FOOTBALL SUCKS!

You should see the Fame Lodge on football nights. My house has turned to a viewing center and I am not even making money out of it!


I don't even take part in their rowdy pastime and no one has ever thought of bringing a cold beer to my room talk-less of offering me whatever it is they happen to be messing my sitting room with yet they leave all the empty cans and food wrappers for me to clear up! Assholes. Chauvinist Assholes!!
Not like I drink beer, you know the Diva is not that crass. Nor do I eat any of those greasy things that happen to stain my furniture leaving me on my knees scrubbing off a dark stain that is so stubborn I wish I knew who exactly caused it so I can soak all his fingers in acid, so that next time, the football freak/fanatic would think twice bout messing up other people's homes! Gawd!!!
And the noise they make! Goooaaaaallll! Yee, pass it! Pass it now!!! Oh God! Ahhhhh!!! (like something really bad has just happened when all that happened is that one idiot with lousy footwork just messed up a good scoring opportunity. And so? I ask.)

SHUT UP! My door is not sound proof! Go to your effing homes and give your wives and girlfriends (or wateva) the headache you are giving me. Inconsiderate children-born-out-of-wedlock!

Don't they have TVs in their own homes? Flat screen, plasma or whatever it is called!!! DSTV?! HiTv?!! WTF-tv!!!
How much is it to watch football at a regular viewing center? What happened to Football clubs or lounges or whatever they are called?!!!
And the Roomate, he is like the Vince McMahon of Football nights. He acts like he created the premier league. The quintessential host encouraging their rowdiness. He is always the loudest of them all, Peter Pan to the Lost Boys!

One day, I am going to... do what?!

I need an idea for something wicked and extremly nasty that'll get them out of my house. It must be mean and permanent. I am still working on it and if you have any brilliant idea, feel free to communicate it.

But before then, I am thinking of writing a series of petitions to the appropriate bodies (which is...?) to get them to ban the projection and viewing of foreign football in Nigeria.
If we keep doing that, how are we going to improve our own local league?
You know what y'all are, you bunch of premiership-loving freaks? You all are simply unpatriotic and you should all be Gunned down and Manchested till you all turn Blue. Traitors!

Guys

So if you are expecting to hear more on Bukky M., I am so sorry to disappoint you, I have busted that topic.

I am no Beyoncé or a Destiny child so I can afford to dis anyone I want on the internet but I am not going to dedicate the rest of my albeit free space online to them.
Luckily for me and for Bukky the slut, I went for a foroshoot (photo shoot) at Obudu over the weekend. I heard 'Edie' spent the entire weekend at our place. Of course, the only reason why she could do that was cos I was out of town.
The stupid bitch! I wish she could have heard what the guys said about her weekend in the Fame Lodge (that's what the Room-mate n I call our humble abode.)
Apparently, my friends have been passing my (ex) friend around.

You know that's one thing I don't understand about guys. Guys can be real pants! In fact, guys are more of sluts than girls. The fact that the Room-mate knew that Bukky M. had slept with two of his friends but still went ahead not only to sleep with her but allow her spend the weekend, makes my tummy turn.

You should see the stupid guys she slept with, including the Room-mate! At this point in time, he deserves to be called stupid and the amount of respect I use to have for him has somewhat decreased.
Not like I didn't know the Room-mate was a pant or a Dawg as guys like to call themselves. But even a common dog should draw the line when it comes to some kinds of things he sleeps with.

They were all exchanging notes and making lewd remarks. The more disgusted I looked the more uproarious they became. In the end, I had to walk out.
When I came back the Room-mate started accusing me of being a hypocrite; after all, I didn't even like the girl.
I may not like the girl but I am a woman and when I hear guys dissing a fellow woman no matter how slutty or rotten she is... well, it's plain disrespectful though this particular "woman" deserved it. How can you turn yourself into a towel, the type guys pass around in a locker room and then drop on the floor, step on it and walk away?
News flash Bukky M.: There's a big difference between having lots of guy friends and actually throwing yourself at men.
In the end, who is disgraceful?

I told the Room-mate how disappointed I was and I reminded him of the fact that I hanging out with him and his friends didn't actually make me "one of the boys" especially when it comes to some particular topics. Then he retorted that I didn't used to mind before listening to their conquests and that the reason why I minded so much now was because it was Bukky M.
That last statement didn't make any particular sense to me and I told him so.
In the end, since we are both not belligerent people, we agreed not to let something as inconsequential as Bukky M. spoil the perfect aura of friendship in our home and busted the issue.

But almost immediately, he began to complain bout the awful weekend they had spent togeda n wanted to fill me on the parts of the other guys' stories that I had missed when I walked out.

That's when I decided that it was one of two things: either I had become truly de-sexed in the eyes of the Room-mate or he was just a dumb insensitive chauvinist pig- plain and simple!!!

Bitches!

So the Room-mate just bought a brand new car- an end of discussion or whatever they call it. All I know is that once I saw it, I thought to myself this is one sexy car. So just after two days of cruising in it, the Room-mate jets off to Abuja, leaving the keys behind.

Guess who then decided to test-drive the car.

I wasn't afraid of what the Room-mate would think 'cause we have always lived under this principle of 'my friend's property is my property' (esp when the property happens to be the Room-mate's.)

So, I took off on a solo date to the Island. On my way back, I got stuck in traffic. I was listening to good music and just generally enjoying the feel of a new car when the lights turned green. Suddenly, from no where, this car cuts into my lane, scratching and denting the brand-new, three-day old car!!!
The maniac didn't even stop to acknowledge the accident! The depraved monkey behind the wheel just sped off into traffic only to get stuck again after a rather short distance.

