tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4337786353298493742024-02-02T06:51:22.646+01:00Trésor LeKadoI'm a DIVA!Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-1645351125425337212010-07-22T10:11:00.004+01:002010-07-22T10:47:01.344+01:00Vote of thanksActually this is long overdue and just when I thought I was getting inspired, I find that I have to rest my pen or is it free my keyboard to go onto other projects.<br /><br />- So I'd like to start by thanking all those who unwittingly made themselves subjects of my blog starting from <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/04/rule-10.html">the girl with the weird wig</a>, <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/04/bitches.html">the lady who tested me</a>, <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-hate-bukky-m.html">Bukky M</a> who almost succeeded in making herself important, <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/04/boyfriend.html">the now ex-boyfriend</a> and all other <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html">exes</a> to the <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/09/small-things.html">random folks </a>here and there who were subjects of other people's gists but somehow made their way onto this page in a more personalized format<br /><br />-Big ups to <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/05/football-sucks.html">my crew</a>- rather, the Roomate's crew- <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-weekend-or-how-femi-came-to-be.html">Femi the headbanger</a> and co<br /><br />- Special mention to my family: <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-dad-and-i.html">my Dad</a>, <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2010/07/of-married-friends.html">Aunty</a> and of course the inimitable <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/08/t-biffing.html">Roomate</a> and his branch of the family<br /><br />- the <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2010/06/tresor-catches-football-fever-shock.html">Roomate</a> along with <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/05/seriously-exagerated-activity.html">Bilkis</a> get the award for being the stars of this blog<br /><br />- To those of you who read on the sly and outright (you know ya-selves)<br /><br />- And finally to my blogmates especially the commentators (Otas and co) and those whose blogs I also enjoy <span style="font-weight: bold;">so much</span>.<br /><br />- To <a href="http://seecyn.blogspot.com/">Splash</a>, <a href="http://ladyguide.blogspot.com/">LG</a>, <a href="http://all4words.blogspot.com/">Rayo</a>, <a href="http://abiola-sumptuous.blogspot.com/">Sumptuous</a>, <a href="http://fieryandsweet.blogspot.com/">Chari and Buttercup</a>, <a href="http://pen007.blogspot.com/">Pengamer</a>/<a href="http://skinnylegz.blogspot.com/">Skinnylegs</a> the most entertaining and realest blogger ever <a href="http://sugabelly.blogspot.com/">Sugabelly</a>- you are so sweet to my belly- and the rest of y'all too numerous to mention so forgive me. And to all my followers: you guys kept Tresor alive much longer than the doctors predicted.<br /><br />I love you all! Peas Hawt! And see y'all in another life!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Tresor-Marie Lekado!</span> aka THE PURPLE DIVA in ya faces!Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-30773565710142173442010-07-12T14:22:00.007+01:002010-07-13T09:25:54.261+01:00Of married friendsA friend of The Roomate's came around some days back and was complaining about how a friend of hers who got married some few months ago has suddenly started "chinning" her.<br /><br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Can you remember when we used to use that slang? I think the first person I heard it from was one of Roomie's brother's girlfriends way back when and she used it in the same "friend dumped me" context hence the nostalgia and use now.</span>)<br /><br />Anyway, this friend of the Roomate's (<span style="font-style: italic;">circa 2010</span>) is really hurt because she feels that the "chin" is as a result of her yet to be updated "single" status. I mean, she is not even "in a relationship" and compared to her "married" friend that's like a yawning gully of a difference.<br /><br />"Am I God?" she bemoaned. "Na wa oh! Like if it was up to me, I won't be married since." (<span style="font-style: italic;">And still be friends with someone who judging from this was not much of a friend to begin with!</span>)<br /><br />I have been very lucky with my married friends (<span style="font-style: italic;">actually I have only one, Bilkis and she can't even think of jawing talk-less of chinning or boning me!</span>)<br /><br />But I have some thoughts on "the single friends getting dumped" thing.<br /><br />It's been noticed by me and my big bro that many girls, once they say "I do" to the man of their dreams or nightmare, suddenly decide that they shouldn't have anything to do with their "old friends". Worse for you if as an old friend you are very pretty, sexy and every one is suddenly contemplating your marketability (<span style="font-style: italic;">everyone meaning bridegroom and friends</span>). Much worse for you if you know something about "the newest madam in town" that hubby does not know about: some dark dark secrets like where the aborted babies where buried and the drugs she took for that unpronounceable vaginal infection and how she is not even sure that the drugs worked.<br /><br />If you are in this latter category, why be really surprised that you get dumped? In fact, if you are in either of the categories, why be surprised at all? Don't you know that you now pose as an immeasurable threat to her continued standing as "Mrs."?<br /><br />I once overhead the Roomate's mom's sister giving advice to her about-to-be-married daughter; the Roomate's mom was also there. When the woman said to her daughter, "You know, once you get married you have to stop moving with those your single friends starting with your chief-bridesmaid," all the women there concurred with a resounding "Amen!"<br /><br />"Why?" you ask.<br /><br />If by now you are not able to provide some answers for yourselves, sorry!