Ah, Women Sef...

There is a reason why men say women do not know what they want. I like to think that I know what I want. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know what I want.

On Sunday, I was walking from the parking lot and going up the steps, ascending into my church compound. In front of me was a Nigerian couple. I don't know if they were Igbo or Yoruba. The woman had a Yoruba face. The man, on the other hand, had an Igbo head. The woman was carrying the baby, and she was walking ahead of her husband. The husband was slowly following his wife's lead as he clutched the bible in his left hand and her brown hand bag in his right hand. I thought it was so sweet that he was holding her hand bag.

So why was I positively smiling as I went up the steps?

The way he held the purse, he just seemed a little too comfortable with it. The way his tummy led the way for his little portable body, it was cute. The way a smile sat on his face in spite of the skin-coloring sun, it was inspiring and amusing all at once. The way his pants sat on his abdomen, it was kind of comforting - yet bewildering. The brown hand bag knew it was safe in those hands. I was not too comfortable with the safe hands belonging to a man. So what is that I was saying again about it being sweet that he was holding his wife's purse?

Maybe I don't know what the heck I'm talking about. Maybe I'd rather my husband hold the baby while I clutch my very feminine hang bag, lest I begin to see him as less of a man. Maybe I'd rather he be so loving, caring, and confident that the thought of carrying my bag does not faze him. Maybe if he must carry it, I'd rather that he does not look so happy-go-lucky while doing it.

Or maybe I just need to shut up and leave the couple alone! Yeap, that's probably it.

A Little Cup Of Inspiration

Having a career that requires you to be creative is not the easiest thing in the world. For one, you don't even know where your creativity will take you - if it will take you anywhere at all. Who wants to remain a struggling writer? Who wants to remain an aspiring whatever-you're-aspiring-to-become? After a while, you want to shed that aspiring status that reminds you of your limitations and shortcomings. But everyone was once an aspiring something.

So just in case you're aspiring to be anything (like me), especially a writer, maybe this CNN interview of our Nigerian sister, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie with all her Nigerianess will inspire you to keep aspiring to stop aspiring. That said, even when you get to where you want to be, you should aspire to be somewhere bigger and better. There is always room for growth.

I Think I'm Married...

.... to my Mother!!!

Lately, Mom and I have been having couple fights. I've been trying to ignore them, but I cannot ignore then anymore. At this point, we just need to decide who will be the man between us. Mom has the bigger breasts. I have the bigger butt. Hmmph. This is not gonna be an easy decision.

Yesterday, she had a score to settle with me. I was about to leave the house in the morning when she decided to tell me what I had done.

Mom: I need to talk to you.

Me: Uh oh. What did I do?

Mom: There's something you've been doing lately that I don't like.

Me: What is it?

Mom: Why is it that every time you use the toothpaste, you don't cover it back? You did it with the last toothpaste and I didn't say anything. Now, I have bought a new one, and you're doing the same thing again. Why?

Me: Uhm...

Mom: Let this be the first and last time you ever do it again. (Why say "let this be the first and last time..." when we know this wasn't the first, and probably won't be the last either).

Me: I'm sorry, Mom. Didn't know I was leaving the toothpaste open.

Nawa ooo! This our relationship sha... What next? I'm squeezing the toothpaste from the middle instead of the bottom?? Well, I've got a few complaints of my own (although I did not bother to list them to Mom. She might have rewarded me with a classical Nigerian back-handed slap. I'm not too old to receive a slap from my Mom).

Complaints: Mom leaves her magazines littered all over the living room - even though she knows she's done with them. Why not just put them in the trash as soon as she's done? She's always printing something - whether it's one page or one hundred pages. They are always crap to me. When the trash can is three-quarter full, I'm ready to take it out. Mom, on the other hand, will keep putting stuff in it until it becomes too heavy for me to carry out. I'm not a weight lifter.

