FantasReality

THE TART SERIES I: ON THE ROAD AGAIN...

2008-02-15T11:34:00.000-08:00

I am in a foul mood.
And I have every reason to be.

1.The Dad is in town for two days only, and has ordered me to come see him before he leaves tomorrow night
2.‘Layode has called it quits with Femi

Sigh.

I called it that this past week was going to be the most drama-filled and boy, could it have ended up in a more fucked up way.

First off, I do not want to see the Dad and so desperate am I not to have to go to the family townhouse in Metro Virginia that I have cooked up all kinds of excuses not to have to go including coming down with a cold and having to be in school tomorrow. He wasn’t buying it.

I lost my temper. “Why do I have to put aside my schedule for you, sir? I am in school, you know, that institution you are paying so much to send me to?”
It was like hitting a brick wall. “Mr. Roberts will pick you up tomorrow at noon. See you, Omolara.” And with that, he dropped on me.
Fuck. There’s no getting out of this one.

Why am I so disinclined to see the Dad? Because the man annoys me. I have gotten over hating him a long time ago, but I find it so hard to get along with him. He feels he can buy love and affection with his bloody money but it’s so obvious that he couldn’t give a damn. The only thing he feels towards his children, official and bastard, is duty.
I rarely saw my father when I was much younger and I’ve become accustomed to his absence. I would like to keep things that way, therefore it irks me when he tries to push his fatherly weight around on me. Sure, he makes it rain on his kids but it doesn’t mean I owe him a damn thing.

Now, about ‘Layode and Femi.
Sigh.

It’s all still so weird. Four good years together, and over one weekend, bust.
The first I heard of it, Femi called me on Saturday night, talking about I needed to call ‘Layode right away because she was tripping. He wouldn’t tell me anything so I called her quickly.
She didn’t pick up after I called multiple times.
Then Femi called me back.
“Did you talk to her yet?” he asked loudly.
I was already befuddled. What the heck could be going with these two now?
“Femi, what’s the deal?” I asked him, “What’s going on?”
“Your girl just broke up with me.”

………….
………………….
……………………………

Yep, that was how speechless I was because I didn’t see this coming. ‘Layode hadn’t mentioned thinking about this AT ALL. I mean, there has been some residual tension after the whole issue of his ex sleeping over and Femi not telling her, plus I know she did feel that Femi’s eventual grudging apology wasn’t up to par because he still clearly felt that he hadn’t done much wrong but…I didn’t ever think it would come to this. Clearly, neither did Femi from his despairing tone.

“You need to talk to her, man,” he exclaimed, “you need to talk to her because I don’t know what this is about!”
“Hold up, hold up,” I cut in, “when was this?”
“Like over an hour ago, man,” he told me, “I thought she was tripping so I said I would call her back when she had calmed down but she wouldn’t pick up when I called back more than three times. She still hasn’t picked up any of my calls even now. That’s when I called you.”

Clearly, it was a problem so I told Femi I would call him back, and I dialed ‘Layode’s number promptly.
She picked up on the first ring, to my surprise.
“Well, woman, what the hell is going on?” I asked, “I’ve got your man raving like a lunatic on my phone!”
She…LAUGHED.
Okayyy!
I had to laugh too, “Okay, are you the stark raving lunatic then?”
“As if!” she laughed.
“Okay, really, what’s the deal?”
“I broke up with Femi, big deal.”
“Um…yea!!” I exclaimed. Is she kidding? What the hell does four years sound like?

“What’s this about? I thought you two had moved past the whole Shalewa issue. Are you letting her win now?”
“Lara, this isn’t about Shalewa. You should know me better that that,” she scolded, “this is about Femi and his reaction to the whole situation that just isn’t sitting well with me right now.”
“I thought he apologized.”
“Not because he really wanted to! He was just trying to get the whole drama to blow over, that’s why he said he was sorry but that isn’t good enough for me.”
“I mean, you suspect he and Shalewa messed around that night or what?”
She sighed, “you don’t get it, do you?”

Sue me. I clearly don’t, smarty-pants. And I told her so, in those exact words.

She laughed, “My bad. It’s just that Femi and I have been together for four years now obviously, and…this is a side of him that I’ve never seen before. I don’t…understand why he’s so reluctant to accept that what he did was wrong. He had the girl sleep over, strike one. He didn’t tell me about it, strike two, and then he had the nerve to get mad at me when I got mad for those two strikes, strike three. I mean, come on.”
“I know all of that. We discussed this already, remember?” I said, “but I thought you had decided to let the whole thing go. Why call it quits now?”
“Because I can’t get over it! To me, it’s like he has absolutely no right to get mad at me. I had every right to be, and I feel like I even under-reacted, compared to how most girls would have. Has he gotten so comfortable with me that he no longer feels the need to respect me? That bothers me.”

“Like he doesn’t fear you enough, right?”
I was beginning to get it. To be quite honest, I would have called it quits that same very day. My temper has no reins.
“Exactly!” she said, “he obviously doesn’t respect the way I could react in a situation like that. I mean, fair enough, I am this laid-back, easy-going, level-headed person, blah, blah but…it’s no excuse to slap me in the face. And then, the whole apologizing for apology’s sake, that thing gutted me, man. I’ve been stewing over it for a mad minute now, and I…I am just done.”
“Wow. Just like that?”

“Come on, it is hard. I love the guy. I see us getting married and all but it’s like my mom always said. The best way to know someone you can live with is to be objective about their worst flaws and imagine those flaws getting worse – not better, but worse – over time, could you live with that then? I do not like the fact that Femi refuses to face up to the fact that he was wrong. It just makes me think, is that how he would react under a more serious situation? That’s worrying!”
“I know, your decision makes absolute sense but it sucks.”
“It sure does,” she laughed lightly.
“Wow!” I said redundantly.
“Yep.”
“So…no going back?” I asked softly.

She sighed and then said, “I mean, never say never but I just feel like…I’ve put four years down already and I have seen flaws of his that I know I can live but this just outweighs everything else and…I feel like if I don’t make a stance now, I am never going to be able to do so.”

I am so jealous of my best friend’s will right now. If I know ‘Layode as well as I do, she’s going to be sticking to her guns and this decision that she has made, regardless of how hard it is going to be for her. I need some of that backbone, well, at least, I could used some of that in the whole Nasir situation and what Femi did cannot even step up to Nasir’s outright bullshit.
“I got your back, you know that,” I let her know.
“I sure do!” she laughed, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good for her!” was Tiny’s response when I told her about it, “the fact that it wasn’t a spontaneous decision tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing and to me, it’s the right thing.”
“Yea, I guess,” I agreed, “it just sucks. And now, I have to go see my dad tomorrow, fuck!”
She laughed, “You’ll live.”

Here’s to hoping so!

Oh yea, I haven’t spoken or heard from Paddy since he sent me that note and the cake and in my current state of mind, I really do not want to have to deal with him right now. I mean, I am probably going to let it go. I don’t have any more room in my head for grievances.

THE TART SERIES: NOT IN LOVE...

2008-02-06T15:44:00.000-08:00

Tiny blew up when I finally got around to telling her about the conversation I had with Nasir on Tuesday.
“I don’t get it. Why do you still pick his calls?” she screeched.
“Because he always blocks his number when he calls, how the hell am I supposed to tell?” I screeched back.
“The moment you can tell it’s him, you drop the phone on his ass, that’s what you should do! Iru oshi wo ni yen?!”
“Men, I’m just tired. Dude is just trying to put me through some emotional wringer and I am not having it.”
Tiny sighed, “Seriously, he’s on some bullshit. Where’s his Queen Bitch’s head at?”
“I don’t give a damn. I need for him to leave me alone,” I told her.
“I am about to give him a call and tell him to stay the hell away. What the hell is wrong with him?!”

That would be so hilarious. Nasir hates Tiny’s tongue. In fact, nobody likes Tiny’s tongue when she is riled.

She blew up part II when I filled her in on the Paddy episode.
“Omolara, the hell? Did you dine and wine with the patron saint of drama in your sleep or something?” she sighed.
“I’ll tell you what, Tiny, I really do think so!”
“I mean, well damn, but the kiss was fire, you said?”
“Fire doesn’t cut it. Like,really.”

We had a juicy conversation for the next hour, and then she had to go so then, I dove under my sheets and began to type up my English paper which was due on Monday. I cut a studious picture; let me tell you, with my spectacles on the bridge of my nose and my fingers clacking away at my laptop.

Natalie, my flat-mate, broke my concentration by knocking. Grr.
“You have a package. Can I come in?”
“Sure!”
She hopped into my room with the package which was mysteriously wrapped in silver paper.
“Who’s it from?” she trilled.

My wild-card guess was Michael. I mean, who else would send me anything when it wasn’t my birthday?

“I don’t know, Nat. Let me see the note,” I laughed.
“For Larry.” That was all the note said.
“Larry?!” I exclaimed, “are you sure this is for me, Nat?”
“Yea, the mail guy just dropped it off and had me sign for it,” she told me.
Who the HELL calls me Larry?

So I opened the package.
Chocolate cake from Haven.
Jesus.

“Oh gosh, that looks so good!” Nat cried.
I was still looking at the cake in disbelief. I love food from Haven. Better still, I love the chocolate marble cake from Haven.
Rich, deep, expensive…Haven’s chocolate marble cake coated with rich chocolate frosting. They only make it to order, and now I am wondering who knows me so well as to know that something like this would make not just my day, but five weeks or something!

I rummaged in the package, looking for a hint and a clue and oh, what do you know, there was another note in there.
My heart sank.
Please, don’t let it be Nasir. I don’t need this.
I was ready to dump the cake in the trash if it was from him, Haven or no!

Shocker.
Another boon from the patron saint of drama, as Tiny would put it. I mean, when it rains, clearly it pours too.
The second note read -

“Token of apology.
Doesn’t amount to much, I know, but here’s to hoping it’s a start.
Paddy Dina.”

Well, damn, Paddy. Just…damn.

He’s right. It doesn’t amount to much. Hell, it doesn’t even count at all. But me, Lara Maimunah Afope Bade-John, turn down chocolate cake from Haven?!

God forbid.

THE TART SERIES I: FLUORESCENT

2008-01-31T09:09:00.000-08:00

I swear, it seems this week is steady trying to take the cake for one of the most drama-filled weeks I have had this year.
I finally had the dreaded confrontation with Paddy.
The funniest thing? When I first saw him, I initially didn’t remember that I was supposed to be mad at him. And just in case you can’t remember why, Mr. Fresh planted his lips on mine without letting me know he had a missus out there somewhere around. Yes, how sordid! Sue me.

So I was walking back from the library and I heard my name.
No prizes for guessing who.
So I stopped and made eye contact as his car slid up. God knows what he was doing on campus yet again.
The corners of my lips began to rise in a smile when my brain reversed the short-circuit and screamed out silently ‘LARA, THE ENEMY”
So I looked away quickly and walked on ahead, redoubling my steps.

Then my phone started ringing, and it was an unknown number. Well, I mean, how was I to know that this dude not only has in his possession my apartment number, but my bloody phone number as well! So, call me stupid but I picked the call.
“Yo!” goes stranger-on-the-phone.
“Who’s this?” goes stupid-little-girl-in-cohorts-with-the-enemy.
“You are kidding me! I know you saw me!”
“Who is this, please?” Yes, my brain hadn’t yet sorted this one out by this time. They do not call me the black-haired blonde for nothing.
“Come on, please! You saw me yelling out your name a few seconds ago and walked on like I was some ghost you weren’t supposed to see.”
I dropped the phone.

For some reason, that tickled me and I had this evil smile I borrowed from the devil on my lips as I marched on to my apartment.
Thirty minutes later, knock on door.
Why, who could it be…?
Paddy!!!
I stood at the door, my brain scrambling to understand why the world was giving it such a headache today.
“You are not going to let me in?” he said.
Ugh, his cocked eyebrow was so sexy.
“What are you doing here?” I injected some affected incredulousness into my voice.
He mimicked me and repeated what I had just said, so I foolishly tried to close the door against what has to be more than double my muscular weight in pounds.
Of course the attempt failed.
And of course, he was looking at me now like I had some screws loose.
“Can you just leave, please?” I asked.
“Damn, I mean, I don’t consider myself the world’s greatest kisser but surely, I wasn’t that bad?!” he grinned.

OH. MY. GOD.
Who was this boy?! No remorse whatsoever. Nothing.
“Huh?” I stared at him, trying to decide if that was the time to show how affronted I was. Well, I mean, given that I hadn’t slammed the door in his smirking face yet, I don’t think I was affronted that much…yet.
“Oh, you don’t even remember it? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend and the better part of this week.”
Yes, he was clearly okay with having this conversation in my hallway corridor.
“You are very stupid,” was all I could manage. Yes, pathetic and weak, I know. Very much so.
His laugh reinforced that fact. I was having a hard time staying oriented. Argh, did I ask for all of this?
“Can I come in now, or are we going to have the rest of our conversation this way?”
“What conversation? I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Okay, in ‘girl-talk’, that must mean I have pissed you off. Care to enlighten me?”
“No, just leave!”
“The hell?! Did someone tell you I had AIDS or something?”

It was clear that oju o ti okunrin yii and I was not about to make myself fodder for hallway gossip so I let him in.
He made himself very comfortable while I stood, staring at him with my hands crossed over my chest.
“Relax. Do you have anything to drink?” he grinned.
“No! What on earth do you want?” I shouted.
I know this shit only happens in movies and I swear I am not making this up but this boy reached out, grabbed my hands and pulled me over…and get this…HE KISSED ME!!!!!
And I want to testify to you today that if any kiss can get close to that feeling of being literally burnt by a flame, it is a kiss from Paddy, I SWEAR!
Jesus Christ.

I, like, literally lost my senses, my bearings, I mean, you name it, I lost it all!
By the time we came up for air, my lips were bruised, my hair was out of its carefully packed ponytail, my shirt was hanging open, and what lay beneath was bare for the world to see... on the fucking living room couch for chrissakes!

“Damn.”
I was thinking it, but HE said it. Damn was right.
“You can’t pretend to forget that this time around,” he laughed and I know it was his feeble attempt at lightening the air but all of a sudden, I was so irritated at myself and at him.
“Please, can you leave now?” I said silently, not looking up at him as I put my shirt back together.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked uncertainly.
I got a FUCKING case of bloody VERBAL DIARRHOEA and you won’t believe what came out of my mouth… “You have a girlfriend, is what is wrong with me, Paddy whatever your last name is!”
Silence.
Silence.
Earth, please swallow me NOW. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE.
No such luck.

“My last name is Dina,” he said quietly.
Man, who cared anymore. He needed to leave and let me drown my shame with my tub of chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream in the fridge.
“And I am sorry about the confusion with the girlfriend,” he continued “I just… thought you knew. I thought I told you.”

Shit. Insult. The icing on the injurious cake.

Oh, well. I blame myself. As I was feeling like Carolina Santa Amore in some limited edition of a Mills & Boon series when he pulled me over to the couch and kissed me so that I felt like I was on fire, etc. Now, I felt colder than the tip of Mount Everest.