<br /><br />The reason Bilkis is my only friend from university who is married and still my friend is because of what I learned from that married-women induction ceremony hosted especially for Roomate's cousin by her mom. The women had made sure to remove her from her friends before unleashing the anti-single lady-friend advice. I was only allowed to be there because I was too young (13), wasn't the girl's friend and since my step-mom was one of the wise women, was included in the list of advice recipients. (<span style="font-style: italic;">You never know, I could have found Mr. Yerima the next day and be married before anyone can whisper: try not to cry on the "first night." remember as a 13 year-old wife, you are now a woman and no longer a child. You are also fulfilling the customs of our religion.</span>)<br /><br />So to ye single ladies who get all hot-and-bothered when for some obscure reasons your just-married friend suddenly stops picking your calls- and no, it's not because her phone was stolen on her honeymoon- <span style="font-weight: bold;">don't be!</span><br /><br />Just do like I do (<span style="font-style: italic;">to guys and girls alike</span>) dump them before they dump you.<br /><br />The moment you hand me your wedding invitation card, you have issued a death-warrant to our friendship.<br /><br />No, the reason I stop picking your calls is not because I don't want to buy your aso-ebi. Rather, it is because I am doing to you what you in all your pomposity as Mrs. Somebody will decide to do to me and most likely before you give me my aso-ebi souvenir.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-83859780707221640372010-07-04T09:33:00.002+01:002010-07-04T09:53:41.298+01:00PUT DESPERATE ON YOUR FOREHEAD...<div style="text-align: justify;">I have this cousin who lives this pathetic existence or so she says.<br /><br />She is in her early thirties (32), has never had any serious relationship and at this stage, doesn't think she will ever get married. The last time a guy seriously asked her out was in the university or so she says.<br /><br />The Roomate calls her a lost cause, as simple as that. The thing about her is not that she is an ice maiden or in-bred "independent woman". She is just desperate. You know when someone is narrow-minded enough to have only one goal in mind- in her case marriage- and everyone can pratcally "see" her thoughts and knows where she is headed in every conversation she has with a guy including her relatives. I mean, it's that bad!<br /><br />She so wants to get married and settle down that she chases guys away- if that is posible.<br /><br />Her problem is that she does not know how not to be desperate. She can't relax. Every guy she meets she automatically assumes something romantic with him. She is overly romantic, watches too many movies and read too many books- and this according to Mr. Know-It-All (Yep, The Roomate.)<br /><br />She is the sweetest girl I have ever known -okay, that's not true- she is slightly crazy. The Roomate does not even pretend to be nice to her.<br /><br />"She is the kind of girl that begs you to be mean to her," he says.<br /><br />She actually became a career woman and pratically spends all her days in the office because she ha never found a guy to love her.<br /><br />Sad. Pathetic.<br /><br />The thing was that yesterday, she tried to commit suicide- nope, Friday night. She took some pills. And well, her parents only discovered her because they noticed that she had been sleeping all day. They rushed her to the clinic yesterday evening and got her tummy pumped. They called this morning. The Roomate and I are going after church to see her at the hospital.<br /><br /><br />The first question I am going to ask her is, "Well, aren't you the drama queen?"<br /><br />The Roomate is thinking of suggesting to the doctor or nurse to stitch the words on her forehead.<br /><br />Nope, there's no sympathy for her in thsi house, obviously.<br /><br />Got to go now. More gist later...<br /><br /></div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-32821852216180111022010-06-30T22:07:00.006+01:002010-06-30T22:55:57.972+01:00Will Cinderella ever dance with her prince...?<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://artpassions.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/mp_cinderella.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 389px;" src="http://artpassions.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/mp_cinderella.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I have decided to go celibate.<br /><br />Sounds so far-fetched and apropos of nothing, right? But it is actually apropos of everything that has been happening in my life since last June- or is it August? All the shit I didn't post about especially when I was considering giving up the blog.<br /><br />And being a girl... (yuck, I hate that I am saying this, rather using the preceding phrase! still...) it has to do with a boy. Everything including the decision to go celibate has to do with <span style="font-weight: bold;">one </span>guy.<br /><br />I am an extremist and I am one of those "romantic" girls that would say, "If I can't have you, I don't want anyone else." More like try-to-destroy-my-life before I came to this "epiphanic" conclusion!<br /><br />I could go into the whole complicated details but I won't because the twist and turns would only bore you. But I will say one thing though, there is nothing like a good heartbreak or almost heartbreak to help change your view about life and bring you back to your senses.<br /><br />I used to say I will never get married. The boy (or man) was all part of that decision because like I said I wanted only him and if I couldn't have him, what's the whole bleeding point! Just to be with him everyday and revel in his friendship is all good for me and since I am one of the very few in this country that realise that life can be as brief as a flash of lightening in the sky, I try to maximise that brief time I have with "my friend."<br /><br />Still I feared everyday that that friendship would be taken away from me while I was still living but not by death- by some "soulmate" that has no business being anything of the sort! I feared. I feared. I really feared.<br /><br />And last year, that fear almost came to being like Dracula rising out of his coffin to terrorise the night. I almost died. I fell sick, I cried for two weeks and ran to Enugu to be with Daddy.<br /><br />Then, suddenly, "the fear" disappeared as unceremoniously as it had come and so finitely like it never was to begin to be with.<br /><br />Still the shadow of it lurks around as my dream is yet to sniff the whisper of a breath of reality.<br /><br />I die.<br /><br />I am so in love and so in fear.<br /><br />So I dedicate my sexuality to God in the hope that my dream might come through. It's a sacrifice filled with so much meaning for me and only God can understand this. I give this so that the possibility that I might get that would be magnified a thousand fold and may one day become a reality.