She's always jamming the shredder. I keep telling her not to put so many papers in it. If she buys one more Obama magazine, we're gonna have a problem. She does not put enough pepper in her food. She says I eat too much pepper like Yoruba people, and one day, all my front and side hairs will fall off like Yoruba people. Mom's theory of the correlation between pepper and scanty hair remains to be proven. Funmi's and Busola's hair is full. Come to think of it, Funmi's and Busola's hair is chopping in front and on the sides. Hmmmm. Could Mom be right?

Last but not least, can somebori please tell my Mom that a du-rag is not a scarf. A scarf is not a du-rag! If I catch that woman wearing a du-rag outside one more time, there is no telling what I will be compelled to do to her and the du-rag. I can't have my Mom looking all gangster when she's outside. What next?? She'll soon start blasting rap from her speakers and smoking blunts as she drives. Oh, LORD!!!

There are many other complaints, but these will have to suffice for now. Meanwhile, I have to find us a divorce lawyer because with the way things are going, we're headed straight for divorce court!

P.S. Don't forget Verastically Speakin' airs on Saturday (July 25th) @ 10:00 AM U.S. EST/3:00 PM Naija time. We'll be talking about the importance (or lack of importance) of the size of certain body parts. Yum! To listen to it on Saturday, just click HERE (or call 1-646-929-1905 to listen in and/or join the conversation).

That Reminds Me...

In April, I blogged about my fake engagement to Mr. Shoes, and the comments were so numerous that they almost broke down my blog. But what struck me was that some people said they didn't fall for the lie because the ring just wasn't big enough for me. Seriously...???

I bring this up now because this past Saturday (July 18th) was hawt on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio as we battled over the price and size of an engagement ring. In spite of having 90 minutes dedicated to the show, we still ran out of time. I apologize to Leggy, Chayoma, and Bumight for not having read their mails. And to think that I even printed them out. :-(

The call volume was so high that by the time the show was over, I still had so many callers on cue whose calls I could not take. For that, I am also sincerely sorry. The people in the chat room seemed to also be chatting so psychedelically that the darn chat room had to have a psychedelic break down and log us all out. For that, I am also sorry. If you haven't listened to the show, you can listen to it from my blog by clicking on it. The player is on the right sidebar.

So back to the engagement ring: ehm... exactly how big do you think I want this ring? I think I may have given people the impression that I want the kind of rock that would reflect sunlight into Planet Mars. The size of the rock on the ring below isn't bad, but it's fake. Alright fine, maybe it's a little bit on the small side, but it isn't entirely bad.

To prove how totally not-into-the-size-and-cost-of-a-ring I am, I went to Tacori dot com, a website I have always loved and admired. Without first looking at the prices, I picked rings based on their style alone (thin, platinum band, not a queer-shaped diamond, etc) - not knowing the cost. I will prove to these people that I am sooooo not too crazy about the cost. I just want it to be my style!

Price of first ring: $6, 300 (Hmm....)

Price of second ring: $6, 600 (Double hmm...)

Price of third ring: $3, 530 (Aha!! Didn't I tell them I'm understanding...?)

Price of fourth ring: $5, 500 (I was doing good in the third ring; what happened?)

Price of fifth ring: $10, 740 (I give up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Well, you know what? Screw it!! What does Tacori know about me? I don't even like their rings anyway!!! ***Nose growing longer, swallowing big gulp of spit***

I had already started linking the rings to their pictures on the web for you to see how nice and simple they look, but I thought better of it. It won't be difficult for this post to be misconstrued. I really don't think a man should spend three months of his salary on a ring because that would be a lotttt of money (unless he has nothing else to do with the money). But I do solemnly believe that a man should know his woman's style and buy the best [of her style] that he can afford. Shikena. If you're going to do it, you might as well do it well.

That said, I'm very grateful to everyone who listened, called in (especially the international callers), e-mailed, and chatted away in the chat room. Thank you to those who tweeted and Facebooked too. If I had the money, I'd go Oprah on you all, and buy each of you a car. But for now, I do hope that my sincere gratitude suffices.