“Yeah, can you leave now?” I said. Never mind I was repeating myself. Broken record and what not. I spotted my ponytail holder on the floor and attempted to put my hair in order.
“Lara…”
I finally looked at him then. It was the first time I had heard my name from his mouth and it sounded…different.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just…”
I cut him short, “You already did. Care to go now?”
“Alright.” He sighed, grabbed up his keys and began to head out.
“Paddy, do me a favor,” I called out as he opened the door.
He looked at me.
“Don’t come back.”
And you know, I am not sure why I cried in my bed afterwards, but…I did.

THE TART SERIES I: WEIGHT OF THE WORLD...

2008-01-26T07:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I miss sex.

Yes, I know that seems like a testament to how good Nasir was, or something, considering that he’s the only guy I’ve…well, been with. Yes, the phrase ‘make love’ makes me cringe too, therefore I refuse to use it.

Nasir called me yesterday night, by the way. Just in case you were wondering what brought sex upon my mind this very day. Recap of our phone convo:

Prick: Hey, baby.
Cold as Ice: What do you want?
Prick: *laughs* How civil!
Cold as Ice: *silence*

Prick: Lara?
Cold as Ice: Yep?
Prick: *clears throat* Well, I was just checking on you, you know. I mean, not like you care or whatever…
Cold as Ice: *cuts him short* You are right, I don’t.
Prick: God, why can’t we just get along? Why do you always have to go on like this? I am just trying to keep things cool between us
Cold as Ice: And I have made it clear that I am not interested in doing so, why don’t you just leave me the hell alone?! How hard can that be?!
Prick: Oh, I see, that’s how it is now
Cold as Ice: Yes, do you get it now?
Prick: I don’t. What, there’s someone else pulling your strings now?
Cold as Ice: *close to exploding* I have to have someone new before you believe I am finally over you?!
Prick: I didn’t say that but…
Cold as Ice: I have to go
Prick: Come on *exhales* Why do you always make this so difficult?
Cold as Ice: Why do you refuse to just leave me alone?
Prick: It’s not that easy. I loved you…I love you

Pause.

Let the record reflect that this guy is the biggest prick of all time. It’s like he gets his socks off building and breaking me over and over and over again. Well, here’s the memo…I am sick and tired of having it, and so I am not having it.

Play.

Cold as Ice: *silence*
Prick: Lara?
Cold as Ice: I don’t get it. Is your girlfriend out of town? You need phone sex? Did you dial the wrong number?
Prick: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down! Where are you taking this?
Cold as Ice: Where you seem determined to take this, Nasir
Prick: Yea?
Cold as Ice: Yes. You claiming to love me isn’t enough. Leaving me alone is!
Prick: I am trying, I…
Cold as Ice: You call this trying?!
Prick: I still have feelings for you; they aren’t going to go away overnight. And I know you feel the same, no matter how you try to pretend otherwise
Cold as Ice: I am not pretending. I am over you, and I am over this
Prick: You are not
Cold as Ice: Look, Nasir, I am not sure who you thought would pick up the phone when you called but I am not who you are looking for
Prick: What do you mean?
Cold as Ice: I don’t know. I mean, you were probably hoping to reach the girl who would once listen to a line or two of yours and come running back as usual but man, that girl doesn’t live here anymore.
Prick: Yeah?
Cold as Ice: Yes, Nasir, yes.
Prick: I love you, Omolara. I know that much of what we used to be has changed, but that hasn’t
Cold as Ice: What difference does it make now?
Prick: I don’t know. I am confused right now, I feel like I’m making a mess of things right now
Cold as Ice: You already did
Prick: Did what?
Cold as Ice: Made a mess of things.
Prick: I know. Can I come over?
Cold as Ice: *silence*
Prick: Lara?
Cold as Ice: *silence*
Prick: Please?
Cold as Ice: No... No, Nasir, you can’t
Prick: *laughs softly* Are you sure?
Cold as Ice: I am. Don’t call me anymore.

I dropped the phone then.

Minutes later, he sent a text. “Keep running. You can’t hide.”

My thoughts were jumbled for the rest of the night. And no, before you jump on my throat, I’m not considering or anything. It’s just…hard. Like, I am tired.

Like, literally TIRED. Tired of having to go back and forth. Tired of him playing lachrymose with the chords of my emotions. Tired of him making me cry and cry when there are so many other constructive things I could spend my bloody time doing. Tired of him making second-guess myself.

Quite frankly, I am tired of grieving for him…for us.

If he loves me like he claims, he needs to let me go.

THE TART SERIES I: EVERYTHING I LOVE...

2008-01-22T17:51:00.000-08:00

Yet another Sunday, time really is flying. I am still cuddled up in bed. Today is all about me.
‘ME’ TIME!
Homework’s all done and my phone’s switched off. I am shutting off the world since I am in the mood for introspection.

So you won’t believe who called me yesterday. IK! Yes, that IK! Wow, was I blown away! We haven’t spoken in almost a year now, despite the fact we both live in Maryland and we were so mad cool in high school. Crazy, how time changes things and people. If anyone had told me back then that our friendship would be reduced to this basic, awkward level of “hello…hi…uh…” I’d have laughed my head right off but sadly, it looks like they wouldn’t have been too far off the mark.

I have never been the type for friends. The few I have just happen to just tolerate me for some inexplicable reason, ha!

I mean, ‘Layode is stuck with me, I’m family and there’s no getting rid of me!! But yea, the others, the number of which I can count on the five fingers of one hand, have earned my loyalty in one way or the other. That’s just who I am – if someone gives me a reason to, I remain doggedly loyal to them even to my own disadvantage. I will fight battles for them, “gbe igba onigba” as my mom would say, and I will generally go out of my way to make sure they remain in my life. That is, until they give me a reason not to. When that happens, I switch faster than Jay-Z can change clothes.

‘Layode can drive me insane sometimes, with her near-perfection and sensibility and I do get more than just a bit jealous sometimes, what with her being so perfect and all, but I feel sick when I even try to envision her not being in my life and believe me, that’s more than just lyrics. In high school, people found it so hard to believe we were just half-sisters and when I even think about it myself, I realize that the both of us do take our friendship for granted sometimes. I mean, what are the odds that our mothers did not end up hating each other and transferring that hatred to us, their children? I mean, I know a lot of sisters who are just that – sisters, without being close friends – but I’m thankful that ‘Layode and I get to have the best of both worlds. I don’t need to go through the headache of wondering who is going to be my chief bridesmaid and all,ha.

If ‘Layode was not destined to be my numero uno best friend, Tinuke, aka Tiny, would have the number one spot. This five feet zero inch-er and I met in our freshman year and our friendship has only waxed stronger since then. ‘Layode always comments on weird it is that Tiny and I are such good friends especially when you consider that we are so much alike, it’s ridiculous. We are both on the small, petite side, we have the exact same dry and sarcastic sense of humor, we both have a fucked up family background (her father abused her mother, and when he died of a heart attack, her mother married her father’s brother, yes, damn!), we are very melancholy and suppressed individuals and like me, she is definitely not a people-person. And no, we don’t look alike. She went to school in Virginia and after graduating last semester, she’s now working for some consulting firm in Fairfax. Dumb bitch refuses to let us see the glory of her paychecks. Hiss.

Helen is my ride HARD -or Die girl, any day, any time. I met her in my sophomore year and we became flat mates the year after until she moved back South when her mother fell ill. My mother calls her my international friend since that’s the only non-Nigerian in my list of friends. If Tiny and I are so alike, Helen and I are complete opposites. She’s the loud, bitchy, outspoken, partying, social animal that everyone knows and wants to be friends with. And I tell you, she ALWAYS has her friends’ backs, ALWAYS. She won’t hesitate to get physical if she feels she or anyone she knows is being disrespected. I wouldn’t call myself a lightweight, yea, but Helen, gosh, Helen can drink ANYBODY to the ground and when she’s drunk, oh good heavens, the things she’d say!!! I miss her so much and I used to live through her so much, but now that she’s moved, I’ve regressed to my anti-social, anti-party persona. All the better…

As much as I might portray Dunni in a negative light, I am actually very fond of the child. She’s that quirky, dysfunctional friend that I always look at and feel better about myself, as evil as that sounds, but whatever, all girls have friends like that! NOBODY and I mean, NOBODY can do gossip like Dunni and even though she irritates me more than half of the time, I have to admit that she’s one of the most sensitive and caring people that I know, and I don’t know a lot. Thing is, she has that weak, underdog trait that a lot of people, especially guys, try to take advantage of and I am always the one who steps in for her so I guess she kind of sees me as her backbone. I love her to death, don’t get me wrong, I just love her flaws a whole lot less. Lol.

Well, you have it, the four main girls in my life.

I used to have more of them, but as time moves along, so do people, I guess and I am not one for crying forth rivers long after they have dried up. Oby and I were mad friends at some point but if there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s over-possessive and jealous people. I mean, it is one thing to play games with guys, but with girls?! Puh-leeze. She would do the whole “You don’t call me, so I won’t call you” charade pretty much every time and whine about me not hanging out with her enough, and bitch and bitch about ‘Layode and Tiny, and then try to make me jealous by devoting more time to other friends of her and such games…I called it a day and moved swiftly on. We stopped being friends over a year ago.

Tope was another good friend of mine…well, that was until I found out that she had known about Nasir cheating with Kunbi and neglected to tell me. She and Kunbi later became friends (yep!) so I didn’t waste time in killing that friendship at all.

I used to have tons of guy friends, most especially. Most likely because I grew up with tons of guys (yes, Daddy, your Y chromosomes have game!). I was never, ever close to my only two older half-sisters (Sade Nelson’s spawn) and all the other females in my family were either my age or younger and I was never cool with any of them like that (apart from ‘Layode, obviously). Story, story sha, I find it easier to gravitate to guys than girls.

Ever since Nasir though, I kind of cut off all my guy friends pretty much. People like Yomi, etc. These guys all knew the shit and none of them felt free to let me in on it and tell me to wake up, smell the hot coffee and cream and shit like that. I mean, it’s easier to hear stuff like that about your man from a guy because most of the time, he has no ulterior motive (unless he’s trying to get with you, of course). Hearing that stuff from a girl is just difficult. I remember when Tiny stopped talking to me when I got back with Nasir the second time, and I merely chalked it up to her being jealous. I almost lost her then.

It’s interesting though, the one key difference between Tiny and ‘Layode. ‘Layode let me know when she thinks I’m in the wrong or doing something wrong and once she’s had her say, she leaves it up to me to do what I think is best for me, without judging me. Tiny, on the other hand, will take it upon herself to judge and bully me into doing it right. Lol, stupid girl but yea, that’s the way I am with my friends too. Turned out she only had my best interests at heart when it came to Nasir, after all. Helen didn’t know much about the whole situation but she pretty much called me a fool more than once.

Anyhooos! Oh yea, so Michael was over yesterday and thankfully, he did not bring up any of that ridiculous love talk. LOL! He must have gotten the silent message I gave to him when we spoke that day on the phone. So we are cool again, yay for nookie!

Oh yea, I did mention that IK called, didn’t I? Gosh, it was the weirdest thing ever. We were both literally tongue-tied. I mean, we haven’t spoken since forever and there’s been tension between me and that whole crew. We stuttered through five minutes, god-awful long minutes, I tell you, and then he said Dara had been looking for my number so I collected Dara’s number and promised to call back. Not too sure if I am going to call Dara, because thinking about it, I do miss Dara, one of the best guy friends I ever had but blah. Might call, might not, I guess we’ll see.

As for Paddy… he still hasn’t called me yet and if he does have a grain of common sense left, he had better not! Prick.

THE TART SERIES I: IT'S A PITY

2008-01-10T11:42:00.000-08:00

I can’t remember the last time I was THIS pissed and close to blowing off the head of a human being!!! DAMN!

GADDEM PADDY!

Gosh, I just realized I don’t even know his last name! How can I not know his last name? How could I have kissed – ugh – a nameless nobody?! I’m the queen of last names! I am so bloody anal when it comes to last names; I think my mother ingrained it in me. If I don’t know someone’s last name, I refuse to add them in my phonebook, yes, that bad!

Well, GADDEM PADDY NO-NAME!

Okay, so I was chatting with Dunni earlier this evening and our convo went something like this:

SN: Think BIG -> Hiiiiiiiii!
(Yea, sure, Dunni, like you know how to think at all, but sure, whatever)
SN: Femme Fatale -> Hey hon, sup?
SN: Think BIG -> not much oh. I’m just trying to catch up on homework and I have to meet with the guys from ASA later on
SN: Femme Fatale -> Oh right. Good stuff.
SN: Think BIG -> Yep. Any plans for this weekend?
SN: Femme Fatale -> Not really, I don’t think. You?
SN: Think BIG -> Well, after the ASA meeting, a couple of us are planning to go to the movies. Tunde offered to pay for me, which is the only reason I’m going! Lol.
SN: Femme Fatale -> Good stuff.
(Okay, she’s boring me now; this is why I always stay offline. I just happened to be sending a file to one of the guys in class. Sigh. The good part comes now though.)
SN: Think BIG -> Come with us now! I mean, you’re not doing anything.
SN: Femme Fatale -> Nah, mayne. Work dey.
SN: Think BIG -> Yea right, like you’ll get to do any of it. Come jo! There aren’t too many of us, just me, Tunde, Faramade, Johnson, Rick, Paddy, Paddy’s girlfriend and Bomo.

PAUSE.

Hm. First off, the child claims there aren’t too many of them and goes on to list like what…eight names?! Second, Paddy’s WHAT?!!!!!

PLAY

SN: Femme Fatale -> Paddy? Who’s Paddy?
(Yea, I need to play dumb if I’m going to weasel anything out of Dunni.)
SN: Think BIG -> Ah - ah, Paddy now. I introduced to him that day when Tunde and I went to get food for that ASA event last Wednesday.
SN: Femme Fatale -> Oh right.
(She’ll spill now.)
SN: Think BIG -> Yea; his babe is coming out too, surprisingly.
SN: Femme Fatale -> Lol, surprisingly?
SN: Think BIG -> Lol. Well, I mean, she never hangs out with his Naija people, usually.
SN: Femme Fatale -> She’s not Nigerian?
SN: Think BIG -> She is but she’s a borrowed.
(In translated lingo, borrowed = Nigerian born and bred abroad)
SN: Femme Fatale -> Oh okay, cool.
SN: Think BIG -> Yea. I mean, she’s okay but she’s stuck up. They are so weird together but dude really likes her, apparently.
(Oh, wow! Tell me something. I resist the urge to type in the icon with rolling eyes.)
SN: Femme Fatale -> Good for him.
SN: Think BIG -> they’ve been together for a couple of months now. Oh, remember Teni?!
SN: Femme Fatale -> Teni?
SN: Think BIG -> Yeah, from Q.C. She’s in London now, remember?
SN: Femme Fatale -> Disun’s cousin?
SN: Think BIG -> Yep! They dated too, her and Paddy.
SN: Femme Fatale -> Long-distance?
SN: Think BIG -> Yes oh, she was in London and he was here. They dated for like two years, mad serious. She cheated on him and he broke up with her. Heard she’s yet to get over him, like even now he’s dating someone else, she’s still on his case. Who cheats on a guy like him anyway?! The guy is certified hotness, on mad pay, working and doing his master’s at the same time and he’s only twenty-four. I mean, ki lo tun fe?!
SN: Femme Fatale -> Lol. Oh well.
SN: Think BIG -> O ga. Girls and guys. Anyway, I have to go now sha. I will holler later today, okay?
SN: Femme Fatale -> No doubt. x

OKAY! I KNOW homeboy did not kiss me, knowing full well he has a bloody girlfriend! Is he crazy?! What the hell am I being taken for?! God, I knew this guy was a bloody prick; all the damn signs were there! OMG. I can’t even tell ‘Layode this now. Oh, screw that, I’m going to have to. I can’t keep this to myself.
Add insult to injury, the idiot hasn’t even called me since that day. I mean, I think there is some kind of protocol to adhere to when you kiss a girl or something. Okay, so a kiss is a kiss is just a kiss and it doesn’t automatically translate into both of us hooking up but still, isn’t that like the proper thing for a guy to do?! Granted, I didn’t give him my number but I didn’t give him my apartment number the day he came over, did I?!