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Do fairytales really exisit?</span><br /><br />And as for "my boy". His is the name I chant as I dedicate a lifetime to my "prayer".<br /><br />Dreams do come true after all... right?<br /></div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-3900952120306895102010-06-22T18:25:00.004+01:002010-06-23T09:47:56.124+01:00Tresor catches the football fever- SHOCK!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs046.ash2/35681_406461766337_520951337_4864959_3071377_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 357px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/hs046.ash2/35681_406461766337_520951337_4864959_3071377_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It's the World Cup and I have got the fever. I know... I hate football, right?!<br /><br />But, you guys, you can't blame me for joining the long list of people out to make money from "the biggest event on African soil." So glad for HiTV that they won that war with the illegal viewing centers else the list would have been way much longer.<br /><br />For me however, it's all thanks to Tweeter that I am thriving in this my venture. The idea just hit me like where ideas have often hit the most creative and innovative people in since the world began ("thank you. thank you." *bowing deeply*) - in the butt while shatting on the toilet seat, I mean shitting in the toilet.<br /><br />Bam! And I jumped as a big one dropped out of my behind. Splash! And just like that the idea came.<br /><br />The Roomates and co- <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/05/football-sucks.html">you know the whole members of the free-loaders-on-game-nights club</a>- have to unfortunately be at work during most of the times that the games air on TV. And even though they all work at serious jobs, none of them is that rich or high-up in the company to take a month off to go to SA to watch the games or to even get tickets to the games for that matter (Ouch!). Well, except for one, KC who happens to be the richest amongst them and ironically the biggest freeloader. He doesn't bring as much as a can of beer when he comes to watch league matches at the Fame lodge.<br /><br />I quit my post NYSC job early this year determined to follow my dream of becoming a (starving) writer. So far I am getting there faster than expected so when the Roomate and friends asked me to tweet World Cup updates to them, I said, "Hell no-way am I doing it for free!"<br /><br />So they all paid a certain amount each (which I am not disclosing) so yours truly can sit in front of a TV and watch a <span style="font-style: italic;">football game</span>- ugh! *throw up*<br /><br />This was before they found out that most opportunistic, over-do and over-sabi news providers were providing the service for free on the same Tweeter eg: <a href="http://twitter.com/234next">@234next</a>. But unfortunately for them, money wey enter pocket...<br /><br />It also didn't help that I did not know shit about football and often sent them tweets like these<br /><br />- <span style="font-style: italic;">Shit! He just missed that!</span><br />- Who? Who? -(would come the reply)<br />-<span style="font-style: italic;">The no 14 shirt.</span><br />- On which team?<br />- <span style="font-style: italic;">The guys wearing yellow and green.</span><br /><br />or after going to the kitchen to get a snack, I will come back to notice that someone had scored and tweet:<br />- <span style="font-style: italic;">Someone just scored.</span><br /><br />You can go ahead and guess the replies to that.<br /><br />Soon they were all unsubscribing and going onto better services, like I cared until some idiot started asking for his money back- like I was going to give him. One paltry sum like that! Mehn, some guys are cheap!<br /><br />Sha, Sha, eventually, the Roomate and <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-weekend-or-how-femi-came-to-be.html">Femi </a>refusing to be conned insisted I continue doing my "job"- "Because we paid!" *hiss*<br /><br />Also Iwas challenged by the effrontery of the idiots who had dared to dump my "services".<br /><br />So right now, guess who knows what a eighteen yard box is? Duh, the goal area!<br /><br />And then I even know when and why the referee calls an offside and above all I can recognise a red card. Yes, it is this rectangular red card that the referee raises when for instance some unpatriotic idiot with a head like a monkey and wearing a green jersey tries to kick another guy who was hugging the ball too close to his chest and wearing a white jersey, in the balls.<br /><br />See, I told y'all that I've caught the fever.<br /><br />But for all y'all aspiring to my post as President of the <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-you-cant-beat-him.html">I HATE FOOTBALL CLUB FOR GIRLS,</a> think again!<br /><br />I plan on continuing with the hate after this time out!<br /></div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-24688175278621253642010-05-18T15:09:00.005+01:002010-05-18T16:20:12.243+01:00Trésor,The Wife.Now that I have decided that I wanna get married after all, this is the kind of wife I want to be: I want to stay at home and do nothing, just spend my husband's money when it is available and play with the kids when they come back from school.<br /><br />I will wake up by 1pm in the afternoon after I have stayed awake till 4am or 5 and made breakfast for my husband. I will then sit and watch DSTV till around 4:30 when it is time to go pick the kids from school. Of course, I would have instructed the maid/nanny on what to make for lunch. When I come back, it is back to the couch while the maid makes dinner and the nanny gets the kids ready for bed after making sure they do their homework and have time to play. When the hubby comes home, I will dish out the food that maid prepared and act like I have been busy all day. If he wants sex, I will give him then it is back to DSTV.<br /><br />Of course, I will be on an allowance and at holidays, the man will send me and the kids abroad for a well-deserved one.<br /><br />I don't even want a business where you will sink in all your money and I will keep asking for capital while making no profits. Nope, I am going to be the perfect stay at home wife/leech.<br /><br />I will even ignore your indiscretions so long as there is DSTV, I can spend time with my girlfriends comparing our boringly rich lives, lots of spending money and make-up gifts all the time (you know the ones you buy for me after each fight!!!)