Next week Saturday, July 25th 2009 10:00 AM US EST/3:00 PM Naija time, we'll talking about the importance - or lack of importance - of your partner's weight, height, and size of certain body parts. There's a poll on the right sidebar. Help your sister out. And tune in on that day. Go HERE to set a reminder for the show.

Chei. But that my engagement to Mr. Shoes was hawt oo. I almost forgot it didn't happen sef. Hehehe.

They Tried To Get Me

Yesterday, I was talking to mom on the phone, and she told me that there was a package waiting for me. I told her to just leave it in my room. I was sure it was the card I ordered from Shutterfly. Anyway I came home expecting to find an envelop, but found a big box instead. Imagine my shock! I was thinking, "Chineke God! Shutterfly has screwed up and sent me a thousand cards instead of one. Major overdraft fees are coming my way..."

But the box wasn't from Shutterfly. In fact, the instructions on the box were perplexing, funny, and intriguing all at once. Close and lock door ke? Hide behind huge furniture? Quietly open box? This thing better not be a bomb ooo! They want me to lock the door so that no one will find my remains abi? They have failed!!! I will open this box in the public of igwe mmadu.

Contents may disappear immediately???????? To where? Why will they disappear? Oh, I see. These people have sent me juju. Why else will it disappear? And the box even says it's perishable. Aha... the juju has expiration date. My enemies. They have failed!! They will never get me. As soon as I open the box, I will seize whatever is inside and stop is from disappearing.

Hmmm! These people are funny ooo! See how they wrapped the juju bomb in a nice box. They even had the audacity to call it "the unforgettable gift." You don't say?!?!?! You people want to bomb me with this finely-wrapped juju. But today is not your day. I have caught up to you.

Aaaahhhhh!!! Chocolate-covered strawberries???????? Oh, my!! I have never seen juju bombs that look so beautiful.... so attractive.... so harmless.... and oh, so darn edible! These chocolate-covered strawberries have to be my friends. They must like me. Nothing this beautiful is harmful.

My people, don't blame me oh. I have never received this kind of posh gift before. 12 whole strawberries coated in what looks like only the finest chocolate, all for me??? I have done nothing to deserve this. Really, I haven't. Like I said, I am not used to receiving stuff like this. So yes, I was pleasantly surprised. Thank God it wasn't juju bomb as I thought.

Bet you wanna know where they came from, huh? Our very own blogger, Sweet Nothin sent them! Why? Well, it's obvious, isn't it? She wants me. Well, she claims it's because she couldn't make it to be my co-host on Saturday as planned. She was supposed to be cohosting with me for the Second Time Around show talking about dating exes, but her dad wasn't feeling fine. My people, how was that her fault? So you see why I have concluded that she just wants me?

I have learnt one thing from this experience: Funmi, Busola, Uju, Dee, and all of you do NOT appreciate me enough. When was the last time you sent me chocolate-covered strawberries? A change has come, my people. From now on, I demand a box of chocolate-covered strawberries everyday of my life. Sure, I might not be able to fit into my clothes after one week, but at least, I'll have my yummy chocolate-covered strawberries. There is only one regret from this chocolate-covered strawberries: Sweet Nothin is not a dude. Oh, the possibilities! She has stolen my heart ooo.

Oh, ye chocolate-covered strawberries.... HOW I LOVE THEE.

P.S. Verastically Speakin Talk Radio will be airing again this Saturday @ 10:00 AM Est (3:00 PM Naija time). We'll be talking about how important the size of engagement rings are. I will be co-hosting with Ezenwanyi. Yes, she's Igbo. Yes, I'm Igbo too. Yes, you might walk away from the show thinking, "All these Igbo girls are nothing but a bunch of gold-diggers..." but hey... do tune in! The left sidebar has the schedule of all upcoming talk shows. Please send me e-mails if you have any contributions. radio@verastic.com. Thank you, darlings!

P.P.S. Joe from Montana, eye opener and truth sayer, thank you soooo much for calling in on Saturday. If you read this post, please e-mail me!! :-) radio@verastic.com

Dear Mr. Shoes

Happy birthday.