OMG, and he dated Teni?! Who dates Teni?! WHO?!! I wouldn’t piss on that disease-ridden child if she were on hell’s own sulfur fire for fear of contagion!
I am so fucking pissed now. Like really, what do I have to do to get respect around here?! The bloody hell?!

Oh, Mr. Committed, are we?! Okay, I know how to deal with you. Omo Ale is right. HISS.
*Breath In, Breath Out*

Anyway, Mommy called. She’s going to Dubai for a business deal. Right. I bet more than my bottom dollar that ‘Uncle Alfred’ will be waiting to uphold his end of the business over there. Uncle Alfred is Mommy’s latest paramour. He is a divorcee in his mid-fifties and he is quite handsome for his age. Well, go Mommy, whatever you might want to say about her, she has impeccable taste. You go figure, as much as I am so ambivalent about my father, I can see the attraction his looks hold for all these women.

But yea, I met ‘Uncle Alfred’ when I went home to Nigeria last Christmas. Surprisingly, he and ‘Dewale got along very well, which is another reason I don’t mind him. ‘Dewale never likes any of my mother’s supposed male friends, so it must mean Uncle Alfred must be a dime. And he is though, very generous , laughs a lot and the way Mommy would light up whenever he came around did something good to my insides.

People always find it weird when I talk about things like this like they are normal. I remember saying offhandedly to one of my flat mates (and my very good friend) in my junior year that my mom’s boyfriend then was getting on my nerves and she was like HUH?!
Normally, people get really uncomfortable and either pretend like they think it’s normal too or they just feign ignorance – not Helen though! This outspoken Creole child called me the fuck out! LMAO! (I miss her!!! She moved back to her family in the South when her mother fell ill).

Recap of that convo:
Helen: HUH? Your mother’s what?
Me: Lol. Boyfriend.
Helen: I thought your momma was married, eh?
Me: (laughing) she is.
Helen: To her boyfriend, or your father? Or is he both?
By now, Toya, our other roommate, is pretending like she is passionately engrossed in an online conversation on her laptop.
Me: Nope. She’s married to my father.
Helen: But she’s got a boyfriend
Me: Yea.
Helen: And your dad knows, huh? They’ve got an open relationship?

That was actually a good question. I have never been sure if my father was aware of my mom’s affairs but please, even if, who was he to point fingers?! I mean, sure, yea, double standards exist but… wo, emi o mo, both of them had their own unusual agreement jare.

Me: Well, I really don’t know. I mean, even if he did, I don’t think he would mind, unless she was obvious about it, maybe?
Helen: (staring at me in awe) y’all are a bunch of weirdoes, no offence.
Me: (laughing) I know.

Lol. Ah, well. The way I see this life, we are all a little insane, some of us a little more than others, that’s all.

But yea, Mommy gets to go to Dubai and I want to go too and I got so jealous hearing the excitement in her voice. Yea, business. Mmhmm.
Apparently, my father is coming over to the States next week. Damn. I have to see him if he does. I only saw him once this past Christmas when I went home because he was in Abuja most of the time on business too. Yea, good old business. SMH.

Really, it’s a wonder I am not more fucked up than I am. Then again…

THE TART SERIES I: SEXUAL HEALING

2008-01-08T17:06:00.000-08:00

So I found this piece online. Apparently, studies claim that you can decipher an individual’s sexual identity based on the first letter of his / her name! Well, I remain dubious but I must admit that mine does describe me to a T!!

O for Omolara
You are very interested in sexual activities yet secretive and shy about your desires. You can re-channel much of your sexual energy into making money and seeking power. You can easily have extended periods of celibacy. You are a passionate, compassionate, sexual lover, requiring the same qualities from your mate. Sex is serious business; thus you demand intensity, diversity, and are willing to try anything or anyone. Sometimes your passion turns to possessiveness, which must be kept in check.

Well, damn! LOL!
What can I say?! I like sex. I like sex a lot.
I am one of the lucky few whose first time did not turn out too badly at all. Not to say it was so enjoyable or pleasurable or anything, but it wasn’t otherwise, if you know what I mean especially considering the horror stories that I had heard from a couple of people I know! Dunni never fails to regale me with the story of her own first time. Apparently, old dude was a bit on the tad-too-big side and she bled for like two days afterwards. THE HORROR! Needless to say, she never had an O all the while she was with him, because it hurt all the time. Damn.

I remember when ‘Layode lost hers. Sigh. That girl has to be one of the most practical people I know. She made her bed with her old bed sheets that day, talking about she wasn’t going to pay good money to replace blood soaked ones! And then, she spent the whole week before the deed reading up on birth control pills and what not, writing down tips on how not to get pregnant, etc. She kills me. It did hurt for her the first couple of times, but I guess she and Femi found a rhythm of their own eventually. She’s still a bloody prude though!

Now, I remember the first time I lost mine.
Sigh.
Ah well. It certainly wasn’t planned. I was sleeping over at Nasir’s (this was after we had gotten back together the second time) and that day when we were making out, I remember feeling so insecure about our shaky relationship feeling so desperate to find a way to make him stay with me. So I told him I was ready.

He was a bit hesitant, at first, but whatever, monkeys aren’t known to refuse bananas! He was so gentle and so charming about the whole thing though, given that I was so awkward and clueless. One prick of pain and it was over, virgin no more. Crazy. Twenty-odd years of hoarding something and in less than five minutes…it’s gone. I cried like a fool when we were done and he just held me through the night until I slept off.

My second time was the next morning with an astounding O that left me COMPLETELY boneless. God. I have been a shameless devotee to sex ever since. Sex with Nasir, that is, given that I haven’t been with anyone since him. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made out with more than my fair share of guys and I will be the first to admit that I am a closet freak…but as for going the whole hog, I’m still relatively a baby learning new tricks but I learn…fast. Ha.

ANYWAY, given that school is back on today and I neglected to get any work done on my day off yesterday, I can’t really write too much of an epistle today. I need to make my father’s money work for me, in more ways than just spending the day at Pentagon City.

THE TART SERIES I: CRAZY PEOPLE...

2007-12-03T11:32:00.000-08:00

It is raining today. Plenty. Water everywhere.

This is my poor attempt to wax all melodic and poetic, which has obviously failed.
But ya, it is raining. Plus, it’s cold to boot. Yes, in early September. Fall hasn’t even started officially. Sigh, all have sinned, etc.

Let’s start with the simple fact that I’m extremely bored and being stuck indoors now sucks. My usually die-hard college pulled a shocker and decided the predicted flooding levels warranted a day off for all its unruly students who probably wouldn’t have shown up anyway. I am one of those loud and proud unruly students, I’ll have you know. Step outside when it’s cold AND rainy?! Hell NAH! Say who die?! I mean, I do recall my parents sending me over here to further some studies. I mean, the studies are almost over – December, yep – and I am still trying to stick to my end of that bargain, but I certainly don’t count dying in un-September like cold and wetness as part of that bargain.

But yea, I am rained in. And I am bored. And I am in bed, laptop on my hips, per the usual. TV’s on, muted, per the usual too. My smoke detector is warmly fancily wrapped with one of my old hair wraps. Yes, inanimate objects need them some love too. Okay, aside from my altruistic nature for the plight of the cold smoke detector, it’s too wet to romance any ciggie outside so I am improvising! Ha! Well, I am being good so far, only two sticks and it’s just two o’clock!

‘Layode’s has been M.I.A. since our conversation yesterday so I don’t have an update on her situation with Femi and I simply refuse to write, or even think, about my disastrous mistake with Paddy yesterday night. And sadly, all the possible contacts on my phone that I am not at war with are playing the M.I.A game too, or well, their schools probably were more disbelieving about the predicted floods than my school was, I guess.

So, I have nothing doing which was why I was ashamedly excited when I saw one of these old questionnaires in one of my inboxes, you know, these forwards people never EVER hesitate to pass on. I am not sure why I never deleted this one from a high-school friend because normally, I diehard-ly close my eyes and mind to the threats of bad luck and what-not that I am supposed to receive for not forwarding such crap and I click DELETE with a delicious vengeance. Well, I guess I’ll thank fate that I didn’t delete this one, because I’ll have something to do, if only for the next fifteen minutes or so! So, here we go…

Three things that scare me:
1.Snakes. Cold, slimy, long, sneaky, fast, dangerous, need I say more?
2.Death. Well, not death per se, but the path to it, more like. When it is my time (at a ripe age of definitely over 80, so help me God), I’d like to go peacefully and quietly. Car accidents, death on a hospital bed, etc...Not my cup of steaming hot cocoa.
3.Losing control. Emotionally, physically, mentally, whatever. I can’t stand not being in control of my faculties at all times. The thought of losing control, especially in front of people, freaks me out, the perfectionist that I am.

Three things I love:
1.Music is my lover. Bob Marley. Damian Marley. Regina Spektor. Evanescence. Gwen Stefani. Don Williams. John Legend. Pink. Dixie Chicks. Corinne Bailey Rae. Brandy. The White Stripes. My taste is so wide and varied but I CANNOT do without music. Listen to it. Sing along with it. Dance to it. I do it all, and well too. Amen! Lol!
2.My mother. Nobody like my mother, nobody. ‘Dewale is the closest second.
3.Shoes. A fixated obsession that began in college. I cannot fathom it, and my mother gets so annoyed with the racks and racks of shoes that I hardly wear. It makes no damn sense!

Three things I hate:
1.Betrayal. Nothing scorches me like a knife in my back that I did not see coming. I never forget betrayal, I can’t even forgive it.
2.Hugs. For some inexplicable reason, I hate people touching me, especially hugging. I have to see it coming, and even then, I keep as much distance as possible without appearing peevish or offensive.
3.Cockroaches, wall geckos, lizards!!!!! Generally, any unfortunate animal/human that falls within these species! *shudder*

Three things I don’t understand:
1.ANYTHING TO DO WITH PHYSICS. Like really, is anything in Physics applicable to real life at all?! I mean, does entropy make any fucking sense in the grand scheme of things?!
2.Ditto for the laws of microeconomics
3.Religion. I stay far, far away from that mess. It’s been nothing but a weapon in the hands of men.

Three things on my dresser:
1.Four different bottles of unscented lotion. I love lotion. I can sit for hours on my bed, my eyes glued on the TV, just slathering lotion over and over again all over me. It‘s like therapy of some sorts for me.
2.My entire collection of Stephanie Laurens’ romance books, the Cynster series. The latest ones have been getting a bit played out, but I have to testify that she won me over with the first book and I have been a dedicated faithful ever since.
3.Scented candles, menthol ciggies & Durex lubes (I couldn’t decide which out of the three I should list next, so I took the initiative and listed them all!)

Three things I’m doing right now:
1.Well, I am so obviously hammering away at the keyboard of my laptop
2.Listening to Corinne Bailey Rae
3.WAITING IMPATIENTLY for ‘Layode to call me. I mean, why do I care that she’s not rained in, but at work?! Hiss.

Three things I can do:
1.Dance!
2.Read at the speed of lighting. My mother always used to accuse me of cheating until I would recite the book right back at her. Lol, then she would accuse me of being an emere!
3.Keep malice. The most ridiculous thing ever! I am much better than I used to be. I was such a demon when I was a child, the silent type who’d smile while hatching evil plans of revenge in my head which I almost always carried out. *shakes head at memories*

Three things I’d like to learn:
1.How to treat my body like plaster sine, a la Shakira. Anytime I feel like a dancer, I simply have to watch her and I feel like a fat, uncouth bonobo.
2.How to speak one of these exotic languages, say Arabic or Spanish. I want to sound ultra-sexy too, no fair! Darn boring old English! Hiss.
3.How to network and kiss ass. I need to learn, especially if I am supposed to be working in the corporate environs in less than a couple of months. Sigh.

Three favorite foods:
1.Plantain. They called me Dodo when I was younger. Weirdoes. Lol.
2.I will kill for Chinese pork fried rice with sweet and sour chicken (with the sauce separate) and two-three tubs of hot chili pepper, with no veggies in the rice, in exactly that order. The lady at my usual Chinese spot recites my order to me when I walk in every week, it kills me!
3.Indomie noodles. Where would I be without Indomie noodles?!

Three beverages I drink regularly:
1.I like to fool myself into believing that water is the number one beverage I inhale – yes, inhale!
2.Ribena!!!!
3.COKE! COKE! And more COKE!

Three TV shows/Books I watched/read as a kid:
1.Enid Blyton! Famous Five, Secret Seven, The Wishing Chair, The Faraway Tree, The Three Golliwogs, Amelia Jane, The Naughty Girl series, Mallory Towers series, St. Clare’s series…the works!
2.Rent-A-Ghost! I swear I never got what that whole ish was about, just bunch of gay men who used to disappear and reappear in the most ridiculous places. Oh, there was Doctor. Who too! Weird shows.
3.Stupid NTA cartoons and Mexican soap shows. Think…Fraggle Rock! Super Ted! No One But You! Wild Rose! LMAO! Good old days.

Well, was that fun or what! Now, back to stalking ‘Layode.

THE TART SERIES I: OVERLOAD...

2007-11-28T12:59:00.000-08:00

I am not sure where to begin, because really, this has to be the weirdest day I have had in a long ass while. Three weird incidents in rapid succession in only one day, I mean, surely, my heart wasn’t built for this!

WEIRD PART I
First off, it’s getting rather frigid so I am burrowed under my warm covers, having just got out of my first class. I still had one more class to go, but I was going to be darned if I stepped outside again! Anyway, ‘Layode called just as I was about to drift off to the land of the Sandman and my baby sounded quite subdued, unusual for her.
“Baby, ki lo de? I know it definitely can’t be as cold as it is over here!” I teased.
“Femi and I had a fight,” she said and promptly started crying. Okay, big deal, you might say. Boyfriend-girlfriend, fight. Yeah, big deal.
Thing is…IT IS though, considering that it’s the normally sensible ‘Layode who’s always level-headed and realistic about these things. She’s not one for discussing her relationships with people (she finds it a gargantuan task even with me, and I only get to be as privileged as I am because we have been best friends since childhood. Even then, I have to literally pry all the details out of her). So I was shocked when she voluntarily told me they had a fight because it meant the fight must have been a rather serious one. The crying, as well, just floored me because ‘Layode is not one for theatrics.