<br /><br />I have heard that these days guys prefer wives who don't work and can stay at home and dedicate their lives (and their youth) to their kids. At least that's what Bilkis' husband wants! And I don't know why my friend is fighting it.<br /><br />He gives her an allowance each day (N500) and anything else she wants he provides for her. He gives her money each month for monthly shopping. She has a car to herself so she can go pick the kids at school. She has a maid, she has a nanny. Heck, gurl- live the life!<br /><br />Sabrina has a boutique in front of her house and that's where they all go to gossip. I tag along once in a while because you know married women and single friends. I want to respect myself- no insults, please.<br /><br />It's not my fault your husband was not the same person you dated. Don't ruin my own naive view of marriage and eternal love!<br /><br />So I am just saying it now. If you are one of those guys that want to marry a woman totally dependent on you- please, beep me. And if you decide to fly around the world while I stay at home training your kids to be brats and menace to themselves, no problem. Just leave plenty spending money behind.<br /><br />Oh! And don't forget to pay the DSTV subscription.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-21569516474689947532010-05-15T13:38:00.001+01:002010-05-15T19:14:28.420+01:00Love, Love, Love.There is this cute couple that pass by my house everyday. Oh, they are so cute. Both tall, both skinny, both young, so in love...<br /><br />Of course, I am biffing them!<br /><br />They started out as friends from secondary school- high school romance, don't you just love that?!!! Now they are both adults in their early twenties, still in university. At least one is and it's not the girl! And I am thinking, how long will this "shit" last!<br /><br />I had this friend. She dated this guy for five years, FIVE years, all through uni and when it was time for wedding bells to toll for her, the relationship crashed.<br /><br />I don't believe in long-term relationships especially when it starts out that early. Call me cynical. Very few, and I mean<span style="font-style: italic;"> very few</span>, fail to stand the test of time.<br /><br />I believe in mature relationships, between adults. That is, if that word "adult" still exists. What with everyone aiming for eternal youth in looks and deeds.<br /><br />Oh, what the heck! If you want to marry me, have that in mind when you come to ask me out on a date. And by the time we have dated for two months, we should be engaged. I will not waste my energies on a five-go-nowhere-year relationship. Thanks but no thanks, I can do without the experience!<br /><br />And I so hate high school romance/friendship relationships. After two years of that, familiarity sets in. Also if the guy has been getting it for free all this while, what makes you think he would be willing to pay for it.<br /><br />Bottom-line: The only time long term relationships work is when no one is getting anything. Deprivation instills sense and aids commitment. Tell everyone I said so!Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-38003506586531414022010-05-12T15:16:00.000+01:002010-05-12T15:18:14.884+01:00One thing I hate more than men (and women) who rape babies, men who beat women.<br /><br />I think the latter should be made to kneel in front of a bunch of women with pestle who would then cudgel the idiot to death.<br /><br />And for people who rape babies, thy should have their sexual components removed in a very bloody and painful experience and then be made to leave the rest of their lives as the empty beings that they are.<br /><br />How have you been?Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-11410603260072496702010-05-02T23:37:00.001+01:002010-05-02T23:45:12.628+01:00Who are you?Never ever let anyone except God define who you are.<br /><br />You don't know me better than I know myself. You are not in my head or heart to know what motivates me. You can only judge by my actions. And unless I tell you, you may never figure out my reasons. Also, that I tell you doesn't mean they are the real ones.<br /><br />Only God who sees all heart and forms our thoughts can state the claim to complete knowledge of me.<br /><br />Since you don't me that well, you can't predict me definitely. You can only make assumptions. Even when your assumptions are right, don't pat yourself on the back; I could surprise you tomorrow.<br /><br />And anyway, instead of wasting your time trying to figure me out, why don't you concern yourself with your own life. Even if you don't think so, you are just as complicated.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-31986990106209410982010-05-02T04:28:00.002+01:002010-05-02T04:35:37.034+01:00What I am enjoyingThis J-lo song! Couldn't find a music video. It's soundtrack to Back-up Plan. The song and movie actually inspired a post but I changed my mind.<br /><br />Enjoy the make-up video and the beautiful song... and remember dreams do come true.<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uZPu4ZW4O88&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="280" height="185"></embed>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-78423293661127371082010-04-24T00:08:00.005+01:002010-04-24T00:40:35.947+01:00How not to be a loser.There was a period in my life when I would be quick to call myself a loser. The problem was that I just wasn't getting the things I <span style="font-style: italic;">wanted</span>. And I wanted so many things.<br /><br />I blamed it all on a lack of charisma, lack of motivation and inspiration, lack of this and lack of that.<br />"You are just not a fighter and an achiever," I would berate myself. But anyone who knows me would tell you how untrue that statement is.<br /><br />The truth is that I am an ambitious person. I have all these dreams and plans on how I am going to achieve them but my problem lies in a total lack of trust and faith in <span style="font-style: italic;">myself</span>. Also, the fact that I let myself get distracted by what <span style="font-style: italic;">others</span> are achieving. Life is annoyingly competitive that even the most free-spirited amongst us sometimes get carried away by its lesser attractions.<br /><br />But, I have come to terms with myself and regained my purpose- all with the help of prayer and a determination to trust God no matter what.