going to work so I could wake up earlier, and go by myself. But nooo….

11PM (the night before): My text – Dude, let me know if ur going to work tomorrow
2AM: I’ll go by 6.45, call me in the morning
6AM: Me– Dude, u up?
Him (obviously not really) – Yeah
Me– Take off time?
Him– 6.45
6.15AM: Him– hey, let’s make it 7-ish
Me– WHY?!?
Him– You know, the strike, I want to c how the roads are…
Me (not happy) – Dude it doesn’t start today. But FINE…
7.05AM: Me– Seriously man, my sister went to work 30 mins ago….
Him (sounding like I’m nagging) – Ok! Ok! I’m about to leave.
7.20AM: (after taking the time to do my make-up, the dishes and walk to our rendezvous point)
7.23AM: Me– What gives?
Him– Oh, I’m about to enter my car.
Me– Hurry up, I can see there’s traffic.
Him– I was told there wasn’t any.
Me– Right, then maybe I’m just hallucinating.
7.35AM: No show. I stomp off to take transport.
8.40AM: 1 overpriced bus and an extremely long bike ride later, get to work. LATE.

I didn’t get into trouble, but I’m very time conscious, and there’s nothing cute about walking into ur office 45 minutes after it resumes. Also, I was very ANGRY. I asked over and over again, and he prevented me from getting to work on time. I’m not trying to dictate what time he goes and comes, but courtesy demanded he inform the person he’s always carrying that he just didn’t want to go early. I’m a victim of being immobile. I found out that I had actually missed his call at 7.39, but what would have been the point?

But I’m better; I’ve had my morning sarnie, and read some cute mails with lil animal pics, this pic being my fave:

Silly ole Vexation

Another odd morning for the books. My sister was being a retard last night and decided to blame me for it. She expected ME to remind HER to collect the key to our front gate from my dad. Which wouldn’t be an issue if she:

a. wasn’t always the first one in and the last one out of the house.
b. hasn’t been the one collecting that key every night for months.
c. wasn’t acting like a complete git.

I simply asked, ‘Should I have to tell you this?’ and she apparently got sulky and childish, and proceeded to not borrow me her ipod when I asked for it later. This morning, she said I had the effontry to ask her for something after ‘misyanning’. (*Eye Roll*) I told I wasn’t sorry, that she shouldn’t blame me for her lack of initiative, but I was sorry for asking her for her ipod, that I didn’t realise she was ‘sulking’.

Those words felt good cos I knew it hit home. Later on, on our way to work (after she wasted everyone’s time), she was mumbling that I stomped out without telling her where the key to the room was. So, as a final shot, I mumbled back, “Oh, am I supposed to be telling you that too?”

She’s older than me by 4 years, and some people won’t be the wiser. Sure, there’s always been the sibling rivalry and whatever, but she’s just become a royal pain since she started her job at some 2nd-tier bank like that. Has a very BAD mouth (a gift from my dad, my mum and I agree). She’s the only one in the whole world that thinks I’m rude (which is rather hypocritical if you hear her in daily conversational), and I know it’s because I tend to talk to her like she’s a child. Which I wouldn’t do if she didn’t ACT like a child. I think we’re just too much in each other’s face. Our during-the-week crib in Anthony is miniscule at best, and she’s lately become a … slob for lack of better words. Doesn’t take correction, ignores it most of the time, and generally pisses me off. There’s loads more I have to say, but no point hanging out dirty launry, is there?

Frankly I’ve had it.