“What do you mean?” I asked, “What happened?”
Turns out Femi’s ex had slept over at his place here in Maryland two nights ago and he had not told her about it. She found out by accident from a mutual friend who thought she knew already. That, of course, is enough to drive any girl berserk, especially when you consider that this same ex has always been inclined to give ‘Layode problems. Really, it's ridiculous because this girl went out with Femi in high school, which was like eons ago, so I don’t understand how she’s still hanging around, claiming to be just friends. ‘Layode and Femi have been dating since their freshman year; you’d think this ex would get the picture by now. She’s HISTORY.

I was righteously outraged. How the hell did she end up there?!
“Apparently, she was in town for the weekend and he ran into her at the club. They hung out and then, when it was time to head out, she claimed her ride was too drunk to drive so she asked to go home with him, saying she would call a ride from his place. So he took her home with him but when they did get to his place, she claimed she was too tipsy and tired to call anyone, so he apparently let her sleep on the couch,” ‘Layode told me. She had stopped crying now.

God, girls are Jezebels and men are Judases.You can't tell me nothing on that score.

“And he didn’t feel fit to tell you because?!’ I screeched.
“Thank you! That was my beef with the whole situation. I mean, screw the girl, we both know her game. I don’t even blame her for trying! Clearly, it’s my fault for having a boyfriend who’s too dumb not to see right through her but why, for the love of God, did he not tell me?! Imagine how stupid I felt when Yinka was like, ‘oh, yea, and Shalewa slept over at Femi’s, blah, blah,’ and I was like ‘Uh, hold up, Shalewa WHO?!”
“Oh, hell no! Is Femi on something?!”
“Hold on, now. So I called him. I didn’t even flip out on him yet,” she continued, “I just asked if there was anything he had forgotten to tell me. He hemmed and hawed and then he said there was nothing. So I kept the conversation going, and then, I was like, ‘so how did Shalewa get home?’ Do you know this idiot was like ‘oh, yea, I forgot to tell you about that.’”
“Capital!”
“Lara, I flipped out then. I mean, what the hell is his ex doing sleeping over like she has no home, and what the hell does he think he’s playing at not telling me about something like that?!”
“I can’t believe this!” I cried.
“It gets worse. This fool had the nerve to get mad at me, talking about how I was over-reacting and that he didn’t think it was that important enough to mention, because it was not like he invited her over or whatever. Talking about he was just trying to look out for the girl, and after all, she did sleep on the couch. Going on about this being the reason why he didn’t tell me in the first place, because he didn’t need all this drama.”
“Jesus!”
“I couldn’t believe it. You have your ex staying over, and you expect your girlfriend to be all dandy with it when you didn’t even mention it in the first place!! I mean, I am not trying to accuse him of anything, Lara, but for God’s sake, I know how girls are. I know that girl, in particular. Talking about she slept on the couch! I don’t give a shit if she slept on the floor!! I am not comfortable with her being over, period! I mean, am I being melodramatic here?”
“Not even! People have been killed for less!” I exclaimed.
“God, I don’t know what Femi is on but that dope is wack! I tried to make him see my point but dude wasn’t having it. He just blew up at me, talking about how I was trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, blah, blah. And I said no, you don’t do things this way. I am your girlfriend, if your ex can’t respect me, you as my boyfriend need to! I won’t have an ex of mine come sleep over for whatever reason and he knows it. I mean, if she hadn’t run into him at the club, would she have slept at the club?! He was now like he was tired of the discussion and I should call him back when I come back to my senses, and he dropped.”

Damn. Femi was tripping. Big time. And I said so.
“Omo, it did me like film trick oh. I was there staring at my phone like HELL NO, dude did NOT just drop the phone on me! But he did, and he hasn’t called me back since then.”
“This is arrant nonsense. Even the most retarded idiot can plainly tell that he is in the wrong!” I told her.
“I am so…flabbergasted, really.”
We talked a little more and then she had to go, because unlike me, she wasn’t skipping classes. She had to work.
But…man, she mentioned breaking it up with him and that stopped me cold because she sounded dead serious.
Gosh.

WEIRD PART II
Michael called shortly after. He was supposed to be coming over, but something with his mother came up so he had to drive down to see her. That was what he called to tell me, that he might be running more than just a little late or he might not make it at all.
I was cool, I had homework to do anyway, and I told him that.
Then…”Alright, babe. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back. I love you.”
Pause.
The end of the world as we know it is officially here. I mean, no, this man did not just tell me that he loved me on the phone. We are not in a relationship, we are not even dating! We just happen to be…well…. hooking up on the more-than-just-regular. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like Michael a lot, he’s a great guy, great company, great sense of humor, yada, yip, yap, yap but…! I’ve known him for a bit (I met him at the end of last semester but we only just started hooking up mid-August)! Love?!! Crap, it’s about to get awkward here on out. Damn shame.
What did I say in reply?
“Okay, Michael, I’ll talk to you later.”
Really, you need to play deaf sometimes.

WEIRD PART III
I am not going to expand much on part III because it just happened less than twenty minutes ago and I am still trying to spin my head around it.
Paddy called and said he was outside my apartment. Turns out he was seeing a friend who happened to live in the same block, so he called Dunni and asked her for my apartment number so he could surprise me.
He’s a weird one, this Paddy. I mean, clearly, I had not made it clear enough that I do not like him or care for his company.
Anyway, I let him in and believe it or not, he turned out to be terrific company! We just sat in my living room, eating pizza (that I had ordered earlier and was now forced to share, grrr!!!) talking about nothing in particular. Turns out we have the same sarcastic, wry sense of humor, I mean, he’s even so much worse than I am. Tiny would love him!
Well, anyway, pizza all gone, and I am about to lean over to get the remote from the other end of the sofa beside him, but he moved at the same time, and what do you know, but that…
A MOMENT OF SILENCE PLEASE.
I am still desperately trying to take this all in.
*composes self*
We bumped lips. In plainer English, we kissed. And it is with great shame and self-disgust that I admit that in all of my twenty plus years, it is the best kiss I have ever had. Somebody, shoot me now.
We kissed for a couple of seconds before our brains began normal operations again and we jumped apart. The bloody smart-ass was the first one to recover out of the two of us.
“For a smoker, you don’t have bad breath.” He teased. The idiot!!! I had to laugh at that though.
“Whatever,” I stuck out my tongue at him.
THEN he said seriously, “You need to watch that, or I might end up kissing you again.”
WHOA! TIME OUT!
Luckily for the two of us, he decided to leave then but gosh, I feel so strange now!!! Like, did that really happen?! Paddy?! Fraternizing with the enemy. Ugh. ‘Layode and Tiny are going to die.

I blazed through three sticks. Damn smokers and damn bad breath.

THE TART SERIES I: SUMMER IN THE CITY...

2007-11-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

You know, every now and then, I like to take a verbal snapshot of myself at a particular point in time. I’ve done this ever since I was eleven. My many diaries litter my room back home in Nigeria, just stacks and stacks of books scattered here and there. My room in my mother’s house, that is. Given all the children I grew up with my father’s house, you can understand how fanatical I am about privacy.

Yes, my mother and father do not live together in the same house. We all live on the same plot of land. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, okay?!It’s quite simple; the main house is my father’s official residence, and all his kids (including the officially acknowledged out-of-wedlock-ers) live there. Maybe like every other month, some new kid popped up in the house out of the blue and would be introduced as “your new brother, Wale.” Okay, maybe not every other month but yeah, that became a rather boring norm.

The two official wives, that is, ‘Layode’s mom and my mother, had their own separate chalets on either side of the main house, separated by walls so that they had the appearance of individual, private houses. We (the children) all had to live in the main house during the week, but at least, ‘Layode and I and our siblings luckily got to escape to our mothers’ during the weekends and during the short holidays we didn’t get to travel.

But yea, in my room in my mother’s house, my diaries and writings litter the room which I never clean, by the way. I don’t allow the maids do it either. I mean, they are already all over the room I share with ‘Layode in the main house. No privacy, whatsoever!
I digress.
I do have some of my diaries and things here with me in school. I love reading through them and seeing how my perspectives and principles have changed from time to time. It’s the most intriguing thing ever. Look at this snapshot from my diary when I was 15 years old, the slum book era.

This was the intro page…

Name: Omolara Maimunah Afopefoluwa Bade-John
Nickname(s): Lara, LB, Foppy (from Afope, I HATE that name!)
D.O.B: December 7th, 1986 (21 this year, baby!!!)
P.O.B: Eko Hospital, Lagos (and they had the nerve to give birth to ‘Dewale in America!!! Hiss. Well, he was a ‘bastard’ then!)
Father: Don’t have one (I was mad at my father then, I think Sade Nelson had her fifth kid for him around this time.)
Mother: Zainab Omolola Olubanjo (Mommy!!!)
Brother: Adewale Mohammed Afiyinfoluwa Bade-John
Best Friends: ‘Layode Bade-John, Temiloluwa Adebiyi, Morenike Sagamu (she got teased so much for that last name, us cruel high-schoolers!), Disun Aborowa (‘Layode is the only one left in my life out of the bunch)
Boyfriend: Tomiwa Martins (this joker! I think he’s in Ireland now. Last I heard, some girl had a baby for him. My mother nearly had a heart attack when I told her. Lmao!)
Likes: Boyfee (LMAO! Val’s’ day had just come and gone and I think I had the most extravagant gift in the whole class year. His dad was a retired general, if you know what I mean), chocolate, books, best friends, shopping, music
Dislikes: Cockroaches, Chief Oreoluwa Bade-John (LMAO!), bastards (subtle, or not-so-subtle reference to those many kids, I think!), traveling (weird because I did so much of it when I was younger)
Hobbies: READING, dancing, listening to music

And so on and so forth. You get the drift. Lol, I find it so cute!
This next diary entry dates back to my summer following my freshman year, I was 17 then. I found out about one of my mother’s affairs from one of those Nigerian gossip tabloids and I was so confused.

“…You won’t believe what I read in City People today about Mommy. It was a short one but it said something about one of Chief Bade-John’s women, who may or may not be married to him, with two kids (a boy and girl who were both abroad) who was carrying on with a well-known super-rich oil tycoon, a friend of her husband. The woman, from a Muslim family, had been sighted coming and going from the twice-divorced tycoon’s house at odd hours of the night and they had also been spotted having intimate dinners, blah, blah. I mean, it was so obvious it was about Mommy! Which other Muslim wife with two kids does Daddy have? So I told ‘Layode about it on the phone (you know she didn’t come home for summer) and she told me to ask ‘Dewale. And I did. Wow, he had the weirdest expression on his face when he softly told me to shut up and mind my business. Well, excuse me, but isn’t Mommy my business?! So later today, I asked Mommy if she had read City People yet, and she said she had, and what about it. She didn’t even look guilty or anything, I don’t know, I guess I expected a reaction. So I asked her if she was sure she had read every single article in there. She was silent, and then she laughed and told me not to be silly. I had to let it go then, it was so awkward and I feel so weird and…”

I got to find out later that the oil tycoon, in question, was my father’s colleague, Engr. Ofon Pepple. The affair ended shortly after that expose in City People, but it did make me see my mother through new eyes.
I did judge her at first but men, I’ve learnt that you can never know the weight of a man’s shoes until you’ve walked a mile in them. The way I see it, she married quite young (she was twenty when she had ‘Dewale, yes, there’s a mad age difference between her and my father) and she married someone who – to me – obviously does not love her as much as she loves him. There’s nothing worse than making a mistake that spans a lifetime. I mean, I don’t think my mother regrets marrying my father, she loves him after all, but I do think that if she had to do it all over again, love wouldn’t win again, logic would.

I am not sure what the protocol is in dealing with such matters, but everyone has their own way of dealing with their own burden and if having affairs was the way my mother chose to feel more desired and needed (even though she claimed she was not needy), who was I to fault her? I am not sure I would do things any differently. I think ‘Dewale already understood that, which was why he responded the way he did when I asked him, and after my initial disillusionment and shame, I became just as protective of my mother as he’s always unexplainably been. In our eyes, she can never do wrong. My father, on the other hand…

Well, I also found this letter Nasir had written to me the second time I got to found out that he had cheated on me. We started dating in my second semester as a freshman, (he was a sophomore then), and I found out the next semester about his first wandering sojourn over the holidays. So I broke up with him.
Clearly, I must be more like my mother than I think, because I got back with him the beginning of my junior year AND was stupid enough to lose my virginity to him, thinking it would be reason enough for him not to stray again. It took him a year after we had gotten back together to do it again. Even I can’t believe the way my heart broke. And then, he wrote me this letter.

“Omolara,
I love you, and
I am sorry, and
If I could turn back time, I would.
I don’t understand how I ended up back here, after all the promises I made to you the first time. I don’t even know where or how to begin explaining and I won’t even insult you by trying because I know too well that no explanation will ever be good enough. I have lost you, whether for good, I certainly hope not.
Give me a chance to win you back.
Give me a chance to turn this around. Give me a chance to do you right.
Once again, I am sorry, and
I love you, and
It is the one thing I have never lied about.
Nasir”

Sigh. He sent that letter with a box of my favorite chocolates from Godiva and a gigantic teddy bear (which has long since been donated to charity). I cried rivers over that letter, let me tell you. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the pain of being cheated on, not once but twice, especially when I had happened to give up what I thought (then) to be the best gift I could offer.

Before that letter, I had refused to see him or talk to him, via phone, via email, via person, whatever, for a whole month. I found that letter and package at my door on my way back from class after a very long and bad day. I read the letter and I fell apart, and yes, I gave in and called him. Lol, it is funny now I think about it. A whole, self-assured, confident, no-bullshit-taking me falling apart like women before me that I had scorned. Those were the days.

We loved letters, Nasir and I. It was like our special thing. Just scribbles of nonsense back and forth. I found one letter from happier days that I wrote to him. Well, I meant to send it, but I ended up e-mailing it because I ran out of change for stamps that day.
“Mr. Man,
You know I was reading this article about how women find it so easy to love, much easier than men do, at any rate. It went on and on about how intriguing to see how women in love would do almost anything for the men they loved, and gave some in-depth examples. Some had me cracking up, while others just had me shaking my head in wonder.
Here’s the link anyway . When will women learn to stop being fools for love, really? Women really need to take a step back and let men do all the dirty work in love.
I mean, look at me and you. You do all the hard work, and I simply tolerate your efforts. I mean, you count yourself lucky that I even consider you good enough to love me! Gosh. Why can’t more women be like me?! Ha!
I still ‘heart’ you sha. Lol. See you Saturday, baby.
Love,
LB”

Lol. I printed out his reply too. Clearly, he had no change for stamps either! Short but sweet.