<br />I no longer count losses but gains. I look at the other side of those things I seem to have "lost" and I ask myself questions like :"Did I really <span style="font-style: italic;">nee</span>d that or I did I just <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> it because of how attractive it looks?" "How does this fit into the whole frame of my life- present and future?" "Even if it look good on its own, would it have looked good on me?" And the most important question "What do I have now that is all the more precious because it is <span style="font-style: italic;">useful</span> to me?"<br /><br />You know what, I have come to realise after losing my loser mentality (this phrase is not used in its regular sense) that it is not really about winning all the time or always getting what you want just because you can and are smart enough or patient enough to get it, it is all about being happy with yourself - <span style="font-weight: bold;">who you are when you have and don't have.</span><br /><br />So when next you go for that job interview and fail to get the job or you date that oh-so-balanced guy and it does not lead to marriage- do not count yourself a loser, you are actually a winner. You have just won the chance to get that which is perfectly right for you,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> the one you really need.</span><br /><br />God is love,<br />Trésor.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-70710733969021595502010-04-08T16:53:00.004+01:002010-04-09T08:17:06.743+01:00Say it for me Freddie... Freeeeeeeeeee!!!<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9hMrY8jysdg&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="350" height="320"></embed><br /><br /><br /><br />I want to break free<br />I want to break free<br />I want to break free from your lies <br />You are so self-satisfied I don't need you<br />I've got to break free<br /><br />God knows<br />God knows I want to break free<br /><br />I've fallen in love<br />I've fallen in love for the first time<br />And this time I know it's for real<br />I've fallen in love<br /><br />God knows<br />God knows I've fallen in love<br /><br />It's strange but it's true, yeah<br />I can't get over the way you love me like you do<br />But I have to be sure <br />When I walk out that door<br /><br />Oh how I want to be free, baby<br />Oh how I want to be free<br />Oh how I want to break free<br /><br />But life still goes on<br />I can't get used to living without<br />Living without<br />Living without you by my side<br />I don't want to live alone<br /><br />God knows<br />Got to make it on my own<br /><br />So baby can't you see<br />I've got to break free<br /><br />I've got to break free<br />I want to break free<br />I want, I want, I want to break freeTrésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-38096509790120164882010-04-06T12:17:00.004+01:002010-04-06T12:36:50.279+01:00Thoughts...Everyday, I come here and I find that even though I don't post as often as before I still have visitors, enough to know it is not the blogger staff doing their behind-the-scene-voodoo.<br /><br />So if you are so interested in what I say and you love reading, why don't you comment? I love to read people's comment. A message is not complete unless there's feedback. In fact, a story continues long after it's told because listeners give their own take on it. I would like to know what people think about what I think. So next time you are on this blog even if it is just in one letter, tell me what u think. I promise I won't freak if it is negative ( although , I might just delete it if it's rude.)<br /><br />So today, I was wondering about the internet and how it has become a POWERFUL tool for communication. It has succeeded in uniting people across continents (very much like the ship, the train and the airplane in their days but this is faster and broader and more instantaneous)<br /><br />So I was thinking with all my 'friends' across continents most of whom I have never seen and some of whom I have formed deep relationships with in spite of that, what if someone dies, how would I know?<br />Someone may just stop blogging for several reasons or stop being active on Facebook but what if one of those reasons is death?<br /><br />Sorry for the macabre thought but I have this friend whom I love so much, we are yet to meet but we have been friends for over two years now. And suddenly for over week now, I have not 'seen' my friend on the internet which is highly unusual because my friend signs in to one or other of the websites where we meet. But one week now- and zilch!<br /><br />Who would inform me of the person's death? Who knows all the numerous passwords to all the social networks?<br /><br />Or would they pick up the phone and dial all the numbers on it informing 'friends' of the death and what if not all are friends?<br /><br />And how do you mourn someone you have never seen? Very well, except that in this case it would be double the loss as there is no longer anything to look forward to. There is now absolutely no chance you would meet in this life.<br /><br />Sad.<br /><br />Like I said, sorry for the morbid thought.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-39484471988550112382010-03-22T16:04:00.005+01:002010-03-22T17:09:10.419+01:00Give me the simple fellas, please.For some mysterious reason or the other, most of the guys I have had dealings with (mostly of the platonic variety and especially in an official capacity) in recent times, have come across as infantile and highly annoying.<br /><br />The first one started 'stroking' me (<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">throwing jabs, yabbing, 'playfully' insulting, casting aspersions on my person in a jocular way, undermining my personality in such a way as to invoke laughter in others and a heady sense of revenge in me...</span>) for no absolute reason except to probably prove how witty (and irritating) he is. I mean the guy was not even fine enough or cool enough to pull it off in a charming way. He wore an opened-necked shirt that showed off his hairy chest (hairy, not in the he-man sense but hairy as to give you an image of ants crawling over a surface, eeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!)<br /><br />With the second guy, it was his accent and his penchant for saying 'Comprende' at every possible moment and in a very annoying nasal Nigerian pseudo-American accent. I felt like bashing his head in after a while mostly because he was also highly condescending.<br /><br />The third and I hope final guy came in with this air of how important he is. Apparently, he was recruited from the UK for this his job. So he sits on the edge of his seat like he is itching for an opportunity to throw that into a conversation.