This is the first post of its kind on my blog, so I'm not even quite sure where or how to start. But I have to start somehow and somewhere, right? Well, first and foremost, I am grateful to God for letting you see this day. Not everyone has lived to be XX. But you, my dear, by the favor and grace of God, you are alive and well today.

As you celebrate this day, I pray that you are blessed and favored with everything you have ever wanted. May you be blessed like Isaac. He sowed in the time famine and reaped a hundred folds. May you be blessed like Jacob. He held unto the Lord and the Lord blessed him. May you be blessed like Joseph. In spite of being betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, he rose above them - literally.

Permit me to switch from talking to you to talking about you...

I am very grateful to God for granting me the opportunity to know Mr. Shoes (although it's his pleasure, of course). What started as a uhm.... has blossomed into a uhm... I don't even know what words to use here. Per the blessings above, did anyone notice that all the blessings were culled from people in the book of Genesis? That's because I just started reading my bible from the beginning again, and I am still on Genesis. To be more precise, I am still reading about Joseph in fact. Did anyone else cry when Portiphar put him in jail for a crime he did not commit? But I digress...

I want to list character traits about Mr. Shoes, but I feel like I'll be talking writing too much. I want to put up a picture of him, but.... who am I kidding? I don't wanna put up a picture of him. What I want to do is get my butt into bed. No, no... Mr. Shoes isn't on the bed. But before I go to bed, here are a few more wishes for Mr. Shoes.

• I wish for him to be prosperous in everything he does. I wish for him to be very rich, so he can buy me all the suya I want.
• I wish for Mr. Shoes to have long life and prosperity.
• I wish for Mr. Shoes to never be far away from me.
• Last but not least, I wish for Mr. Shoes to be extremely addicted to me, the kind of addiction that can never and will never have a cure. Oh, the possibilities!!!

Mr. Shoes... I wish you the happiest birthday ever. I understand that this birthday is not exactly what you were hoping for, but you're alive and well, and that should count for a lot. So have a very happy birthday!

Randomisity

This is one totally random post. I have a bunch of little issues to discuss, and I don't feel like making each of them into individual posts.

Random Issue #1: Mr. Shoes. I might get in trouble for refering to him as a random issue. Hehe. But lemme tell you what he did - more like said. Honestly, I don't know what Mr. Shoes would do without me; thank God for me oh... because I'm teaching him things. Hehe. Can you believe that Mr. Shoes was under the impression that breast milk only comes out at certain times of the day? He was hoping it only comes out during the day, so that at night... well... :-). This breast milk conversation was inspired by my previous post.

Random Issue #2: What the heck is Badoo --- and why do people (real or virtual) keep leaving me messages on it? I keep receiving e-mails that say someone left me a message on Badoo. What the heck is that? Is that another social network? I guess I could take the time to google it, but I have more important things to think of right now.

Random Issue #3: My template --- I'm changing it again. Yeap. So I thought I liked it, but it turns out I don't. I'm a white-background chic. This whatever-color-we'll-this color is not working for me at all. I have tried to like it, but I don't see myself liking it too much. Doesn't help that Mr. Shoes doesn't particularly care for it either. I can do a black background, but that's as far as I'm willing to go, and I'd rather not do the black background because it's not too easy on the eyes. I'll work on the template this weekend.

Random Issue #4: Oh, Range Rover Sport... where art thou? People, I don't know what to do about my obsession with the Range Rover Sport. I spot the vehicle from a mile away. I stare at it every time I see it. I go as close as I can to it. Sometimes, I touch someone's parked Range Rover Sport. Is there a way for me to get a FREE Range Rover Sport?? If you're going to suggest that I buy a Range Rover Sport, then scratch that idea. As I type this right now, I have about $100 to my name - probably not enough to change the oil. I kid you not! All you wealthy people out there, save me from my misery and give me a RANGE ROVER SPORT!!! Oprah, Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, the Walton family, Michael Bloomberg, and Donald Trump... where are you? I need a Range Rover Sport now now now!!!!!!!!!!!!