“Ms. Thing,
Your cup of sarcasm runs over. I love you too, smarty-pants.
Mr. Man”

I really loved the boy. I really did.

THE TART SERIES I: MAD WORLD...

2007-11-19T14:19:00.001-08:00

I jumped when I felt the hand snake around my shoulder from behind.
The hell?!
The unremorseful culprit grinned at me as I spun around just a little faster than Femi, ‘Layode’s boyfriend, can swallow a whole drumstick at a go. I nearly tilted over to boot.
“What’s your problem?” I mouthed off.
“You,” He grinned.

Something was really wrong with this Paddy dude. Though I had not seen or heard from him since that last time, I had thought that after I had been kind enough to polish his shoes with my cigarette butt, he would be kind enough to reciprocate my intense dislike and ignore me henceforth.
Apparently, he’s taking that thing about keeping enemies closer to heart. What was he doing on campus anyway? Shouldn’t he have been at E&Y making the big money? Hiss.

Ugh, his arm was still around my shoulder. I looked at it pointedly.
He laughed and drew me closer.
Okay, time up!
“Your hands off, please! What the hell is your problem?” I snapped, drawing away.
“You, I said,” he laughed, “Do you want to grab a drink?”
“No thanks,” I told him, “I have to get back to mines.”
“Alright, let me walk you back.”
I decided right there and then to practice one of my long since neglected resolutions about airing my feelings as honestly and clearly as possible, be they politically correct or not.
Taking in a deep breath, I spat off, “Look here, Paddy, I don’t know what your game is but you are getting on my nerves. I don’t like you; I don’t like boys in general especially since my disaster of an ex that I only just managed to shake off. If, by chance, you are attempting to make a pass at me, allow me to warn you now that I am not interested in your overtures. I am not interested in you. Read my lips. I am not…”
“I have a girlfriend, you know,” he cut in.

Oh. My. God. Earth, swallow me NOW!

“What?” I said, my throat dry.
“I mean, I am flattered that you think yourself worthy enough of my lofty attentions,” he grinned – that bloody smirk, yes! – “but my girlfriend spits acid and lava when I attempt to spread the love!”
I stared at him.
Was he taking the piss? Idiot had thrown me completely off track.
“Ah well,” I finally managed, “just as well. I happen not to like screaming banshees myself, so it all works out fine. So are we both agreed on the fact that you should leave me alone?”
He laughed, “how am I supposed to walk you back then?”
Huh? Walkers’ club! I never asked him to! He offered, plus, I never intended on taking him up on that damn offer.
“Quite simple,” I told him, “don’t walk me back.”
And I turned to go off.
Will you believe this fool did not set out after me?! I mean, not that I wanted him to but… oh, whatever!!

Barely minutes after I got to my room, the phone rang.
‘Dewale!
‘Dewale is my older brother who works in London. I wondered what he wanted. This boy never thought to check up on me unless it was a do-or-die affair or my mother chastised him.

I have got such a massive family, it’s ridiculous! My father has three wives, well, technically, one “ex-wife” and two current wives. The “ex” in quote, because he’s yet to divorce her legally, and plus, despite their apparent separation, she has gone on to have three more kids for him, not counting the two she already had for him when they were “officially married.”
Yes, I’ll say it for you. My father is a bloody virago, and at the age of sixty-three, he isn’t showing any signs of slowing down yet.

He first got married to this half-caste lady when he was still in college, Sade Nelson (the current “ex”-wife) and she had two girls for him. I don’t even know them that well, one is married with kids and the other is a certified spinster.
He had an affair with ‘Layode’s mom while still married to Sade Nelson, and she had his first boy for him (I think my father was about to prove that somehow he could dictate to his sperm exactly what chromosomes, X or Y, he wanted to set in motion). Sade Nelson found out about Foluke Ajayi (‘Layode’s mom) and her ‘bastard son’, got pissed and called it quits.
So my father lived alone for roughly three years, sowing wild oats all the while before Sade Nelson decided she was going to forgive him. He pulled a fast one on her though and married Foluke Ajayi, so Sade Nelson got pissed and called it quits again. ‘Layode’s mom went on to have four more un-bastard children for my dad, three boys and ‘Layode, the baby.

Apparently, the ink wasn’t dry on his certificate of marriage to Foluke Ajayi before my father began to secretly carry on with a college student from a Yoruba Muslim family, Zainab Olubanjo. The fruit of that secret affair was another ‘acknowledged’ bastard, my older brother, ‘Dewale. Five years later, the affair was leaked, and so my father married my mother. I was their honeymoon baby. Some honeymoon though, because my dad somehow managed to ‘sperminate’ Foluke Ajayi with another baby around that same time, which explains why ‘Layode and I are the same age.

Phew. What a family history. And take note that I haven’t even gone into details of all the other wild oats, those who have been officially acknowledged and those who may never be, altogether. The first time my aunt (my mother’s sister) laid it all out to me when I was twelve, I was overwhelmed. Of course, my mother would not be caught dead telling me such tales, seeing as she did play a fast and loose one in this situation.

I don’t judge her though because I know if anyone really loves my dad, my mother really does and she’s always been his acknowledged favorite. Surprisingly though, you’d think there would be no love lost at all among us all, but my mother and ‘Layode’s mother get along. They have this older sister-younger sister relationship going on.

Sade Nelson, on the other hand, is another kettle of fish. I don’t blame her for the animosity. I mean, I would be the harsh and bitter serpent if my husband played me the way he did her. Spawning bastards left and right. She doesn’t make sense to me, though. Despite knowing her husband was a prick and despite his marrying two other women and having so many children out of wedlock AND despite having unofficially separated from him, she still went ahead to have three more children for him! That totally beats me.
Anytime I ponder that, ‘Layode calls me naïve. The way ‘Layode sees it, Sade Nelson knows exactly what she’s doing… she knows she’s set for life, considering that the father of her five kids has to pay child support, and has more than abundant money to do that. Grease to her elbows, I guess.

Funny enough, while ‘Layode’s mom and my mother are good friends, Sade Nelson and my mother are bitter enemies. They absolutely cannot stand each other. My mother gets agitated just hearing her name alone. I think it’s the fact that the woman managed to con my dad into giving her more babies to trap him with.
I asked my mother, one day when I was fourteen, why she married my dad despite all his philandering ways. Well, obviously, I didn’t use the word philandering. She looked at me pensively and then motioned for me to sit in her lap.

“Well, because I love your daddy,” she told me.
“But mommy, he doesn’t love you equally,” I told her, as though I was Einstein. Yea, I have had the sharp, careless tongue from for as long as I can remember.
She sighed and smiled sadly, “he’s a generous man, your father, and that generosity extends to the love he has to share. And luckily for me and him, I am not too needy. I am not greedy. As long he gives me the little I ask for, it is more than enough.”
You might think it weird that my mother would talk to me so seriously as though I was an adult but we’ve always been that way, especially considering I am her only girl and she couldn’t have any other child after she had me.
“Your father and I understand each other,” she continued, “which is the most important thing.”
Then she laughed lightly, “To be honest, Lara, it is better when you don’t have to share.”

Of course, I have always thought that to be pathetic and I told myself right then and there that I would never put myself in a situation where I would have to share the love of a man with anybody else, especially considering how selfish I am. It might have worked for my mother but I did not see it ever working for me. My mother was from a polygamous family, for one (her father was Muslim, her mother was Christian) and she had always been the independent type, being the only child of her mother. And though I never confronted her about it, I KNOW she had affairs but there was nobody my mother loved more than my daddy.
Love, a ridiculous thing.

Ah well, there was my only brother, ‘Dewale, on the line.
“Mohammed!” I teased.
He hates his second name, which my grandmother (my mother’s mother) christened him with. I am Maimunah, after my great grandmother.
“Ode. How are you?” he laughed.
“I mean, I am great, but a little worried now that you have called me. Please, tell me that mommy put you up to this!” I begged.
He laughed, “God, can’t you let me pretend I’m altruistic for once?!”
I laughed too. The idiot!

Ah well, it was good to hear from him! Certainly took my mind off that other buffoon. Ha!

THE TART SERIES I: NOT READY TO MAKE NICE…

2007-11-09T16:54:00.000-08:00

Hell. Frozen. Over.

Sigh.

What could I do when Dunni showed up at my apartment at fifteen minutes to five? Surely, I should have anticipated that she would have been this gangster about getting me to go.
“Are you ready??” she screeched as I opened my door.
Ah, hell no.
“Oh hi.” I said weakly, “I have been throwing up…”
Hell. Burning Place. Reserved.
“It starts at five!!” she screeched again.
Did she have to go on like a banshee? I was standing right in front of her, gosh! Now I needed a smoke.

Long story cut short, almost twenty-five minutes later, I was standing outside the building where the event was being held, having dashed out for the smoke I had been craving. People walked back and forth past me, scrunching their noses and shooting me dirty looks like I was having a shit on the sachets of air they had bought.
I mean, really, last I checked, air was free?!
“Oh, there you are!” I heard Dunni somewhere behind me.
“Forever smoking!” she cried as she reached me.
I smiled weakly. You bet it did not reach my eyes. At this point, I was very ready to call her out for bringing me to this orgy of boredom when I saw the two guys with her.
Shit.
The omo ale.

“Oh, so Lara, meet Tunde and Paddy. You know Tunde, the VP of ASA, and Paddy is part of the group presenting today. He works at E&Y in Virginia.” Dunni said.
Ah right. E&Y. Mmhmm.
I laughed lightly, “don’t tell me you guys are running away from your own show.”
Nobody laughed.
Well! I beg your pardon too!
Then Dunni piped in, “Tunde and I are just going to pick up the food from the caterers. We will be right back, Paddy will keep you company. We won’t be long!”
Burning Place. In Hell. Reserved For Another.
I won’t waste my time describing the if-looks-killed-you’d-be-motherfucking-kebab look I shot her.
“Don’t let me waste your time. I’m leaving once I am done out here so you can head back in,” I told Omo Ale…ah, Paddy, as Tunde and Dunni went off.
He stared at me, and then cleared his throat. “You smoke?”
I stared back.
No, I mean, I just happen to like to stand outside with a burning cigarette in my hand because of the intriguing picture I think it cuts.
“You want me to answer that, really?” I muttered.
He laughed.
Well, not laughed, but ha-ha-ed.
Silence.

“My grandfather died of lung cancer,” He said.
I choked down all the thoughtless retorts crowded in my head that all began with “So what?!!” and just looked at him.
“I only just quit close to a year ago,” he said again.
“You have fought the good fight, you have finished the race and you have kept the faith,” I scoffed, “another round of applause needed?”
“Girls who smoke have bad breath, besides,” he smirked.
No, this idiot didn’t go there. Damn him, I have a life subscription to Listerine and its large family of brothers and sisters, okay?!
“Oh, you realized that when the last girl you kissed pointed out to you that you had bad breath, huh?” I asked.
“Ah well, I don’t smoke,” he smiled.
“Too bad your breath still stinks. What shall we do with you?”

He laughed.
I was not laughing with him! How dare he accuse me of having bad breath? Honestly, if I could have punched this fathead, I would have!
“You want to kiss me and find out?” he smirked again.
God forbid! But God help me, this idiot was attractive! Ack!
“Please, I haven’t reserved my place in heaven yet so I’d like to stick around for a while,” I told him.
He laughed again.
Clearly, some people have extra-thick skin. I ignored him and took another long drag. Stick was almost gone but strangely, I did not feel like another.
“Why aren’t you in ASA, by the way?” he asked.
I snorted.
“I am getting you,” he smirked – ugh, keep eyes away from those lips! – “Better things to do, huh?”

Was he ribbing me?
“Damn right,” I told him.
“You are a very angry individual.”
Okay, that was it! I snuffed out the cigarette I was holding and dropped it on his shoe. Once I was satisfied that the tiny red sparks had dusted the offending shoe, I then turned to leave.
“You dropped that on my shoe,” his voice said from behind me.
Ooooh!!
Without turning back, I repeated his retort from two days ago to him, “So?”
Dunni called me later around eight but I refused to pick up the phone. I had done her enough favors by showing up in the first place. She could do me one and stay clear of me for the next few days.

Phone rang again much later. Unknown number.
“Hello?” I was breathing heavily, having sprinted out of the shower. I had been expecting ‘Layode’s call.
“Omolara.”
Nasir.
“Yes?”
“What’s going on?” he asked softly.
“Huh?”
“Why the hell did you drop the phone on me the last time we spoke?”
Seriously?! Wasn’t that on Sunday?
I had to laugh. “Are you joking?”
“What’s the joke? I am being serious here.”
Well, clearly I am not!
“Oh,” I smirked, even though he could not see it.
“I am not feeling this attitude of yours, really,” he had the nerve to say.
“Okay, I really do remember asking you to save the bullshit the last time,” I said.
“You want to say that again?” He sounded so appalled. Ha.
“I’ll be kind enough to remind you one more time. Save the bullshit. Good night!”
I dropped the phone. Well, at least I courteously wished him a pleasant night this time around.

Tiny, my other best friend, agreed with Paddy that I was acting like a very angry individual when I spoke to her much later and filled her in.
“Well, I am angry!’ I laughed, “And people keep giving me reason! Nasir, Yomi, Dunni, this new rude boy, the list goes on!”
She laughed, “Better be careful, we don’t want you ending up on anybody’s hit list.”
“Oh, so now you think I am being too nasty to Nasir?”
She scoffed, “Bitch please. You haven’t even started with him yet.”
Lol. If there’s one person who absolutely cannot stand Nasir (any more than I do, ha!), Tiny takes the cake!
“Ha, you know it!” I agreed.
“Oh, so this Paddy fellow?” Tiny started. Oh, okay, time up!
“Oh, one second, I think Michael’s here.” I lied.
“I’m sure,” she scoffed, “I’ll get you later.”
I laughed, “Love you.”
“Madly in love with you too. Kiss, kiss.”
Just another day.

THE TART SERIES I: SO MUCH TROUBLE IN THE WORLD…

2007-10-31T12:13:00.000-07:00

The idiot stepped on my foot. He really did!
I was going to ignore it, but for the fact that I knew that he knew he had stepped on my foot.
“Excuse me!” I call out.
He’s still striding forward.
I lengthened my steps and pulled at his shirt. Dude was dressed expensive, smelling of money. I know his kind.
The Armani shirts and the Weil watch, he wanted it, Daddy got it, and then he stunts like he got it all by his lonesome. Right.

I know I can be such a drama kid at times, but really, I have been playing the weak, downtrodden role for a quite a while now so I am enjoying this, you know, getting back in touch with my bitchy side. And he did step on my foot without apologizing!
I mean, I was coming out of my second class for the day, moving with the crowd of students who were doing the same. Then THUD!
Crucial pain inflicted on my poor darling feet which only had a pair of flip-flops for protection!
How inhuman.

