Shut Yo’ Mouth!

Sure, I could go ahead and write about Democracy Day, and how it’s really pointless (except for the day off work), and how the government has done little to improve our current situation (even though I WILL send a shout-out to Fashola, who’s doing a GREAT job on the roads and beautification on Lagos state, and isn’t making a big show of it, go Fash!), but there are already so many bloggers out there tackling that topic, so I won’t bore you. And myself. Sure, I could go on to say that my car’s up and running again. And sure, I could talk about my new website, that’s coming soon – this time I’m NOT exaggerating, or deceiving myself, the site’s already halfway done, so watch out. June’s the month; Beautiful Disorder is the watch word! W00t!

No… I’m going to have a tiny, little rant today. Why the friggin’ hell can’t keep people keep their opinions to themselves? Why do people think that it’s everything they think that other people want to hear? Why is it that many people lack the ‘filter’ that warns them when they’re thinking of something offensive and OTT to NOT say it?

Yeah, I’m eating something fattening. Whoopsey-freakin do. Telling me I’ll turn into a whale will not make stop eating it, but it will make me resent you for ruining the joy of my meal. And yes, I’m big, I get it. I know. Can we STOP the constant reminders? Do you think making jokes about the size of my arm/leg/butt/whatever body part you’ve noticed recently will endear you to me? You really think people enjoy hearing jokes about things they’re sensitive about?

I pay you the courtesy of not making STUPID comments; do you think you could possibly return the favour?! Is it too much to ask for you to respect yourself, and respect me? Do you think you could learn how to not use everything as a potential punchline, and then giving the excuse, ‘That’s how I am?’ Screw you. That’s how I AM. So don’t make dumb comments to ME. How’s that?


My Problems Were ‘Better’ Than Yours

Don’t you just HATE it when you’re trying to make a perfectly VALID complaint about something, and then some OLDER person goes, ‘Oh, what are you talking about, back in my day…’


You walked to school through the pouring rain, barefooted with a desk on your head. WHATEVER. And yes, yes, i KNOW, back in your day, as a corper you earned 1,500 Naira month. Cry me a bloody river.

HOWVER, RIGHT NOW, I cannot limit my annoyances by such standards. Right now, I don’t happen to have anyone who’s strolling to school for MILES, barefooted and showing the warning signs of neglect. UNFORTUNATELY for YOU, dear older folk, I got driven to school a few times, my secondary school was not a plane flight from my house, and YES, I wore footwear! Much as I HATE to diminish the ‘oh-so-horrible’ salary you weare earning, YES, I DID earn more than 1500, and you know what? I don’t care what YOU think! My parents haven’t given me money since I started serving… 2 years scrimping and saving, thanks very much!

If I don’t like a situation, I will damn well complain, and you don’t get to trivialize because you had it ‘rough’ BACK IN YOUR DAY, old person!!! It’s called CHANGE!!! Move with it!

*deep breath*

I’m okay now.

When Things Stop Making Sense


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 ( these days:

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.


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.


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 Much Needed Update

So it’s been a bit. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind, punctuated by deadlines, headaches, falling ill, crappy Vals and WORK. So, all the urgent work FINALLY done, I think it’s time for a bit of an update.

As predicted, I didn’t do much on Vals worth mentioning. I did however, do some marathon walking. Because, yes, as much as I didn’t see the need to do anything, Darkman felt so, and apparently, so did every other person in LAGOS. After work, I could neither find a bike or a cab, the traffic was B**** and I had to walk… well, let’s just say I walked for almost an hour in VI, in heat, in suit, in VERY FOUL MOOD. We met up at City Mall, and I was sourly and I showed it. There were walking clichés every where, from all the redness to all the balloons and flowers and crap, and the fact that I had probably lost 5 pounds walking in that late night heat.