Random Issue #5: Bloggers! Did I tell you that I hooked up with three bloggers? Yes, ke. I hooked up with Nefertiti, Bumight, and Aloted. Jealous? Ah, yes of course, you are. We took a picture. I'll be happy to share it with you. But first, you must read 'Random Issue #4" and give me my heart's desire. *wink, wink* Oh, I also met YankeeNaijaBabe whose blog I just realized is private. When did this happen? Has it always been private?

Random Issue #6: Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio will be airing in about 9.5 hours - 10:00 AM U.S. Eastern time (3:00 PM Naija time). We'll be talking about dating exes. Beautiful Nana will be co-hosting with me. Make sure you tune in/call in! There's still time for last minute e-mails on today's show. Here's the direct link to today's show online. E-mail radio@verastic.com if you have any contributions and/or questions (even if it's not for today's show). Please check out the schedule for the show on the right sidebar and participate. Help a sister out! Thank you, darlings!

For All You Breast-Owning People...

Let no one say, "Vera never offers us anything good." Hear ye, hear ye!!

Uju is in med school. Did you know that? There are some perks to having a friend in med school: She teaches me stuff. I am guaranteed of free medical care for the rest of my life (after she graduates, of course). She even offers me free surgeries. Ah, yes... she has offered me a free mastectomy courtesy of Youtube. Whoever said YouTube is useless? I'll get to the reason why she's offered me a free mastectomy later.

So apparently - according to Uju, the med student - for each child a woman has, she decreases her chances of having breast cancer by 7%. For each child she breast feeds for a year, she reduces her chances of having breast cancer by 4.3%. Sooooo.... let's assume that she breast feeds each child for one year. That means that for each child a woman has and breast feeds for a year, she decreases her chances of having breast cancer by 11.3%.

Ah! My people, it is SETTLED!!! 100% divided by 11.3% is 8.8495575 (8.85). Let's round that up to 9. So that means that if a woman has 9 children, she has completely erased her chances of ever having breast cancer. Very well then! And I thought there is no way to prevent breast cancer! Hear ye, hear ye.... having 9 children will erase your chances of having breast cancer.

The other option, which my med-student-friend was also quick to point out, is to have a mastectomy. [And that is why the nonentity offered me a free mastectomy courtesy of YouTube]. By having a mastectomy, a woman decreases her chances of having breast cancer by 90%. And that is if she cuts off both breasts ooo! Personally, I don't think it's worth it. Why cut off both breasts and still have a 10% risk when you can just have 9 children, breastfeed them, and have NO RISK???

Besides, at the rate of 11.3% per child, nine children actually equal 101.7% And considering the fact that I also intend to breastfeed hubby, that should count for another ---- I don't know --- 50%??? So you see, I'm good!!! Hear ye, hear ye.... save thy self!!

DISCLAIMER: Though the percentages are correct (according to the med student), this formula for breast cancer prevention has not been medically or scientifically tested and/or proven (to my knowledge). This formula, therefore, is simply Verastic. Try at your own risk.

P.S. Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio now has a regular time: Every Saturday @ 10:00 AM U.S Eastern (3:00 PM Naija time). All upcoming shows are on the sidebar on the right. Send e-mails for contributions. Answer the poll about dating exes. And please go to www.blogtalkradio.com/verastic to set reminders for any and all shows. Thank you, darlings!!

For The Shoes

On Saturday, the 20th of June 2009, Mr. Shoes and his family suffered a loss. They lost a wife and a mother. Mr. Shoes lost his mother. I tried several times before today to put this post up since the unfortunate incident, but each time I tried, my words failed me. I still feel like they're failing me right now, but I have to do this. It's taking too long already.

Over and over, I wondered, what do I say to Mr. Shoes? What does one say to a man who has lost the first woman he ever loved? 'Sorry?' 'I'm sorry?' I don't know what one says. I don't know what one should say. I don't know what I should have said, or what I should say now. If tears could wake the dead, she'd be back here right now.