I saw the culprit look back at me, look at my feet BUT he just kept on walking.
He was outside now; I pulled on his shirt just in time. He turns around, surprise on his face.
“Dude, you stepped on my foot,” I said coldly.
“Dude?” he raised an eyebrow.
Okay, so this dude was fine. Like…fine. Like…words fail me but it’s too bad that nothing eats away at beauty faster than arrogance. Oh, who am I kidding?
“You...stepped…on…my…feet,” I enunciated for him, as though he was a toddler. I mean, only toddlers could behave this way, really.
“So?” he said.
Excuse me? That left me speechless.
“So?!” I stared at him.
“Yeah. So?”
“I want to take it your mom left out the part about manners?” Bitch mode.
“I’d rather take it that your mom did.”
Stalemate.

He stepped on my foot, was he mad??
I shook my head and said, “You are a capital idiot,” I began walking away.
“They have a name for people like you where I come from,” I heard him say as I walked on. The sheer fucking nerve.
“Iya e!” I shouted back. Be damned if he understood that, but that was how pissed I was.
“Oh, crap! You are Nigerian!” he laughed.
That stopped me cold in my tracks. I turned and looked at him skeptically.
“Paddy,” He smiled what I am sure he thought was his winning smile. Ode.
I eyed him as he waited expectantly.
He raised an eyebrow.
So I smirked, “and the name they have for people like me where you come from would be?”
He laughed, “Hey, no hard feelings! Right? You know the bad-day syndrome!”
Dude really thought I was going to let him off really easy simply because we happened to come from the same old beloved Nigeria.
“Anyway, there is a name for people like you back where we both come from. Omo ale ni e. Have a nice day.”

Okay, so I did not have to call him a bastard but really, is that how he was brought up to treat women? Whether or not he was brought up here (his accent was impeccable, none of that futile struggling to force words through the nose that some of my foolish people are wont to die trying to do) or back at home, any sensible Nigerian mother tries to ingrain in her son the utmost respect for women. Chivalry is not yet dead, no matter what people say.
So well, with that, I turned on my heels and walked off. Okay, so no heels. Flip-flops, but you get the painted picture.
He did not call after me, but I’d like to take it that he didn’t know what name to call me back with! Plus, I would not have stopped anyway…I don’t think I would have. Shame, fineness really is good for nothing!

Michael called me around seven to check if I wanted to work on our homework over a round of Chinese and fags. Another make-out session, I love this! We managed to get at least half of our homework before we…well, sought loftier pleasures! And the people say Allahu Akbar!
Dunni called me shortly after he had left, about eleven-ish.
“What’s up?” I asked when I had depressed the green “TALK” button on my landline.
“Nothing, really. What have you been up to?”
“Oh, homework. This and that,” I told her.
I sure wasn’t about to tell her about Michael just yet.
“Anyhow, what are you doing Wednesday evening? At five?”
Oh God, here we go again. Welcome to another round of Dunni trying to trap me into going for one of the ASA events. I didn’t think so!
“Five? I am not sure,” I hedged, “what’s going on?”
“We have this speaker coming in for our first meeting this semester and…”
I tuned out, then tuned back in as she asked, “So you’ll come?”
Err…

“I am not sure. I have…”
“Noooo!” she whined, “you never ever come out to any of our events and I know you don’t have any class after two on Wednesday.”
“There’s a project due…”
“You have a project due already? Which class?”
God, why didn’t you add the gift of lies to my many shady talents?!
“Okay, okay. Five, you said?”
“I love you!!!” she screeched.
Blah.
“Meanwhile, Yomi’s been bugging me about you,” She said.
I rolled my eyes.
“You haven’t been picking up his calls, have you? He’s worried. I asked him what he did, but he said he couldn’t remember saying or doing anything.”
Yea, selective Alzheimer’s. My people, my people, it is real.

“Yomi is tripping,” I told her, “Ignore him.”
“He seems real upset about whatever it is that happened, I think you should talk to him and…”
“Oh, Dunni, my mom’s calling me on my cell phone. Let me call you right back!”
Okay, so it was four in the morning in Nigeria but please, I never claimed to be a good liar.
I dropped the phone before she could connect the dots and threw it across the room.
Long day, all that homework and company had worn me out.
I am chuckling now as I think up excuses to give Dunni on Wednesday. She is tripping. Hell would freeze over before I show up at any ASA event this week.

STRIP...

2007-10-26T17:18:00.000-07:00

Stripping layers
Painful and slow, the one thing I fear the most
Nothing is as frightening
As frightening as bringing down my walls for this one person to see right into the dark places no eyes but mine has been…
But even as daunting
As daunting as it seems, it is the most beautiful feeling to be myself with this one person in those dark ways no one but me has seen…

Do you know how it feels?
Do you know what it is like?

To cry and see my tears reflected in yours
To laugh and hear my laughter multiplied by yours

To have my troubles halved just because you love me
To crash and fall and look to see you still beside me

To be told in your sweetest words that I am beautiful
To be told even when I am not so much so too

To be kissed a thousand times, in ten thousand ways
And still feel those kisses when those moments are long gone in days

To smile for despite the distance, you are only a call away when the phone rings
And even when distance prevails, I can settle for a heartbeat away being the next best thing

To be naked without shame, knowing your eyes are not judging me
To war with you bitterly, yet knowing it’s not the end of you loving me

Stripping layers
Painful and slow, the one thing I fear the most
Nothing is as crushing
As crushing as having those layers so carefully revealed to one revealed to a strange other
Yet nothing is as subduing
As subduing as realizing that even when all goes sour, the good moments still overwhelms the others

Some get it right on the first try, others keep stripping for a lifetime
Whichever it is, the truth is it is never ever as special as that first time…

Copyright, Lara Brown Inc. 2007

THE TART SERIES I: EVERYTHING BACK BUT YOU...

2007-10-25T07:05:00.000-07:00

So how was my date?!
Actually nicer than I expected!
But… you won’t believe who Michael and I had the bad luck of running into! My “drama-dar” is on overdrive, I tell you. Surely, Maryland is more than big enough for both of us to reside in without having to breathe the same air in the same damn space.
Apparently not.
Yep, it was Nasir I bumped into, with the Queen Bitch herself. I hate to admit it, she looked gorgeous in that silk number from Zara that I had been eyeing. Bloody expensive number too! Well, while she looked good in it, it still did not make up for her face. What does Nasir see in this child anyway?
Yes, I am a capital bitch, sue me.

Anyway, Michael and I are handing our tickets to the guy who collects the stubs when I hear some girl say, “Oh, Nasir, isn’t that…that your friend?”
I take a deep breath and pretend not to have heard. The guy collects our stubs and I pull on Michael’s hands to get him to move faster.
To no avail. And they say stupidity is the black man’s disease.
It’s too late anyhow; Nasir began to yodel my name. As in literally yodeling like some fucking goatherd, you’ll know what I mean if you have watched Sound of Music. You can’t blame him, yet another fucking opportunity to rub the Queen Bitch into my face, woo-fucking-hoo!
By now, Michael has noticed the screaming shepherd and he says to me, “I think those might be friends of yours.”
Friends? Ha! If only!
I replace the frustration on my face with a smile Julia Roberts would kill to have and turn around, squinting like I was not sure who it was calling my name.

“Oh, it’s you,” I say flatly.
“Such enthusiasm!” Nasir laughs, “how odd to bump into you here.”
Give me a break. Dude knows this is the biggest theatre around for miles that every Nigerian without common sense goes to. Yea, I borrowed the devil my common sense and suggested the same cinema to Michael!
What game is he playing at, acting like I purposely came here because I guessed he would be here too. And believe it or not, the girlfriend has yet to say a word to me. I ignore her as well. Two can play, after all.
“Yeah, odd,” I smile vaguely, “Michael here and I are running late for our movie so we should head off, or let me guess, are you seeing the same movie we are?”
Couldn’t resist.

“No, it turns out,” he says matter-of-factly as we compare movie tickets, “No problem, we’ll deign to grace you with our company some other time.”
I am sure. I am assuming that is his meager attempt at having a sense of humor. I swear I love Michael. He lets out a barely audible snort, audible enough.
I don’t even credit Nasir’s statement with a “ha-ha.”
“Well, movie time. See you around,” I say, ignoring Queen Bitch effortlessly. Okay, okay, so I did take more than a glance at her shirt, but I mean, just to make sure I don’t get it in that same color!

After the movie, Michael and I grab a couple of drinks and head to my place. He is an adorable kisser, like shy and yet demanding at the same time. He could do with a little more aggression though. Yes, yes, I am a descendant of Sodom and Gomorrah. I guess I should have felt a little remorse, I mean, wasn’t I trying to get with Yomi just a couple of days ago? But please, when nature calls, it calls. We have a smoke together outside, and bitch about World Finance and the dopey Professor Kurt. It’s the most relaxed I have felt in a while.
Michael is so down-to-earth that I don’t feel the need to pretend like I normally do, keeping up appearances and what not. Normally, I would fret about my lip gloss being rubbed off after a kissing spar, or the way my hair looks after a few tosses and turns on my bed…you know, mundane things like that. I am so comfortable with Michael that I changed into a pair of ratty slacks and sling my hair up into a ponytail. I made a quick dinner, we made out some more, slept and then he had to leave. A beautiful date, if I may say so myself, and believe me, I have had dates!

I called ‘Layode to gloat about my date. She manages to sound insanely jealous for my sake, even though Femi is right there by her side. So I am feeling fulfilled, lying on my bed. Life is such a bed of roses, blah, blah, when my phone rings.
Private number.
I am this close to falling asleep so I don’t snatch it up until the fifth ring.
“Hello?” I say groggily.
“Lara.”
I would know his voice anywhere. Pathetic, I know, but there it is. I won’t even front.
“Nasir,” I sigh. Why on earth is he calling from a private number? I ask him.
“I thought you wouldn’t pick up, if I called with my number,” He tells me.
“I don’t have your number stored, so I wouldn’t have known.” I just had to let him know that. Score one for me.
“Anyway, what was up with that at the cinema today?” he asks.
Huh?
“Err…say that again?” I say slowly.
“What was with you pretending not to have heard me and Kunbi calling you? You didn’t even say a word to her, not even a hello!”
He can’t be serious. Now I see the depths to which I have lowered myself such that my ex-boyfriend calls me to chastise me over not greeting his new girlfriend. O ga o!

I laugh, “You are kidding me, right?”
“No, seriously. I mean, I can understand you being hostile towards me, but come on, what does she have to do with it?”
Okay, so dude is making it seem like I blatantly went all out to disrespect the chit. I mean, she was not inclined to say a word to me either! And forgive me if I come across as the bitter ex, but I see no reason for Nasir to call me out on it regardless.
“You’ve officially lost the plot, Nasir,” I chuckle. This actually is funny! “I don’t remember being hostile toward your girlfriend. Believe me, if I was going to be hostile, you would know it.”
“Yeah, whatever. A simple hello would have done. Who is that guy you were with, anyway? From coffee to milk, huh?”
Okaaaaaaay!

“Was there anything else you wanted, Nasir, apart from scolding me like a little kid for not greeting the latest chain on your neck?”
“Don’t pull this shitty attitude with me, man! Who was the dude?”
“Nasir, was there anything else?”
“Okay, okay. I know I am coming across as jealous. Well, maybe I am…a little bit,” He says.
Lawd, Lawd.

To my surprise, I realize I am suddenly immune. Those words don’t do…much. Normally, my heart would have flipped over a hundred times even before he stopped speaking, but today, I was just neutral…and increasingly angry. They call this the turning point.
It’s like since that scene with Yomi; I’ve just switched off to the bullshit I had been tolerating all of a sudden. And they say epiphany isn’t real.
“Are you still there?” Nasir says softly, “I don’t mean to keep doing this but the thing is…you still have a part of me and seeing you with that guy, whoever he was, just threw me off a little, I guess.”
“Nasir, do me a favor,” I say suddenly.
“What?”
“Save the bullshit,” And I drop the phone.

I am shaking…I am shaking so hard I scare myself. I have never stood up to Nasir that way and all of a sudden, I feel afraid for the change I am about to bring out in the dynamics of our relationship as it used to be. My phone starts up again and I turn it off. I don’t regret doing what I just did, if anything, I feel mad. I am mad as hell.
Bastard. The tables are about to turn.
Clutching my ratty teddy-bear (Prince- I’ve had him since I was ten!), I turn off my bedside lamp and try to sleep. Yet another surprise for the day, it took me less than twenty seconds to fall asleep.

THE TART SERIES I: WHAT IT IS ABOUT MEN…

2007-10-22T14:54:00.000-07:00

I am not quite sure if I feel much better today. I mean, my eyes are not so bloodshot anymore so...that counts, maybe.
I am pumping Regina Spektor’s totally underrated ‘Songs’ album on my IPod and checking my mail, while munching on my toasted chocolate-chip waffle and keeping an eye on the TV at the same time. And my mother dares tell me I do not know how to multitask?! Ha!
My phone rang. It was ‘Layode.
“Hey, bubbles!” I said cheerily.
“My love!” her high-pitched voice cried out.
‘Layode!

Frankly, I do not know where I would be without this child in my life. She is everything my mother probably wishes I could just become overnight. She just graduated last semester with a degree in chemical engineering, bagged herself a sweet job in San Francisco (I am still getting used to not having her to run to anymore.) All of this with the perfect man, Femi, by her side, they have been on for four years (yes, yes, they met in her freshman year). I swear, if she wasn’t my step-sister and best friend, I’d hate her even more than I do Nasir…Okay, off-bounds.

“How are you, my pumpkin?” I asked, while chewing.
“Chocolate-chip waffles won’t kill you!” she kissed her teeth.
“Oh, how well you know me!!” I cackled, “What’s going on now?”
“Nothing. I am waiting at the airport for Femi. His flight is due in fifteen minutes,” She said.
“Oh right, I forgot he was coming down there. No wonder I did not see him yesterday at the party last night.”
“Oh yea, how was that?” she asked.
“It was…alright, I guess,” I said listlessly. Trying so hard not to think of the issue with Yomi.
She laughed, “Surprised you even went.”
“Well, Dunni was nagging and I didn’t have anything better to do, no thanks to you moving and taking my only mode of transportation with you!”
“Oh shut up and go learn how to drive!” she laughed again.

Talk of the devil. Dunni was calling. I put ‘Layode on hold quick.
“What’s the deal?” I asked the intruder.
“Lara!!!” she screeched, “what happened with you and Yomi yesterday?”
Oh God. This fool did not waste any time…at all.
“What do you mean?” Yea, Ms. Play-Dumb.
“Bode didn’t give me details. He just said that you and Yomi had some sort of bust-up last night at your place.”
Bode was Yomi’s crony, and a friend of Dunni’s. Sometimes, I wonder why I am even friends with this child. We are more like gist-buddies, and as much as it irritates me sometimes, I admit nobody does gist like Dunni. Nobody! I am always ever so careful what I let slip to her because Lord knows she had no discretion whatsoever.