<br /><br />I hate it when guys feel like they have to go into a war of wits with a girl just because she comes across as intelligent. It gives me too many things to work through so that in the end all I want to do is just walk away. Life is already complicated enough as it is, I don't have to deal with your ego issues as an added complication.<br /><br />I would really like to put it out there: if I am saying things that sounds too complex coming out out my mouth and does not fit with any prior dumb image you had of me, please note that I am not consciously throwing down the gauntlet.<br /><br />Can't we have a simple conversation where we are both not trying to prove how really unintelligent we are by allowing ourselves be drawn into a silly war of wits for our friends amusement at our stupidity and joblessness?Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-79810244237430359922010-03-04T12:42:00.005+01:002010-03-04T13:27:54.735+01:00Why I love Lady Gaga. A short essay by Tresor LekadoI love Lady Gaga because she is original, wild and eccentric.<br />She has come out with her own style and though the press often loves comparing her to Madonna, she beats Madonna hands down in style and MADness. Lady Gaga is GAGA.<br /><br /><a href="http://omg.yahoo.com/blogs/a-line/lady-gagas-head-games/389?nc">The web recently went GAGA on some hat(s) she wore in London.</a> Her whole style totally blows me away.<br /><br />She is like the white and totally crazy Rhianna.<br />Rhianna has got style but Gaga has got the attention- just for being herself and not because some guy beat her up in what eventually became a publicity stunt to market her latest album.<br /><br />Lady G declares herself Bi (like seriously what does that mean? And this is where I draw the Loveline.) but now celibate.<br /><br />I am celibate too...<br /><br />BTW I love GAGA songs. I can't seem to get Paparazzi out of humming range.<br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QgKrzdaDQMw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="280" height="185"></embed><br /><br />How unu dey na?<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:78%;" >Satday is the alterego's betday. hmmm...</span>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-50994097844272301842009-11-24T14:59:00.006+01:002009-11-24T15:45:52.958+01:00These days...These last three months have been one of the most horrendous of my life. And I really tried not to let it show up in my blog cos let's face it, this is my happy place.<br />I was posting more on Facebook than here. But I noticed that some of my friends equally stopped posting anything meaningful or actually left Blogger entirely. Sucks.<br /><br />I am in Enugu right now visiting the parents and one of the things that gets me crazy is the internet connection.<br />Hey, I am a virtual animal and the minute you mess with my connection, you mess with my habitat hence, with my mind! Please, don't mess with my mind. The connection is effing slow. Enugu is not actually a village but the last time I had a slow connection in Lagos- ...<br />Please, someone should do something about this one city state thingy.<br />Enugu is cool. I love the ambience. Heck, I grew up here.<br /><br />So yesterday, you should have seen me in my skinny tank top and my short shorts and flats strolling down the street. Yeah, the looks I got. One city's hot chick is another city's prostitute. A dude in some 'jeep' actually stopped to pick me up. I kept on walking like he and is car weren't there.<br /><br />Didn't stop me from wearing another pair of shorts, shorter than yesterday's, and a sleeveless long top to the cybercafe this afternoon. Free me, please.<br /><br />I remember my Grandma always screaming at me each time we went to the village, 'Girls don't wear trousers at home (village), it's <span style="font-style: italic;">alu</span> (abomination).'<br /><br />Maybe in your time, Grandma. But these days with the kind of skirts in vogue, a pair of trousers seems like the most decent outfit some girls will put on. Even in the village. Every girl is something hot these days.<br /><br />Speaking of hot. The weather is like living on Mercury or Venus right now. Yeah, I visited those places in my former life. Actually had this boyfriend on Mercury, he had flaming red hair, literally.<br /><br />See ya.Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-37236521853447527722009-10-28T16:16:00.003+01:002009-10-28T16:51:21.138+01:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.clipartof.com/small/15041-Two-Dogs-In-Puppy-Love-Kissing-And-Looking-Eachother-In-The-Eyes-Clipart-Illustration.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 450px; height: 311px;" src="http://images.clipartof.com/small/15041-Two-Dogs-In-Puppy-Love-Kissing-And-Looking-Eachother-In-The-Eyes-Clipart-Illustration.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Tick tock tick tock, goes my heart<br />Nope!<br />Actually,<br />Slam, bang! Slam, bang!<br /><br />Do not look a gift horse in its mouth<br />Why?<br />Cos from it's teeth you can tell its age.<br /><br />Serendipity is a mother...<br /><br />I guess I am not good at expressing myself<br />And even worse at writing an intelligible poem<br /><br />Lol<br /><br /><i>To all my avid readers, the blog would be active again soon.<br />I am just still camatose on my back from too much loving, I guess.</i>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-67098464011266149982009-10-21T19:51:00.002+01:002009-10-21T19:57:32.812+01:00Give me a minute...And I'll be back.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fWoFJEX13SGbBppXvtYGDpGNWUp5Ic9-zMLZGx_I4pGPCRthTD-vRhh436a2sPVDSCIkMd-JKA-mZ-aMyb1vcBNN_VyEXHNk7PuqovhIy-B0PayHEoT8yewPfdnRzjofNX9U5eVoiN41/s1600-h/Mama+Simpson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fWoFJEX13SGbBppXvtYGDpGNWUp5Ic9-zMLZGx_I4pGPCRthTD-vRhh436a2sPVDSCIkMd-JKA-mZ-aMyb1vcBNN_VyEXHNk7PuqovhIy-B0PayHEoT8yewPfdnRzjofNX9U5eVoiN41/s400/Mama+Simpson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395129053537497874" border="0" /></a><br />Yeah! Would miss you too!Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-2831816858909006132009-10-16T04:29:00.005+01:002009-10-16T04:43:19.980+01:00Accidental BoyfriendI am one of those that don't believe in Love.<br />I don't much believe in anything actually.<br /><br />So after the <a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/09/about-world-wars-hitler-new-jersey-and.html">one night stand</a>, months later, we are still together.<br />Nooo, it's far from being a love thing but the fact that we are still together...