In a nutshell, it kinda sucked. We left 30 minutes later, exchanged gifts and I went home to sleep.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

Last week I went through a period of physical disillusionment where I felt I looked like crap, and the feeling hung about till like Wednesday when I had a chat with Bus and we exchanged laments, and she did that friend thing where she told me just how well I DID look, and how I carried myself, and the likes, and I felt better.

The weekend was cool, Kitty and I, in the absence of the ultimate party starter, Bus, decided to go get our hair done. It doesn’t fail to fascinate me how I have bus’d to pretty much every corner of Lagos within the past 3 or so years, and now that I have a car, I can’t do without getting lost. For every new route I take, I have to go through at least 5 extra minutes of fuel burning and head scratching before I get to where I’m going.

We were going to Surulere, right? I said, let’s go to Make-Me Salon, right? And Kitty was like, yeah, sure. At first we try getting detailed directions from her friend cos after Ojuelegba bus stop I pretty much couldn’t remember jack. He tries, but it’s too much of ‘climb the first bridge, then the second, don’t climb the third, go left…’ so we decided to rough it.

All was going well, we got past Ojuelegba, got past National Stadium, then got to a roundabout… then I got confused again. Do I go straight, or go round? We decided to stop and ask.

Let me digress for a moment. I have a few simple rules when I’m driving and you’re sitting in the passenger seat:

  1. Don’t be a backseat driver. I’m not blind. I’m not stupid. Telling me to slow down, or speed up, or trafficate mere seconds before I’m about to do so is annoying. I KNOW.
  2. Don’t be an alarmist. Randomly yelling, ‘LOOK OUT!’ or ‘DON’T FORGET THE TURNING!’ is extremely irritating, and if said at the wrong time, will get us both killed.
  3. Touch my steering wheel and DIE.

Unfortunately, Kitty failed the second one. As we slowed down to ask for directions, some mallam suddenly attaches himself to her window, and stares in creepily. I was like, WTF, and then a couple more appear on both sides. Then a couple more. Kitty started freaking out and said I should ‘GO! What are you waiting for? Go!’

I admit, that in the heat of the moment, I didn’t reason out the events properly. So, I picked up the panic and stepped on the accelerator action movie style. And action movie style, the first mallam hung on to the car for like 30 feet, and we freaked out even more. It was like, what does he want? Why won’t he go away? How is he still hanging on to the car? We eventually lose him, and breathe a sigh of relief. It turns out they just thought we wanted to change money. But did they have to act like hungry hyenas???? As a result of my Gone in 60 Seconds remake, we’d succeeded in going the wrong way. We drove, and drove, trying to find a familiar street.

Asking Lagosians for directions is POINTLESS. We asked 2 different people, and they told us two different things. After a looong time, I said, ‘I feel like I’m at Yaba’. And lo and behold, we found ourselves back at… Ojuelegba. We’d driven around in a circle. I was irritated. I asked for directions again, and as I tried to move, the car decided to die. I gave that car every insult I could think of, cos I was in the middle of the road. It starts again, after much ado, FINALLY, we get to Adeniran Ogunsanya… And can’t find make-me. Pissed, we decided to hit downtown instead. Kitty wasn’t impressed with the way her hair was done, but mine seems to have turned out to be a hit.

We ended the night with too much food and white wine. Yeah, it sounds a whole better than it was. And white wine really doesn’t taste that good. It was a gift, and I didn’t want to try it alone, that just sounds sad and alcoholic-ish. So, we spent 10 minutes looking for a corkscrew or something like it, before seriously contemplating just breaking the top part of like we did once in school. We just couldn’t find a good surface. Kitty had a moment of genius and just pushed the cork into the bottle. For something we didn’t like, we drank quite a bit, getting almost halfway. Unfortunately the drink triggered off Kitty’s ulcer later in the night. Ooops.