“Don’t mind Yomi,” I told her, “he was acting up as usual but let me call you back, ‘Layode is on the line.”
I switched back to ‘Layode and finally told her what went down last night. She was flipping mad then, but more at me.
“I mean, you did not see fit to slap the dude and set him straight. All of this in your own space, no less? You’re crazy!” she screeched.
“Allow him, he will be alright.”
“It’s not about that. Can’t he even respect you?”
“When has he ever respected anyone?” I laughed, “I don’t blame him. This is all Nasir’s fault, please!”
Silence.

Then the next thing, “Abeg, you need to stop blaming that dude for all your problems and start moving on.”
HELLO?? I nearly passed out. From ‘Layode, no less! Was this “let’s-all-gang-up-on-Lara weekend”???
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Truth!” She stuck to her guns, “I don’t understand it. You are always the typical strong female except when it comes to this fool. Dude cheated on you two fucking times, flipped tables on you, had you begging, shacked up with you, and two days later, he’s going out with Kunbi without telling you. Na jazz?”

Hello?? He cheated on me once, okay maybe more than twice, but it was with the same girl and she is his girlfriend now so surely it didn’t…um…really count?
“I am over Nasir…” I said weakly.
“I’m sure you are. ”
I hate this. I hate that it has come down to this- being judged. Everything is not black and white. ‘Love’ is not always simple and straight-forward. Why is everybody judging me?
“We weren’t officially a couple, so he didn’t exactly cheat on me…” I told her.
“Whatever. Keep telling yourself what you want to hear,” she retorted.
So I got mad.

But when she dropped the phone (Femi’s flight landed), I had to reflect.
It is all so damn unfair. I used to be this strong figure that my other friends looked up to, the ever sensible and level-headed one. I wasn’t one for falling in love and all that jazz, give me the steady flings here and there and I was good to go.
Then I met Nasir, he screwed me over simply because I made the mistake of letting go with the wrong guy. It’s all bullshit about guys appreciating it when you give them your virginity. Well, at least, this one didn’t.
I made the unforgivable mistake of giving him what I thought would make him stay and he ended up running.
Ironic.

I could have saved myself more heartbreak if I had just let him go after he stepped out the first time but I kept letting him back again and again. I would take five gigantic steps forward; he would come back and take me back to six steps behind the spot from which I started out.
Then he did it one last time, and then fucking went and asked the very girl he was “cheating” on me with to be his girlfriend without even letting me know first! He’s going to throw away everything I gave him, and then take what he gave me and give it to her? Yea, I’ve been played. PLAYED.
Now I am angry. I am so angry. And ‘Layode is right, this is my entire fault. I have another good cry and another cigarette but unlike my crying bout yesterday night, I actually feel much better now.
Next step, dial Yomi’s number.
He picked it up on the first ring. “This better be an apology.”
Lord, this fool. “You are stupid,” I say calmly.
“Yeah?” he drawls.
“Lose my number after this call, Yomi. I don’t want you making the mistake of thinking that we are cool after what went down yesterday.”
“What…” he starts up.
“Dude, I’m serious. I don’t give a fuck about how cool we might have been, nobody needs to be treated the way you treated me yesterday, least of all, me.”
“How did I treat you?” Now, he plays dumb.
“I don’t much care anymore. Lose my number, period.”
I drop the phone on him and delete his number quickly.

Okay, that’s one fool done with. We were very cool people in high school and ended up going to college in the same state. We messed around every now and then but we both knew not to ask more from each other because we just weren’t like that. However, especially since I hooked up with Nasir, we just weren’t as cool as we used to be, and now he’s started slighting me vocally. Ah well, things are about to go back to the way they used to be around here. Good old days where I demanded respect and freaking got it too! No more playing the victimized, broken woman, pssh!

I gulp down my yogurt smoothie. Wild Berry Flavor, sigh! Really, what with the Iranian president displaying early signs of Hilter-ism, I really should be more worried about the end of the world and not looking for ways to fall on my butt because they say that makes it bigger.

Weird.

I just got a little bubble-butt, after these twenty years and I have become so obsessed with it, to ‘Layode’s utter disgust. Still miffed at her for telling the bitter truth I’ve finally decided to swallow. I still love her though. Nothing much on schedule for the rest of today, just get homework done (!!!!) and oh, date with Michael tomorrow. Ah well, something to look forward to!

THE TART SERIES I: IRREPLACEABLE…

2007-10-19T12:18:00.001-07:00

It’s classified. Men are bastards.

Dunni just called me. Apparently, Nasir’s girlfriend is in town. She came in from London yesterday AND she’s going to be in town for a little over a week. He took her to DC Coast, you know, that expensive joint downtown where they have the meanest shrimp cocktail for miles around.

The cheap bastard, the best he ever thought I deserved was T.G.I.F!! I really do not blame him at all. But damn, I swear Dunni has absolutely no tact at all. I mean, she was reciting all the details with such glee, you would think she was sent by Queen Bitch herself. Rhymes, doesn’t it? Kunbi? Queen Bitch? God, my wit kills me!

I am over him, don’t get me wrong. I AM! In fact, I went out with Yomi tonight. Okay, so we technically did not go out, we just hooked up at that club party in Baltimore. Don’t ask me how I ended up there. Dunni was nagging, and well, Yomi did say it would be good to see me. So I pulled on the green dress I hadn’t got the chance to wear yet. I matched it up with the tiger heels I got from Nine West as part of last weekend’s shopping binge. Fucking fabulous! That dress is practically an invitation, is all I can say! Plus, when they played my song, I was all over it on the dance floor. He was so feeling that, Yomi, that is, not Nasir. Though I wish the latter had been there just so I could see his jaw drop while he sees that I’m moving on and living life without him quite happily.
Okay, not quite true but hey, I accepted Michael’s offer to see a movie on Sunday. Remember Michael? That cute Persian guy from World Finance class? Yeah, go me!

I really should not have agreed to let Yomi take me home, though. I mean, I had forgotten what an idiot he could be. Okay, so we get to my place. Natalie is sleeping already, her lights are off. So I motion to him to be quiet as we walk down the hallway to my room. I shouldn’t have let him come up when he asked, but damn it, I have been horny for a mad minute, and Yomi can settle for an adequate make-out session. Not as well as Nasir, sure, but I digress. Okay, so as I am taking off my shoes, he comes up behind me and his hands start creeping up. That’s the cue to start kissing, obviously…and so we do.
We are on the bed, and all of a sudden, I can’t explain it but I am suddenly so nauseous and disgusted at myself and what I am doing. Yomi, of all people? I should know better! He’s been with every Jill, Janet and Hadiza in the MD-DC-VA triangle and even though we go way back to high school, I should know better than to use him as a crutch. Plus, he does have a big mouth, you know. So I pushed him off and asked him to leave. The ensuing conversation still makes me cringe.

“I think you should leave,” I told him.
He was still mumbling, you know, still trying to kiss me. I really was going to throw up then, so I pushed him more viciously. Too viciously, it turned out. He almost fell off the bed.
“Hey, what the hell! What’s the deal with this?” he snapped, after he recovered.
“You seemed to have turned deaf for a minute. I said I think you should leave!” I told him again as I pulled down my dress. I caught a glimpse of myself in the closet mirror that faced my bed and I felt so sick with myself.
“What the fuck?” he swore, “you asked me up, I didn’t invite myself in here. Why are you getting all prissy now like I forced myself on you or something?”
Okay, so, say hello to the Yomi I don’t like! I mean, why couldn’t he just gather his pride and get the fuck out? I said I no do, what again???
I refused to answer him, silently looking at the door. As in, ol’ boy, the exit, in case you’ve forgotten.
“Man, you think I don’t know what this is about?” he now said.

The fuck??? Then I had to look at him. What was he on about now? He saw my question in my eyes.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he said, “I know you better than everyone in this joint. We go more than way back, so don’t pull that shit with me.”
I was so going to slap him, “My room-mate is sleeping, keep it down.”
“Fuck that!” He shouted, “Am I supposed to be the idiot that you will use to fool Nasir that you are over whatever mess you two had going down?”
Oh really, now the story of my sad and twisted love life was now the talk of town?
“Yomi, just leave, abeg!” I was trying so hard to keep calm. I desperately needed a smoke now. A headache was coming on.
“Man, just wake up and smell the fucking coffee. You and that dude are not meant to be. The sooner you realize that…”
“I said, get out!” I shouted then. What in the bleeding hell?!
He looked at me and shook his head. “I’m talking to you, Lara, as a friend.”

Yeah, I’m sure. Dude was probably going to go behind my back after this confrontation and laugh about me with the rest of the bloody crew I no longer run with.
“Everyone is talking about you. You think people are stupid? Flitting from one guy to the other? Who are you trying to fool? Him? Us? Yourself?”
“You don’t know anything about me. Fuck you and get out,” I said calmly. I really needed a smoke.
God, you won’t believe Yomi. He just would not STOP!
“Smell the fucking coffee. And next time you pull this stunt with me, trust me, it won’t end up like this, bitch.”
Okay, so I started trembling then. I remembered why I avoided Yomi for so long before tonight. It was because of this bloody temper and the cruel tongue.
“Try walking and talking at the same time, please,” I told him. I am no Beyonce but that line fit right then, I tell you.
He slammed the door so hard on his way out. So much for not waking Natalie up, that gossip hound sleeps lighter than a dog.

I smoked my way through five cigarettes, so much for giving that up too. And it’s all Nasir’s fault too, I’m sure you can see. But I really don’t care anymore. I am over that, it’s all done. He doesn’t even deserve me anyway. I don’t want him, I don’t need him.
He’s utterly replaceable and I’m utterly indifferent.
Never mind the sudden stupid tears that seem to be saying otherwise.

GONE IN 60 SECONDS...

2007-08-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve been quite occupied with building up my portfolio amongst other, *ahem*, time-consuming activities so unfortunately, this blog has been quite lifeless for more than a bit but having been assured that at least one person does enjoy my ranting, I decided to take some time out and you know, grace the graceless with the gracefulness of my humor.

I’m not a big fan of that movie with Kate Hudson and Matt Forever-Shirtless McConaughey, How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days. Yeah, I know it’s supposed to be the lighthearted fare for those who are cynical and weary of life and love, and sometimes like to escape into meaningless fantasy but come on, this movie takes serious style to stretch the limits of our feeble imagination. I mean, and how!
Let’s forget the fact that the main characters pretend to be who they are not in order to win the bet and yet, still supposedly get to fall in love with each other. So then is Kate in love with the sweet, loving guy that Matt is pretending to be, or the womanizing bastard he actually is? And does Matt fall in love with the brainless, spineless and clueless bimbo Kate is pretending to be or her real self, which we never even get to really know anyway? Je suis perplexe.

Then, ten days?! TEN DAYS?! Ten days to lose one lousy son of Adam? In this short life of strife and sin? Tufia, such patience and longsuffering!
Look, leave story, let me present to you the accomplished way to accomplish this same feat in less than 60 seconds…

1.BE AVAILABLE. Very available. No matter how much a guy swears that he cannot condone fronting of any sort, he still lives for that chase-and-catch in moderate measure.
So when that call of his wakes you from a lusty dream at four in the morning, demanding eba and egusi to be delivered to his house ten miles away… you’ll always be there, wont you? Repeat a couple of times and his “isn’t-she-so-sweet-selfless-and-caring” will be transformed to “what-kind-of-ode-is-this”

2.TELL ALL. You see, nothing intrigues a guy more than the thing he does not know. Why do you think guys spend all their time taking things apart? Nuh-uh, it’s not the fix-it syndrome – personally, I’ve never met a guy who has taken something apart and managed to put it all back together, Daddy included. *memories of toy radio*....As I was saying, exercise your right to free speech until you become extremely “un-mysterious” and boring. Does he really need to know what color your snot is when you blow your nose? Yes, mon amie, he does.

3.CRY. Cry all the time. Cry even when there’s absolutely nothing to cry about. Just cry. Cry blood. This one is very simple. There is just something about tears that turns Samson the bodyguard to Mukaila the mai'guard. Powerful stuff.

4.EAT OLD-SCHOOL STYLE. Eat with your mouth. Loud noises and grunts of enjoyment are all encouraged. Do not hesitate to pick out that stubborn piece of meat stuck between your incisors with your fingers. Lick your lips after every bite. Gargle after every swallow. Palm oil smears, etc. You go, girl, who is your daddy...yea, Australopithecus Africanus (ref. Britannia Encyclopedia for pictures).

5.TELL LIES. As in those bold-faced it-doesn’t-get-any-redder-than-the-red-on-my-hands kinda lies. You see, men are used to lying with stealth and crafty cunning that it completely unnerves them to run into someone who lies without tact like,
Boy: what was he doing here, boo?
You: Oh, silly, I was just showing him a notch on the bedpost, you get me?
I get you.

6.KISS LIKE A WATERSPOUT. Be a gushing fountain. Nooo, not down there, stupid – down there is fine. But yes, up there, that’s right –be copious and overly generous in your offering of spittle. Deliver beyond your fair share, after all, the well of saliva is always in abundance, it never runneth out.
Keep in mind that you are screwed if homeboy’s a greenhorn or just a generally bad kisser, in which case the surplus of saliva won’t be unusual to him. In fact, it might even be encouraging. In such a situation, all I have to say to you is…viva la spita!

7.THE SAY-SOMN-ABOUT-MY-MAMA-CHALLENGE. If you have balls, you can always just attack that very weird bond between mother and son. Seldom used. Wisely so. You are on your own.

Well, you say. What if you have exhausted this very promising list of options? What if you have a Die-Hard Part XIII on your hands? The clock is ticking and just like the proverbial tree planted by the water, homeboy will just not be moved. What to do? Well, we pull out the big guns.

Get serious, we are not playing anymore.

The ultimate solution: KISS AND TELL. The wicked ones among us will refer to this technical knock-out as CHEAT AND FLAUNT. Believe me, children of Abraham, there is no Phensic (alias Panadol, Morphine, Valium – for the strong-hearted, Motrin, Tylenol, etc. etc.) a guy can take to relieve the headache of being made a fool of.

Remain blessed.

Disclaimer: This production has been brought to you by Fantasreality.com. We cannot be held responsible for any adverse actions brought about by a faithful subscription to the ideals published in this article. Be wise.

MUMBLE JUMBLE THOUGHTS...

2007-05-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

So, I am feeling rather melancholy because I am ending like this really major chapter of my life, in more ways than one. Blah, blah.

So, I decided to think of a few of my favorite things, a la Sound of Music, which EVERY single Nigerian child had to have watched, unless, of course, you were one of those unlucky, uncool ones who did not have a landline. *turns nose up in distate*

- I love lotion. I love rubbing lotion on. It's like therapy of some sorts. I just sit, my eyes glued on my TV, and I absorb the scent, the cold feeling, the softness everywhere...it's one of my favorite times of the day.

- I love candles. I turn my lights off, and light them all up. The combination of scent and dimness turns me on. It's like a spiritual, out-of-body experience. I wonder, is that how witches feel?

- I love bananas and vanilla yoghurt. I peel my banana, and slush my yoghurt over it and sprinkle the Oreos all over the combo (yea,Yo'Crunch comes with Oreos, gawd!)...and I indulge. Ahhh, banaghurt or yoghnana?...

