I love...

I love pop music, soft rock, r n b... none of the hard stuff for me. Okay, I love a bit of rock but would definitely not stand for hardcore rap or metal rock (I think).
huhn?! wat's dat?!

I love all those songs they play on movies. You know the one they play when the girl is on the train running home to her parents, trying to look for a change of life (13 going on 30)
Or the one when the man tries to tell his wife why he kept his dancing class a secret from her making her think that he was cheating on him and causing her to set a detective on him (shall we dance).

I love all those soft rock and alternative they play on high school movies. SCHOOL'S OUT FOREVER! (The faculty, just before the teachers started decimating their students. Jon Stewart was still skinny in that movie and got it in the eye.)
I love Avril Lavigne, Cold play, Green Day, Nickleback, Maroon 5, three doors down and plenty plenty others.
And then the movie favorites like The All-American Rejects, Hilary Duff...
But I looove Nickleback.
I wanna be a RockStar. Trésor the Rocker.
One day, maybe. Dreams do come true.

I love them cos they help me think, dream, imagine... place me in a mellow mood.
My newest discovery, Yahoo radio

Oyiboo no get wahala. No boasting, no bling bling, hate anthem.
My girlfriend left me, that would make a good song about Sunday mornings.

I no fit shout.
The painkillers finally did their thing. Well, almost.

And then this dude Jason Mraz.

I have this crazy back ache. It's on my upper back. Like what the hell!
And the most annoying thing about my situation is that people keep asking me with a stupid smirk on their lips and a wink of a silly eye, 'What did you do?'
Why is it that anything that has to do with back-ache or pain has got to be sex-related?
Why isn't the blandest reason ever the culprit?
Why is it that no one ever asks me- How did you sleep last night? ( okay that' s not a better question.)
or Are you sure it has nothing to do with your bed? Which, in a way, it has.
Actually, it has more to do with the couch. I have been sleeping on the couch lately. The Roomate is out of town and whenever he is and I have to stay in the house alone, I always fear to sleep in my room. (Baseless fear, I know) I usually sleep in the sitting room.
My dad often says, The couch is not a bed.
Truer words have never been spoken but- too late!

Now I have got this horrible back pain.
Everything that I do that has to with the chest area hurts. I speak, it hurts, I sit, it hurts. I cough -and oh man do I have a bastard cough- it hurts.
I have taken these mad painkillers and am hoping for a reprieve but IT'S NOT COMING FAST ENOUGH!

Oh my back. *sob*

My Dad and I

I hung out with my Dad yesterday.

He was like- Take me out and let's do stuff you do on a Saturday.
- Like I go to my boyfriend's house on some Saturdays, would you like to come along?
- Stuff you do on those Saturdays you don't go to see your boyfriend.


I was all decked out in red and black. Red and black strapless bustier dress- the top was red and the skirt red and black tartan, black gladiator sandals, black beads around my left wrist, red earrings.

'Your outfit is making so many statements that one can easily get confused' was my Dad's 'compliment'.

I wore a black bolero jacket over the dress before we stepped out. My dad wore jeans.

Took him to the cinema and we saw UP. We were like the oldest kids there. And about a dozen viewers. We ate popcorn, laughed our heads off sometimes and smiled wistfully some other times. I think my Dad even blinked away a tear or two.

We took in some pizzas and chicken wings at Debonair. Soon as we entered, I felt this exhilarating sensation like I was playing a joke on everybody and they were probably thinking My Dad was my Sugar Daddy. Then the old dude had the not-gumption to leave his glass case with his glasses in it behind. He was already at the car and I tagging along way behind when a waiter fella runs out and says- Hey sister, your Dad left his glass case behind.
For some perverted reason, I wanted to roll my eyes and intone in my most uppity voice- He's not my dad.
I just smiled and asked, 'How did you know he's my Dad?'
'Is he not your dad?' the guy asked back
'Oh he is,' I replied and judging from the look the boy gave me,I felt like I had made everything even worse.

We ended the night at a cool seaside place with a live band.



I was reading something in Elle about kids whose parentage are kept away from them. You know kids born or raised in secret or something like that- the most famous being Jack Nicholson who didn't know his sister and mother were actually his mother and grandmother till after their deaths.

I have always known that my dad is not my Dad, ever since I was a kid and this knowledge used to irk the hell out of me. Say the truth I once snapped at him, Say you are my real father.
And he gently replied, Of course I am.
And of course he is!

I have never missed not having a bio-Dad. In fact, I think Bio-parents are over rated. Mere biology does not make anyone a parent.
Take my mom for example: She dumped me at the age of five with this man whom I love so much to whom she was married for two years before doing the split. That was after she had dumped three other kids with her mom before coming to Nigeria to seek her fame and fortune.
Still infamous, still unfortunate.
Some kids do have them.