<br /><br />it might just end tomorrow so that I can go on living my loner life... go back to being the observer... the outsider always looking in...<br /><br />things are happening to me, things i don't like or care for- and it's messing with my chi!<br /><br />i am in this low place and it's affecting me all over. so if i am not blogging as much as i would like to nor commenting on all y'all's blogs as often as I would love to it's all part of this thing messing my mind up.<br /><br />And no it's not love nor...Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-17587045222744264522009-10-07T08:26:00.004+01:002009-10-07T09:09:58.853+01:00This thing called LoveLike seriously this Love thing is not what it is cut out to be.<br /><br />I've fallen in love like only once in my life and even then I went in with all my eyes open- no blind love for me. In fact, I stood rather than fell in love. That's me. I am cynical like that.<br /><br />I took everything the dude said to heart so that when I found out that he had been messing me around, I messed him around too. In the end I hurt him more than he ever hurt me. Did I also say that I am evil like that? I am the kind of person who can cut off an arm if it means you'll lose both arms, both legs and your head.<br /><br />I was reading Sugabelly's blog and thinking wow! all that energy...<br /><br />One of my good friends has just been messed over by a guy she dated for five years. He left her to marry a girl who got pregnant while he was still dating my friend.<br /><br />If that happened to me... well, I would just drink a vat of wine and move on to the next that same day. I can't kill myself. Love is not all we came to do on this earth. We came to live; love or not that's what I'll always do best.<br /><br />LIVE!Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-63586963881794706962009-09-22T23:11:00.007+01:002009-09-22T23:51:59.325+01:00I 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).<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">huhn?! wat's dat?!</span><br /><br />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)<br />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).<br /><br />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.)<br />I love Avril Lavigne, Cold play, Green Day, Nickleback, Maroon 5, three doors down and plenty plenty others.<br />And then the movie favorites like The All-American Rejects, Hilary Duff...<br />But I looove Nickleback.<br />I wanna be a RockStar. Trésor the Rocker.<br />One day, maybe. Dreams do come true.<br /><br />I love them cos they help me think, dream, imagine... place me in a mellow mood.<br />My newest discovery, <a href="http://new.music.yahoo.com/launchcast/">Yahoo radio</a><br /><br />Oyiboo no get wahala. No boasting, no bling bling, hate anthem.<br />My girlfriend left me, that would make a good song about Sunday mornings.<br /><br />I no fit shout.<br /><a href="http://tresorlekado.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-have-this-crazy-back-ache.html">The painkillers</a> finally did their thing. Well, almost.<br /><br />And then this dude Jason Mraz.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><object width="250" height="220"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LYhrYHmUPn0&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LYhrYHmUPn0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="250" height="220"></embed></object>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-52869334069740742202009-09-22T19:58:00.006+01:002009-09-22T20:13:55.927+01:00I have this crazy back ache. It's on my upper back. Like what the hell!<br />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?'<br />Why is it that anything that has to do with back-ache or pain has got to be sex-related?<br />Why isn't the blandest reason ever the culprit?<br />Why is it that no one ever asks me- How did you sleep last night? ( okay that' s not a better question.)<br />or Are you sure it has nothing to do with your bed? Which, in a way, it has.<br />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. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Baseless fear, I know</span>) I usually sleep in the sitting room.<br />My dad often says, The couch is not a bed.<br />Truer words have never been spoken but- too late!<br /><br />Now I have got this horrible back pain.<br />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.<br />I have taken these mad painkillers and am hoping for a reprieve but IT'S NOT COMING FAST ENOUGH!<br /><br />Oh my back. *sob*Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-72761682517673384092009-09-20T14:02:00.009+01:002009-09-20T22:49:13.730+01:00My Dad and I<div style="text-align: justify;">I hung out with my Dad yesterday.<br /><br />He was like- <span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">Take me out and let's do stuff you do on a Saturday.</span><br />- <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">Like I go to my boyfriend's house on some Saturday</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">s, would you like to come along?</span><br />- <span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">Stuff you do on those Saturdays you don't go to see your boyfriend.</span><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">'Your outfit is making so many statements that one can easily get confused</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">'</span> was my Dad's 'compliment'.<br /><br />I wore a black bolero jacket over the dress before we stepped out. My dad wore jeans.<br /><br />Took him to the cinema and we saw <span style="font-style: italic;">UP</span>. 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.<br /><br />We took in some pizzas and chicken wings at <span style="font-style: italic;">Debonair</span>. 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- <span style="font-style: italic;">Hey sister, your Dad left his glass case behind.</span><br />For some perverted reason, I wanted to roll my eyes and intone in my most uppity voice- <span style="font-style: italic;">He's not my dad.</span><br />I just smiled and asked, 'How did you know he's my Dad?'<br />'Is he not your dad?' the guy asked back<br />'Oh he is,' I replied and judging from the look the boy gave me,I felt like I had made everything even worse.<br /><br />We ended the night at a cool seaside place with a live band.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cheftools.com/images/08-0022-01-180.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.cheftools.com/images/08-0022-01-180.