Immediately I felt the bump, my heart almost almost leapt out of my mouth. Then, the adrenaline started pumping through my veins.
'Not on my shift', I thought in anger.

Without wasting another thought, I went after the bah-gah (as my dad would say) and finally managed to cut off the insolent idiot at a junction.
The stupid bitch just sat in her stupid Picanto (what's dat?!!!) waiting for me to approach her!

'Madam,' I said politely 'Didn't you notice that you bashed my car?'
The shriveled-up old crone who looked like something out of a bad horror movie had the audacity to eye me, hiss and then raise up one stumpy middle finger, 'Eff you! You are too effing slow!! This is Lagos!!!'

What!!!

Divas don't get mad but Bitches do. And sometimes, a Diva has got to be a bitch.
I stood stock-still a moment, then did an about-face, went round her car to the side of the road where I picked up the sturdiest, most efficient stone I could find.
Diva started scratching and bashing away at the side of mega Bitch's car.
The bleached piece of meat jumped out of the car and started to rush towards me, foaming at the mouth. 'Are you mad? Are you mad?'
'Pick up your own stone and let's see whose car will require the most body work.' I told her calmly being careful to keep my face to her.
In that moment I wasn't thinking but I was lucky she didn't take me up on my offer; how would I have finally explained to the Room-mate?

Luckily, some folks had gathered and they managed to restrain both of us before we went for each other's throat.
Some policemen finally came and after hearing the story, one just shook his head and said, 'Women!'
Well, like I am glad that they thought we were pesky enough not to be given real attention. They just hustled both of us into our cars threatening jail and a fine if we lingered any longer.

I made sure the mad woman drove off first before going on my way. And I was glad to see dat I had caused more damage with the stone than she had done with her front fender. That would teach her not display her bad manners to just anybody.

The Room-mate came back and even though the damage was not all that bad- I finally noticed that it was a small dent and just a mere one line scratch that wasn't even very long- I have still been banned from any where near the car till further notice. Meaning that we can no longer go tripping together. (sigh!) What a harsh punishment! And even after I had told him what I did to the other person's car!
No more free trips, no more free rides, no more hanging out with the boys, no more easy social life, no more...

I ought to have broken that stumpy middle finger!!!!

Rule #21

Hung out wit the guys yday nite. Went club hopping, had a few drinks, some laffs and managed to move a little.

Diva Rules for Clubbing #7:Divas neva buy or get their own drinks.

All the guys were falling over themselves, as usual, to get me drinks.
'What would you like, Trésor?' 'Some more red wine,Trésor?'

Diva Rules for Clubbing #6: Divas don't drink beer (crassy!), malt drinks (poison!), sugary alcoholic drinks- so-called chick drinks (now seriously, drinking sugary alcoholic drinks and beer increase your chances of 'catching' a yeast infection and Divas don't do thrush or any other stinky disease for that matter!) or energy drinks (Divas already got lots of energy, don't need extra. Anyway, don't do much at clubs that requires energy. Seriously.)
Divas drink only wine- preferably red wine. Divas especially do not do any of those funny watery sugary fruit drinks which are passed off as wine just because they come in a wine bottle. Give a Diva some good old French wine any day, any time (literally speaking!).

Diva Rules for Clubbing #9: Divas don't drink, they sip.
So even though I had a bottle of wine to myself and a million offers to get me another one, I barely finished a glass.

I didn't dance much.
Diva Rules for Clubbing #5: Divas don't dance, they move.

You know that girl in Cardinal Offishal's video ft. Akon, Dangeruos? That was me. Okay, that was not me but she looks just like me especially in that tight black dress. And the way she walked, now that's what's called moving. When Divas move, they step aside to let us thru!
I slided up and down the boyfriend's body once or twice and that was it. Most times, I just sat in my seat, sipping my wine and watching others get crazy on the dance floor.

There was this one girl that danced so hard her wig came off. Obviously, she's not a Diva.
I don't do wigs. They pose very high chances of bringing on an embarrassing situation; especially, if what's underneath it looks like something you would find on the head of a street person in the early stages of poor mental health (a mad person for short!).
I almost choked on my wine when the wig came off and the funniest thing was that it flew across the room and landed in some obscure spot under a table. By the time she got it back, it had been trampled on by many unknowing feet. And the stupid raz chick! First she pretended to laff it off and then she tried to put the scraggly looking thing back on her head!
I don't know which was worse- the thought of her putting the raggedy wig back on her head or of exposing us to her Willy-Willy hair-do for the rest of the night. I would have really loved for her to cover up the frightening-looking, nausea-inducing weave on her head but at the same time, any sensible person could see that the wig was gone. It wasn't even hot-looking to start with and after being trampled...
Lordy! Some girls will neva be Divas. (sigh!)

I got home at about 2 am and at around 5 am, I woke up wit the worst case of runny tummy eva. I almost died.
It must have been that rotten Nkwobi I took at that local waterside joint where we stopped off in the middle of club-hopping.
Warning to self: Never eat greasy-yellowy-gruely-meaty-savoury thingy that is reputed to contain goat-brain!!! (Yuck!!! I only just found that out!! The Diva does not do brains ?!!!)

Luckily, the Room-mate (flat-mate) and I have separate bathrooms.
Oh, the explosive sounds - pata-pata-pata- like a backfiring motorcycle. And then, the stench! I almost blacked out on the job!!

But I survived. Had to air my room after that but that was after I had sprayed like a can of air-freshner in there.
Finshed off the rest of the sleep in the sitting-room.

Note-to-self: Need to revise my rule-book.

Diva Rules for Clubbing #21: No more beer-parlor delicacies for me, ever!