Before I sign out, a little blog-surfing for you. Heard about this stupid Indecent Dressing bill a while back from my mum (who was equally unimpressed by the foolish Sentor’s misplaced priorites) but I kinda forgot it again until I saw Bellanaija, Funmi Iyanda and Naijablog’s posts on it this afternoon. I don’t have to say much, they’ve all said it for me. Let me just say I started off this week not thinking too highly of men in general, and then to see a fellow female making that ignorant, stupid insinuation that a chick in a skirt is responsible for being sexually harassed by some pervert SICKENS me. I’m irritated that this bill hasn’t been squashed already.

Peace y’all, I got work to do.

It’s Vals – And Yes, I Still Don’t Care!

Well… After almost a week of sort-of combating Malaria/Typhoid (again), I’m BACK! Unfortunately, every single thing I had been hoping to write about last week has gone to the dogs. Can’t remember. Ah well. Just as well.

It’s Valentine’s Day! You know I had to have a li’l ole rant about this.

Yeah, I thought I would be ultra unique and write about something totally unrelated, like global warming or the absolutely INSANE heat that has suddenly taken Lagos by storm (now THAT’s something we need). But no… I’m gonna write something about Val’s. Why? Well, I guess it’s the obligation of my relationship status.

Listening to St Elsewhere – Gnarls Barkley…

Last year, I wrote a heated rant about the absolute pointlessness of Valentine’s Day. My opinion hasn’t changed much. It’s really just this over-blown, sensationalized, money-making remix of what was actually a kinda cute concept. I had the misfortune of spending my convalescence stuck in Anthony Village, where there was no cable. So… I had to make do with the Silverbirds and G65s of the TV world. Every other minute, it was some silly Valentine’s bash/parade/pageant/dinner/discount/sale/concert or the other. There was PINK and RED everywhere. At Silverbird Galleria, Darkman and I decided to venture to some horrific Valentine’s stand and couldn’t understand what all the MUSH was for.

Yes, I SAID it! It’s all mush! Shoot me! What’s with all the cards DRIPPING with sentiment? Do you know hard it is to locate a nice Valentine’s card for a relationship that isn’t quite 3 full months and quite frankly, not declaring that you love the person with every flaming ember of your soul and will do so forever?

Slow down…!

I’d never been Val’d (is that even a word?!). At least, not till this year anyway. The great thing about getting a (very) slow start to such a thing in your life is the absolute joy of making observations of others’ plights. In secondary school, things went from ‘OMG! Soso got a Val’s gift! That’s soooo cool!’ in our junior classes to ‘OMG! I can’t believe you didn’t get anything!’ in our senior years.

Ah yes, the joyful shallowness of secondary school relationships. It’s like everyone just started pairing up at a point, just to beat the graduation window. Anyway, I recall, was it SS2 or SS3, when all the girls that got gifts, were apparently so insanely tickled by their good fortune that they thought it would be (*starts silly white girl voice*), like, totally cool to like, put all the gifts together and like soo take pictures, just cos, you know, they could?

My eyes practically rolled to the back of my head when I saw it. Teddy bears and plastic roses and other red paraphernalia lined up in a creative arc on a bed, then the money shot: Each chick with her own stuff. God. Most of those relationships didn’t even make it past grad.

In university, things got more interesting. More cash to burn, bigger chicks to impress. I had a friend that almost lost her mind every Val’s searching for the perfect gift. On that day, people used to piss me off with this line, ‘Happy Vals!’. I usually replied that with the scowl or forced smile of my choice. Happy Vals? What, is it a public holiday? If it’s so big and pivotal, no one should go to work. Then, and only then, will I indulge in that silly greeting.

What irritated me was the look many girls got or gave at the prospect of not receiving a gift: ‘Aw, eeya, don’t worry, next year it will be your turn’ or ‘I wish I was getting a gift’… The look of complete, unadulterated ENVY dropping from their faces like sweat, when some girl entered the hall with some huge bag or whatever. If it was some ‘big boy’ from outside, even better. He’d park in whatever ostentatious car he could bring, right in front of the hall, and all of them would press their faces against the window, waiting, watching. One really funny year, a girl got a new car. Oh, God. Didn’t hear the end of that one. Kitty and I had a laugh there. We were like, ‘well, with those keys, she has given out her right to refuse him pretty much anything. Including a marriage proposal’.