- I love mandarin oranges. Yes, food again, sue me, I am a fatty. But yes, mandarin oranges, so cheap and juicyyyyy.

- I love the movie, CHICAGO. My favorite all-time movie, right up there with Grease, The Breakfast Club, Sound of Music (of course), and Scarface (which my girlfriend accuses me of using as a weapon to make guys think I'm a guy's girl...lol, whatever, you beech!)

Hey, I am feeling better already!

So, I'll skip this and go on to talk about my best friend, Lord, for a little bit, and why good guys go bad.
You know, on behalf of every angry, neurotic woman in the world, I'd like to bitch-slap every angry, neurotic woman that has turned a good guy bad, thus reducing the rank of the good ones to a percentage in the negatives.
Lord is a good guy, too good even.
I urge him to stay good. I urge him to stay on track. I urge him to keep being the gentleman he is. I urge him not to become disillusioned. I just might be losing the battle. He's slowly inching towards the bad side, and even worse, I can't blame him.

This is for the woman who won't treat a good guy right. This is for the woman who can't see past her nose to the rare blessing she has. This is for the woman who won't leave the good man in the condition she met him. This is for the woman who makes the good man believe cheating is an alternative. This is for the woman who turns a good guy bad, and then turns around to whine about the lack of a good man. This is for you, you, you, you, you...and me.

This brings me to my penchance for damaged goods. Really, I think almost every guy I have been with was a bad guy who was once good.
I am not too sure what that says about me, because I too was once...good. Exotic, if I hear "dama...' out of your mouth, I'll slap every one of your 24 remaining teeth out of your mouth!

But yea, Lord is a good guy...right now,anyway before he reaches the threshold that all these girls seem determined to make him reach, hiss. I can't think of any other guy that I would let see me first thing when I wake up in the morning (no judgement please, y'all know you are a bunch of scarecrows in the morning too) or who I would let see with my hair half-done (LOL! Gawd, that day), or who I can tell "I love you" or tolerate being told "I love you" by without cringing. Or who I just plain let my defences down with.
Yea, a good guy, Lord. The best.
I can hear you, "So good, huh, why won't you keep him for yourself?"
My retort for you, "What makes you think I won't?Nigga, please.";-s

Well, I'll just round up this post of nothing by saying that I had this vigorous argument with this gentleman I used to be arch enemies with in high school. Arch enemies, Jesus, I don't think I have hated anyone as much as I hated that boy buttttt...I have always thought that making out with an arch enemy would be such a hot thing to do, you know, all that anger, hatred, madness, bitterness and passion diverted to...ahem! *fans self*

Good God, I digress. We were yammering on about oral sex, and why men are so reluctant to indulge in it, or well, admit that they do.
I mean, that's another post for another day, but what stood out of my conversation with Diamond Boy was his parting words to me, along the lines of, It's not about size, [Lara B.], it's not about what you have but how you use it.

Really. Hm. Deep. Profound. Serious FOOD FOR THOUGHT.

Not.

I mean, I don't know what his mother/her mother/your mother, etc taught him/ her/you, etc...but bigger is better, is what my mama told me.

Not about what you have, but how you use it, eh?
My parting words for him?"That, my dear, is the excuse of the little people."

GUILTINESS PRESSED ON THEIR CONSCIENCE

2007-05-05T16:30:00.000-07:00

So like this random boy I know threw out some ideas for my next post, and I call him random because I know how much it will irk him.
But yea, he had something along the lines of “AS guy meets AS girl but no love because of possible SS babies,” yada, yada. That topic makes me sad so I threw it out in the bin where I toss most of this random boy’s rubbish.

Then, he suggested guilt. Now, guilt. Ha, now I can get with that.
As Marley would sing, “Huh, please don’t you rock my boat ‘cause I don’t want my boat to be rockin’ anyhow,”
That’s me and guilt for you. I tell Guilt, don’t rock my boat 'cause I sure don't want my boat rockin' anyhow!
But it’s pretty interesting how people deal with guilt in different ways.

Some confess the guilt away. A la…
A: “I have to tell you something. It’s so hard to say, but I just feel I should let you know. I had sex with Mister.”
B: “Mister?”
A: “I am so sorry! I don’t know how it happened. I just woke up and there he was. I…I…”
B: “You slept with Mister?! After I told you we were on to something?!”
A: “I…I…”
B: “Our friendship is over, you b&^%@, f*&@# (&@$^^ $^*@(^$!)_@!@(“
You get this ugly picture. SMH.

Others rationalize the guilt away. A la…
Soliloquy by A
A: “Why should I feel bad? It’s not like they are dating…well, not yet, anyway. Besides, there is no chance of her ever finding out, because I know Mister will be discreet about it. I mean, it’s not like I want him for myself anyway, I just always thought he was cute, even before he met B, you know. And if I tell her, she won’t ever be friends with me again and she’ll tell everyone, and…and…and…”
Ya, you get this uglier picture. SMH.

Some rare ones bluff the guilt away. A la…
A: “I slept with Mister, just so you know”
B: “Excuse me…?”
A: “Yea, Mister now!”
B: “Mister? As in, my Mister?“
A: *evil laugh* “He’s ‘your’ Mister now? Y’all started dating, and I didn’t know about it?!“
B: “I am confused. But you know…“
A: “Chill out, it’s not that serious. I was just testing his gear out, you know. He’s hot! You should go for it, like really! You two fit“
B: “Are you out of your mind?! You know damn well me and him were on to something“
A: “Hey, chill out jo! Because I even told you?! If I didn’t tell you, would you have known?! Hiss. I was just checking him out, like I told you. He really likes you, believe me, you two would go together“

Now, the scenario could swing three ways, depending on the location of Girl B
London-based B: *sigh* “He really likes me? Are you sure?? He said so?! Awww. Well, I can’t get mad at you ‘cause I did sleep with your Peter but, don’t sleep with him again, okay? Thanks, babe.“

Yankee-based B: “You GODD&@&@% !&*(^#!( !(^#!)#@))! !(^#!&&#^ !#%#! I’m a have to cut you!” (So on and so forth until she runs out of steam)

Naija-based B: -Pours Acid on A. TKO.-

You get the…ya, picture. And shake your head and chuckle all you want at my vivid imagination. These things happen.

How do I deal with guilt? Quite simple. I don’t.
I am a great believer in ‘what has happened, has happened.’ The end.
I don’t say ‘I’m sorry’ because I am not. I don’t say it was a mistake because it was not. I don’t promise it won’t happen again because it might. I don’t have visions of me going to hell because I am not. You get my prettily painted picture.
So what if I sneaked an extra scoop of my coveted chocolate brownie ice-cream? So what if I chugged down five cups of Coke and zilch cups of water in one day? So what if I stole my cousin’s new hardcover novel she hadn’t even read? So what if your man wants me and I don’t care? So what if I don’t go to church? So what if I didn’t tell this man where I was last night? (Fuck you, by the way). So what if I am lying every time I tell him I love him? I mean, so what?!

Okay, so it’s all tongue-in-cheek, people, I do have a conscience (I think:-D), but really, life is too short.
For me, it’s a thing of 'prevention is better than cure,'. You know, drink six cups of water. Buy your own hardcover novel. Go to church…or something. Don’t feel to obliged to answer when he tells you he loves you. Blah, blah.
But if all else fails and you do make a mistake, big or small. Fix it. And if you can’t, keep it moving.
No matter what you’ve been told, guilt is not hot.

P.S- Random boy, you know you are not so random, don’t you?Random,yes, but not that much:p

WE STAY RECYCLING, BUT THAT'S OKAY...BEYAKI DOES IT TOO!

2007-05-05T13:47:00.000-07:00

So I am currently engrossed in YET another romance novel (Don't judge me, you have bigger skeletons, I am sure) and really, I do have a number of points for these authors. I mean, I pay good value for these books (when I don't steal them, that is) so I damn well better get my dollars' worth each and every single time.

1. No, it's not hot to have my heroine older than the bloody man. I am not having it, I am not buying it! Old hags do not equal young, virile men. Authors who do not recognize that make me feel cheated. In fact, you know what; any book with a female over the age of twenty-seven will henceforth be condemned to hellfire. (N.B, The max. age used to be twenty-three, but since old age approaches alarmingly this July, I have decided to be more accommodating.)

2. And no, I don't want my heroine being a mere child for God's sake! It is bad enough feeling the guilt I feel when I indulge in these books, but please, I could do without the added guilt of feeling like a pedophile when I read about a forty-year old Lord rummaging through the skirts of a seventeen-year old maid. Please.

3. Long hair on my hero...as in, long enough that he has to pull it back with a band, a la Fabio style. Julie Garwood, you need to stop that foolishness.

4. I don't approve of simpering, weak females and I don't approve of over-arrogant, insecure men either. Get with the program.

5. Contrary to what appears to be common opinion, heroes with horrific battle scars or disfigured persons are NOT sexy.

6. A slut cannot be reformed. A slut at twenty is a slut forever. If the heroine is NOT a virgin, I don't want to hear it. Yea,I'm evil and judgmental,sue me.

7. Per the last point, I might be more amenable if the disvirgined heroine was a widow, or…something. There, I feel less evil, having added that.

8. Still on this virginity note. “She flinched as he drove past her virginal wall, and then relaxed as the pain diffused into pleasure within seconds.” This interesting highlighted part. Oh really. My eyes have rolled to the back of my head. Get real.

9. Oh.My.God. Words like his staff, his loins, her honeypot, her bubs. What are these words?! Please, don’t make me have to kill somebody.

10. Don’t get me wrong. I like the exotic. I am turned on by the extraordinary. I applaud the unusual. HOWEVER, making love with no clothes in the grass in the rain in plain view with...with...a candle does not cut it. I mean, what on God’s green earth?!

11. Life is too short to wait FOREVER for the heroine and hero to get together. Quit the many different complications, a la he caught her in bed with a man who was actually her brother or a la she caught his aunt kissing him so its over...The best formula? "I love you; you love me, now shut up and kiss me." Period.

12. I pay you to write romance. When the mystery overwhelms the romance, we have a problem. Please, stick to what you do best. If I want suspense and intrigue, I have John Lescroart and Dan Brown to thank for that. Judith McNaught, be thou warned.

NIGERIA: WHERE FASHION AND OIL CROSS PATHS

2007-05-04T19:49:00.000-07:00

Cue to stage. Lights, Camera, Action! Adrenaline pumps! The music swells! The strobe lights focus on the entrance of the specially constructed runway. No one could feel more powerful striding down the columns of seasoned mahogany strips if they tried.

Cue in backstage. Shrill commands and curt directions ring through the air. Frazzled assistants make last-minute adjustments to the ruptured seam here and the missing button there. One model by the mannequin sizes up another by the mirror as the latter reapplies a fresh coat of red-blood lipstick. A designer, well-known for his paramount ego, storms past, well into another of his infamous tantrums. His assistant trudges behind him miserably as his curses rain through the air and land on her. She snarls angrily as another lesser-known designer pats her lecherously on her bottom as she walks by.

Cue to audience. The hungry paparazzi snake through the rows of the seated elite, hoping for a picture, or pictures, that would land them coveted bonuses. Raucous laughs and guffaws emerge from the corner where the club of ‘executive billionaires’ is seated as the eligible rich young men, unmarried and married- no matter, exchange boasts and bets about whom among them will be taking the latest most-wanted model home tonight. In the front row, the governor and his entourage down yet another round of the vintage champagne specially ordered for the occasion. The corner beside them is filled with spinsters- young and old- hoping today might just be their own lucky day. If not the governor (never mind that he married his fourth wife mere weeks ago) or one of the many executives scattered here and there around the room, then surely they could snag a member of the so-called “billionaires’ club”! The rest of the room is filled with people who do what they know how to do best- make money at the expense of a great number of unfortunate others.

The host climbs onto the stage and the many conversations die down. The much-awaited honorary dinner/fashion show event celebrating the opening of the new refinery in the Niger Belt has begun.

Cue to a mile away from the venue. The plaintive cry of a child rang through the sounds of the fanfare. His mother sighed in worry as she placed yet another wet rag on the child’s burning forehead. The doctor who visited every two months from the neighboring community said the ailment had to do with her child drinking from the polluted water. Some big-name disease, cholera, he had called it. She chuckled bitterly. Where else were they to get their water from? From heaven? There had been no water supply for seven months running. Her older child lit a candle and murmured something about it being the last one in the house. There had no been electricity supply for the past one year. The father sat outside, staring unseeingly into the distance. He had not had a job for three years, and all the crops he had sown this year on the plot of land he had inherited from his great-grandfather were ruined. Another pipeline had ruptured yesterday.

Cue to the ramshackle house two doors down where a middle-aged woman sat alone in the darkness. “The Bitter Widow,” was what the neighborhood called her. Her husband and three sons had died in the fire that had engulfed the community a month ago. Overzealous youths had gone to ravage the pipelines in protest of their harsh living conditions. The resulting fire had wiped away her whole family in the space of a day. The father and the two elder sons had died instantly; their corpses had not been recognized to date. The youngest son had been rescued and there had been hope that he might survive. That hope vanished as he died in his mother’s arms minutes after he had been brought home. They said her mind had not been the same since then. She sat in the same spot all day and night, staring. At rare times, she would wander to the market, unkempt, calling for her sons to come out from wherever they were hiding. “Don’t tease me now!” she would laugh in the native language. Even her worst enemies would wish death for her; it had to be better than the life she was living now.

Cue to the parking lot of the hotel where the event was being held. A sizeable number of young men gathered around the curb. Lust and longing filled their jaded eyes as they looked at the parked expensive cars, cars with price tags much more than their lives all put together. This was the life they were supposed to be living, a life these rich elite had snatched away from them. It was their land, it was their oil… and yet they went hungry even as the strangers fed fat. Their gift was being turned to a curse, even as the government they entrusted with it turned around to stab them in the back. All of the fancy promises had never been fulfilled. Death, poverty, starvation, the suffering sickened them. Someone swore on his mother’s grave in anger. The emotion resonated through the group. They were hungry men- hungry for food and drink, hungry for life, hungry for something better, hungry for what they believed they deserved…and hungry men were angry men.
Cutlasses scraped on concrete, gunshot powder reeked and kerosene slicked onto the ground.

The paths of oil and fashion were about to collide…

Copyright, Lara Brown, 2007

THE MADNESS BEGINS NOW...

2007-05-04T19:27:00.000-07:00

as soon as I get done...

..Smashing mirrors with Avril Lavigne >-0
..Getting high with Bob Marley& Jimmy Cliff,ya, the homeboys :p
...Whining about broken hearts with Keyshia Cole ;-(
...Getting mad, staying mad with Pink >-[
....Feeling quite deep and philosophical with Regina Spektor 8-)
.....Drowning in my own angst with Evanescene's Amy Lee :-
......Feeling real, real, real old-school with Everly Brothers ;-)
.......Blankin' out to some good old blues with Corinne
.......Wailing about infidelity&love&sex&life with the Winehouse
........Climbing off the wonky rollercoaster with some confused alter ego

Wait, that's...me? who? her? :-s
Bottom line,we are not dead just yet.