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I was reading something in <span style="font-style: italic;">Elle</span> 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.<br /><br />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. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">Say the truth</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);"> </span>I once snapped at him, <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">Say you are my real father. </span><br />And he gently replied, <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 255, 255);">Of course I am.</span><br />And <span style="font-style: italic;">of course</span> he is!<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Still infamous, still unfortunate.</span><br />Some kids do have them.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Long story, not telling.</span>)<br />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.<br />This my <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> 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.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Did I mention yesterday was his birthday?<br /><br /><br /></div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-23916239661394581442009-09-16T17:26:00.012+01:002009-09-18T03:00:42.724+01:00Long thing<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">That's how Thaddeus come and impregnate one girl in our area.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> </span>Thaddeus, come I want to see you.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> Wasup, baby.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> I am pregnant.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus</span> </span>(<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">laughing</span></em>): You can't be serious, I used a condom.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl: </span>(<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><em>loud</em> <em>laughter and clap</em></span>): See this one o. E be like say, you are the only one who no know say condom no be guarantee.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddues: </span>Oh so since you are obviously one of those in the know, why didn't you get backup.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl: </span>Backup?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> The pill or something.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> Pill?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus: </span>Look I don't have time for this shit.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> Where are you going to? I say you give me bele and you are woking away.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus: </span>So what do you want? Money for an abortion?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> Abortion ke? You must marry me ni.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus</span> (<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">SUPER BIG LAUGHTER</span>): Marry you. (<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">More laughter. Eyes tearing up</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">.</span></em>) Are you serious? You want me to marry you. (<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Almost choking now</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">.</span></em>)<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span><em> (<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">sulky silence.</span>)</em><br /><em></em><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus</span> (<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">clears throat</span></em>): You for talk that one since before I even fuck you. Okay, no problem. you want me to marry you abi?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl: </span>No be say I want you to, you <em>need</em> to. Me, I no fit do abortion o. What if I die? Abi you don't know girls use to die ni.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> 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.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl</span> (<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">waves a lazy hand</span></em>): Small things.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> Okay. Then you have to get a paternity test done on the foetus.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> <em>Pa-ta...</em> Talk am again.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> 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.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl:</span> Shey na blood group?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);">Thaddeus:</span> Nope. D-N-A. You do know what a DNA test is seeing as you are so knowledgeable.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">One girl: </span>(<em><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Heavy silence. Then...</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">) </span></em>Oya, give me abortion money.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 204);">Obviously e don enter long things...<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204); font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >visit <a href="http://tresoruntamed.blogspot.com/">Untame!</a></span> </span><br /></span></div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-433778635329849374.post-45702676403784845602009-09-02T13:20:00.006+01:002009-09-02T15:29:05.766+01:00About WW1, Hitler, New Jersey and New York.<div style="text-align: justify;">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 <span style="font-style: italic;">Gees</span> dropping around the place.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);">'Gee? Gee?'</span><br /><br />Gee, that's what Lois calls the Roomate.<br /><br />And then the giggles- <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 51);">tee hee hee</span>- 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!!!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br />... and so ferocious that just at the end of WW1, K's little man was aptly baptised<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Hitler</span>.<br />It was "raid and rampage", "pillage and spoils".<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Stupid names for breasts if you ask me.<br /><br />Still...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />K, if you are reading this, YOU ARE THE MAN!</div>Trésorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07728188339874449099noreply@blogger.com13