WTF? I totally don’t blame many guys that aim for singledom every February. It’s too much pressure. We girls are horribly materialistic creatures, and we EXPECT something. I’m sure they wake up every 14th, cursing St Valentine, wondering whose bright idea it was.

I don’t think it was a completely stupid idea, Vals, it is a ‘celebration of love’ after all. For those that are genuinely citizens of the land of mush and luurve, today’s like their Independence Day/Christmas. Currently I’m facing the pressure. I don’t like thinking too hard about such things, but here I am. I’d rather do something interesting than get a gift. I told Viva. I’ve reached that point in my life where very few material things could blow me out of the water. At 21, I don’t know if that’s good or sad. But I won’t say no to a new car.  Frankly, I think a gift’s an easy way out (yes, I’m THAT hard to please). Gifts are for birthdays. Anyone could pop into a store and get a teddy bear (of which, don’t do it, just don’t, totally pointless things). But it takes thought and effort to plan a nice day/night out … or in.

Not so? That said, I strolled into the office this morning for t, my eyes assaulted by chicks in red, and guys in red ties (*shudders*), and my ears already harassed with about four ‘Happy Valentines!’. I think, so far, I have hidden my repulsion well. Yeah, I know, I’m a killjoy. You can refer to me as the scrooge that stole Valentine’s. Vals is all good, but I don’t see the BIG deal in it. I’ve told Darkman more than once that my life would go on if we don’t see today, he probably thinks I’m off my rocker. But… it’s your first Vals, he goes. And I’m like, yeah… I guess… whatever… you know. Let’s not lose our heads.

All you lovers out there have fun though. And all you single boys and gals… it’s all good. 🙂
(*ha! betcha thought I would wish u a happy one, huh? *)

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???

All Ye Females : Why Do We Give Them More to feel Important About?

I admit, I was expecting the guys to have more to say in their defence. To be able to argue for their existence. Ah well. Guess not. I see I’ve been accused of generalizing, but no one could ever NOT say that what I was saying didn’t apply. I’m not stereotyping, I’m talking from experience. Even the nicest guys have that weakness. I’m not saying they’re bad people. They’re just… not totally useful. 🙂

Anyway, returning from partially good weekend, 4 more days of work to endure… I bring to the world my next provocative question:

What’s that about? Why do people tend to act like a guy is the only tangible accomplishment we can ever make? And why do we encourage it?

Disclaimer: Now, before you think I’m going on some man-hating, feminist rant, let me get one thing straight. I don’t hate guys; most of my greatest friends are guys. In terms of attitudes they’re more laidback than chicks, and make better friends (when they aren’t trying to get you in the sack).They make good playthings too. But when it all comes down to it, I don’t see their point. Also, everything I write here is based on my theories and observations and no-one else’s, so none of that ‘prove it’ stuff.

And don’t act like you don’t. God knows, on a daily basis, we’re constantly being nagged and reminded of how we belong in a kitchen, warming some guy’s bed, or becoming a baby-vending machine is the main point of our existence and if you’re single, whether you’re 18 or 28, you tend to get looks like you said you’re … a 50 yr old spinster with only cats for company.

If I had 50 bucks for each time since I graduated that I’ve been asked when I’m getting married, I’d have enough to go for master’s (ok, maybe not, maybe I’ll just be able to buy a new laptop) which oddly enough, no-one outside my age group hasn’t asked about.