It's sad how people's terms change when they pass on. I remember when my Uncle George passed six years ago. Suddenly, he stopped being 'George' and became 'the body' and 'the cargo.' Six years after his passing, I am still not over it. One can never really get over the loss of someone dear. I've had six years to mourn over it, and I'm still not done. The Shoes' family has had only two weeks.

Death is never convenient. Mommy Shoes' death was inconvenient. If she had left us three decades from now, her death will still be inconvenient, but maybe, just maybe we'd feel better if it were three decades later. She'd be a little older. A little wiser. A lot more experienced - with more grey hairs to tell tales of life lived, things seen, and things done. Maybe then I'd know what to say. Maybe then, my words will not fail me.

I am aware that God is the beginning and the end. The Alpha and Omega. I know that He is an all-knowing God, a God that never makes mistakes. But still I dare to wonder...why now and why her? Why her and why now? This is a question I know I will not get an answer to until I meet Him in Glory (when I am 114 years old).

To the Shoes family, I wish God's comfort in this trying time. I wish them the strength to bear this burden. I wish them peaceful sleep at night. And I pray that Mommy Shoes' memory brings comfort and peace to those she left behind.

To Mr. Shoes, once again my words fail me. I don't know what to say or how to say it. But whatever you need me to do, I will do. And whatever you need me to be, I will be.

May the sweet, loving, gentle soul of Mommy Shoes rest in perfect peace, Amen.

Is It Still Fornication....

...If I imagine my HUSBAND making love to me (as opposed to just plain ol' imagination of some man that has not "made an honest woman out of me")? Walahi, I imagine this thing in my head all the time. I actually make a conscious effort to picture the ring on his finger because I need to convince God - and myself, of course - that I am not just .... what's the word? Fornicating!!! Yeah, isn't this called fornication of the mind?? Well, it's only fornication when you're imagining someone that isn't your husband. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I know what you're thinking: "But Vera, you're not married!" Ehen. If I'm not married nko? How is that one your business?? If you can dream it, you can be it. So I have been imagining myself married. Soon I will be married. As you all know, part of being married includes ehm... ehm... going to Jerusalem all willy nilly, so I have been picturing that also. Honestly, he has a ring in my mind. He's my husband in my mind.

If you're thinking the word I think you're thinking, then please stop it right this minute. I am NOT masturbating. I repeat: I AM NOT MASTURBATING!!!!!!!!! I am simply imagining what will be. What is so wrong about that? Doggone it! He has a wedding band on....and so do I. I need someone to just validate me and tell me that it's okay. Tell me I'm right. It might be in my head, but I think I hear God laughing right now. He just said, "This girl is straight trippin!'"

Lemme tell you how this "married love making" starts. It starts after the wedding, in the limo, on our way to the reception hall. With the bridesmaids in the car, we'll be all up on each other. Then my bridesmaids will get pissed and irritated, step out of the limo, and take a cab to the reception venue. Actually, it's a lot more fun in my imagination when they each mount an okada., hair flying in the air, and then all jacked up by the time they reach the reception hall ... tears in the eyes from the wind... maybe their dresses will get ripped too ..... but I digress. So when they get off the limo, hubby and I go to Jerusalem. Bingo!

Then at the reception hall, we have to change into our traditional outfits. We tell everyone to get the heck out of the room and give us some time to "talk." So yeah, we go to Jerusalem again. Thennnnnn after the reception, we continue wherever we spend the night. But see, the entire time, we're married. We have been pronounced husband and wife. This can't possibly be fornication of the mind, can't it??

Say it isn't so!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Tune in @ 10 AM U.S. Eastern time (3 PM Naija time) for the Verastically Speakin' Radio Show. www.blogtalkradio.com/verastic Set up reminders if you have to. See you there!!!!!!!!! *wink, wink* Please see the schedule of the show by the top right hand corner and contribute as you can. Thank you, darlings!

I'm off to imagine stuff.