I have got the best Dad in the World full stop. We even look alike. He's fair like me, or is it the other way round. We hang our heads at the same angle when we are asking penetrating questions and we pronounce some words the same way. We even like the same kind of foods like pizza and chicken wings.

Of course, I asked about my real Dad. He's dead they told me. But I later found out that he was some foreigner my mom tried to sink her claws into but he left her before she managed even to pierce him with them. (Long story, not telling.)
I really don't care- about him or her for that matter. Like I said bio-parents are over-rated and love often has nothing to do with DNA.
This my real Dad, he's perfect and a blessing to me in more ways than I can explain. With him, I can never miss what I never had. He's my best friend, my boyfriend, my sugar-daddy, my everything.





Did I mention yesterday was his birthday?

Long thing

That's how Thaddeus come and impregnate one girl in our area.



One girl: Thaddeus, come I want to see you.

Thaddeus: Wasup, baby.

One girl: I am pregnant.

Thaddeus (laughing): You can't be serious, I used a condom.

One girl: (loud laughter and clap): See this one o. E be like say, you are the only one who no know say condom no be guarantee.

Thaddues: Oh so since you are obviously one of those in the know, why didn't you get backup.

One girl: Backup?

Thaddeus: The pill or something.

One girl: Pill?

Thaddeus: Look I don't have time for this shit.

One girl: Where are you going to? I say you give me bele and you are woking away.

Thaddeus: So what do you want? Money for an abortion?

One girl: Abortion ke? You must marry me ni.

Thaddeus (SUPER BIG LAUGHTER): Marry you. (More laughter. Eyes tearing up.) Are you serious? You want me to marry you. (Almost choking now.)

One girl: (sulky silence.)

Thaddeus (clears throat): You for talk that one since before I even fuck you. Okay, no problem. you want me to marry you abi?

One girl: No be say I want you to, you need to. Me, I no fit do abortion o. What if I die? Abi you don't know girls use to die ni.

Thaddeus: Okay, calm down. No problem. You wan make I marry you abi. Well, since it's all because of the pregnancy, first of all, you have to take a pregnancy test.

One girl (waves a lazy hand): Small things.

Thaddeus: Okay. Then you have to get a paternity test done on the foetus.

One girl: Pa-ta... Talk am again.

Thaddeus: Pa-ter-ni-ty test. It's a DNA test. You have got to prove that my DNA matches that of the baby in your womb.

One girl: Shey na blood group?

Thaddeus: Nope. D-N-A. You do know what a DNA test is seeing as you are so knowledgeable.

One girl: (Heavy silence. Then...) Oya, give me abortion money.



Obviously e don enter long things...



visit Untame!

About WW1, Hitler, New Jersey and New York.

So on Saturday, I just had to leave the house, get my groove on. You-know-wara-I-mean? I had had about enough of the Gees dropping around the place.

'Gee? Gee?'

Gee, that's what Lois calls the Roomate.

And then the giggles- tee hee hee- everywhere I turn. My bedroom door ain't sound proof, guys! Heck, the whole freaking walls in this house sounds like its made of tissue paper!!!

Someone invited me to a wine-tasting party. Yep, they actually have one of those in Nigeria. Actually, it was more like cocktails, a chance to get drunk with strangers and acquaintances.

It's like a billion years since the Boyfriend relocated to his country and trust me guys, ONLINE SEX SUCKS! Another name for it should be tease therapy.
Have got my pants all afire and this simpering idiot is not helping matters sauntering around the house half-naked, flaunting her sexuality and her roaringly active sex life. Bitch!

So when K, an old flame, invited me to the wine-tasting thingy, I just thought- a night without the Roomate and Sidekick, yipee!!!- and jumped at the chance with limbs and claws.


The whole night was actually disappointing and boring. Drinks and smokes- I get that scene at home already. So K suggested we step out into the night and once again, I concurred.

We ended up at his place. I had promised myself, no more one night stands, but I was actually angry enough with the Roomate to go ahead with this and not to talk off horny as hell what with months of just Tease Therapy.

It was such a raunchy night. Lots of spit and clawing and biting. Scratching, gnawing, pulling, tugging, pummels and slaps on the backside! Pumping and pushing and banging and bucking and ... It was War!
... and so ferocious that just at the end of WW1, K's little man was aptly baptised Hitler.
It was "raid and rampage", "pillage and spoils".

In the middle of a well-earned pause, K took time to study the landscape, my almost statuesque body (of which I am proud, thank you very much). His men (hands) surrounded the two hills at the top of the valley and after overcoming the twin peaks, with his teeth and tongue he pronounced solemnly ' New Jersey and New York. Here's my New Jersey' he kissed right peak, 'And here's is my New York.' he gnawed on left peak.

Stupid names for breasts if you ask me.

Still...

I got home at around 2pm the next day and just had this urge to go naked and spreadeagled on my bed. Just spread my legs and let cool air rush over my bush and ease the still raging fire underneath.

K, if you are reading this, YOU ARE THE MAN!