I read through a couple of blogs today and some of them spoke my mind. One time in school, a classmate made a sort-of derogatory comment to me because I didn’t have a boyfriend, ‘Don’t mind her, she’s just being that way because she didn’t answer all the guys when they were coming up to her, and now it’s too late.’
Shio. By too late, she was referring to the fact that I was 19, in 400 level and as far as she was concerned, an old maid. All this cos I didn’t read someone’s valentine message in a ‘romantic’ manner. Okkaayyyy…

All the harassment however, just made me more determined not to care. Because quite frankly, I’ve seen one too many chicks lose their minds over their lack of a guy. Here are a few typical complaints:

1. Oh, how I wish I had a guy to buy me…
2. Oh, woes me, I need a guy to be driving me to..
3. Oh, why don’t I have a guy to take me out?
4. Oh, I wish a guy to snog…
5. Oh, my life is a shamble, I wish I had a guy to Val me…
6. I need money. I need a guy in my life.

WHAT?! I hardly hear a sensible whine, like, needing a guy for companionship purposes… I could even FORGIVE the snog part. But waiting for the dark knight that’ll come along in his shiny new BMW with a fat wallet and a thick head is ATROCIOUS. Why can’t you go out on your own? Why can’t you go out, and make your own money? Woman, WhY OH WHY do you need to have a Val’s gift???

Guys, unfortunately, know this. They know that 8 out of 10 girls are so obsessed with what a guy can do for them that they begin to feel important. They know that come a few years, no-one’s gonna tell them they’re getting too old to marry. Which once again, brings me to the whole guy coming up and thinking they can impress you with their accomplishments. A guy I thought was kinda cute (I think I was sleepy at the time) on camp, got to talking with me, and then he felt it necessary to tell me about his ‘business’ and how he would have made his first million in a couple of weeks. I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes.The arrogance of it all. Another annoying one is where a guy I was actually kinda close to was throwing himself at me and acting like he was doing me a favour because I didn’t have a guy in my life. The nerve. I forgave him for his momentary foolishness.

Anyway, that said. I’m not generalizing. But there are just men out there who know all they need to do is flash and there’ll be those chicks that’ll kill themselves with greed. Let’s stop making these boys feel important, shall we? I know working-class ladies that will rather squander their salaries on expensive clothes and make-up, and wait for a guy to buy the important stuff. Stop being so shallow. Let’s try to be independent for a bit… just a bit. Try.

All Ye Males – What R U Good For? REALLY?

This might seem to be an odd post from me, considering as I’m newly attached and loving it. But lately though, due to excessive thinking and brooding over certain issues, as well as reading a few things here and there, I have to ask:

What’s the point of guys? Really?

Disclaimer: Now, before you think I’m going on some man-hating, feminist rant, let me get one thing straight. I don’t hate guys; most of my greatest friends are guys. In terms of attitudes they’re more laid back than chicks, and make better friends (when they aren’t trying to get you in the sack).They make good playthings too. But when it all comes down to it, I don’t see their point. Also, everything I write here is based on my theories and observations and no-one else’s, so none of that ‘prove it’ stuff. I’m on a roll here, bear with me.

As Bus asked the other day, beyond the whole ‘populating the earth’ thing, what function do they serve? Most guys – despite the whole ‘macho’, opening the tight jar of whatever, and the biceps – are really just big babies with raging hormones. No offense. Look at it. Practically every guy grows in life craving two things:

Sex and food. And sports to kill the time between getting the sex and eating the food.

I dare any guy to deny it. And don’t even mention money. Money is a means to an end. More money buys more food, gets more girls, buys bigger tvs to watch sports and soothes their fragile egos. Because men like to brag. I can’t describe my irritation for a guy who comes up to me and expects me to care that they just bought a new jeep.

Men, on the other hand, especially Nigerian men, tend to act like they’re well and totally useless without a chick. Oh, can’t wait to marry so I’ll have dinner… oh, can’t wait to get a girl that will help me tidy this place… Oh can’t wait for a girl to this and that…

What? For all the stronger sex crap we have to put up with, you can’t get off your lazy butt and make dinner? Are your hands psychologically tuned to NOT know how to work a spoon unless it’s carrying something TOWARDS your mouth? Is there some magical, complex equation involved in boiling… say, rice? Is there some superstition I don’t know about where you innards shrivel up and die if you make an effort to tidy your room?

I’m quite sure there isn’t. But let me not generalize. I’ll instead blame our society and the upbringing that lets males believe they never really have to make an effort to do anything when there’s a female present.

Yes. I’m going to be a shock to my eventual husband.

But anyway, I digress. Males also tend to act like they’ll suddenly start sprouting sores and lesions if they go say, a week without getting laid. Maybe it’s a young-ish guy thing. Maybe not. Let’s face it. It’s scientifically proven. NOTHING will happen if you don’t have sex for even a YEAR. So let’s stop all this junkie-like obsession, shall we?

Moving on though. What do we as females, need them for? REALLY? Beyond the whole procreation thing? Not much really. I mean, for the really shallow/dependent/old-fashioned types, there’s that whole ‘security’ hoopla: “Oh, a guy would provide me with financial/emotional/physical security”.

Not these days, princess. These days when women work and make great pay, it irks me to hear SUCH women making such comments. Or even the WINNER: I can’t buy *insert pricey but long-wanted item here* with my own money, I’ll tell my boyfriend to buy it for me.


If there were no men, we’d technically have fewer armed robbers, rapists and murderers (see where I’m going here?). So TECHNICALLY, the whole physical security thing would be immaterial. Besides, as they’re here now, I’m not strolling out on the streets at 10pm. And don’t even get me started on the emotional security thing. Can someone say ‘No more drama’?

So…What do we need them for??? What??? Assuming, there were no guys, and there was some Last Man on Planet Earth stuff going on… I think we’d do just nicely. No football, no ‘ball’ anything, no mindless love triangles, no emotional heartbreak… Please, feel free to prove me wrong.

*Taking deep breath* We don’t need them as much we’re being made to believe we do. Which brings to me the topic of the next post and 2nd part of the 3-part study on ye males: Why Do We Give Guys More to feel Important About?

P.S. Guys, you know it’s all love.

Quickie Update

Considering how long it took me to open Word, I can’t exactly call it QUICK. I have a system plagued by Trojans.

I’ve updated my blog roll. To be fair, I was subscribed to most of the blogs for ages, but I was lazy to update my template (which I still haven’t started work on). Oh, and I also made my header image a link back to the home page (a fair feat, believe me).

Anyway, my weekend was mostly dry. Went to Agbara, slept all through, and decided to escape Agbara yesterday afternoon to engage in ‘other’ activities. I’d talk about the traffic I had to endure on Thursday, but it was generally a crappy day, and I don’t feel like sharing.

I hate my hair. Did some thing that I feel is a cross between something my mum would do and a cheap 70’s afro style. A few people at work said they liked it, but what do they know? Doesn’t help that a certain someone cracked like, 10 jokes over it on Sunday. It’ll be gone by Friday night.

Apparently I might soon be moving out. It’s something that’s happening quicker than I thought. Never has the road to freedom looked so foreboding. It’s a really good offer. Best I’ve heard in a while… ok, EVER, and I know if I wait till January like I wanted, I might regret it. I’m so confused. And if I pay now, it means I’ll have to wait a while longer for an ipod and a new phone, the latter of which I desperately need. Will talk to mother, she knows best.

I’m also faintly broke. I’m not starving or anything, but considering what I earned last month, it’s an embarrassing balance to have more than a week before the next pay-day.

I’m considering buying Fidelity shares. But what do I know? I’ve bought 3 sets of shares this year, and I STILL don’t have a broker. I admit it, I’m lazy. And I have only received the share certificate for ONE.

I’m also having body image issues. Nothing new there, but it’s bugging me more than usual these days, so for like, the millionth time in my short life, I’m on a diet.

Speaking of the body, I still have that damned cough. I’ve conceded defeat and started OD’ing on cough syrup.

I’m wearing a new suit. I like it loads.

Did I mention I really hate my hair?