This One's For KennKnotty

Dear KennKnotty,

I like your name. I tend to think of it more as KennNaughty. Naughty Kenn. I like it. The fact that your profile picture is of your lips certainly tickles my imagination. I hope you find this post to be as "mouth-watering" as you said you would. On Monday, I woke up feeling particularly damp between my legs. I did not need to think too far or for too long to figure it out: Ms. Flow was either around or was very, very near. And so, I went to pee, partly because I wanted a chance to wipe myself and confirm my suspicion, but mostly because it was morning, and I had to pee anyway. The red-stained white tissue confirmed my suspicion. Thankfully, however, my underwear was not stained. A few minutes more, it would have been a different story.

I decided to do the only thing I could do at that time [in this particular order]: wash my underwear, brush my teeth, wash my face, and then, take a shower. After which I padded my underwear with one Always ultra light, long pad. It would protect my underwear from blood stains for about five to six hours (less if I dare to pee). Just to clarify, the pee does not go on the pad, just Ms. Flow.

The rest of the day had me running to the bathroom about every other hour in an attempt to empty my bowels. So much for changing my pad every five to six hours.  You see, Ms. Flow often brings with her a mysterious case of diarrhea. It's the strangest thing, I tell you. Sometimes, I poop out something that's the size of half of my pinky.  So little.  A total waste of tissue and pads. In addition to the mysterious diarrhea, Ms. Flow also brings with her mood swings, stomach upsets, stomach discomfort, something that feels like the vibration of my waist, an intense need for a massage on the small of my back, and a general feeling of restlessness.

On Monday, I had planned on going to see a movie - Death At A Funeral, but I just couldn't make it. Apart from having to run to the bathroom every other hour, I suddenly became pissed off and restless. I would have given and done almost anything to just be held and cuddled. Or at least, comforted, even if through a phone. And I thought to myself, 'What would KennKnotty think?' I concluded you'd think I'm becoming mushy again. A girl cannot help it.  After all is said and done, a girl is still a girl. She still bleeds between her legs. She still becomes unusually emotional when she bleeds.  She still smiles at KennKnotty's picture.  But most of all, a girl still sends her consolences to KennKnotty over the loss of his precious, precious daddy.

Now, a girl has to go back to bleeding. Tomorrow is the last day.

The Return [Or Wish To Return] Of IBB

I won't waste a lot of time talking about IBB's desire to become President of Nigeria [again]. I may be wrong, but I think the only reason why he even has the nerve to announce such utter rubbish is because we're in Nigeria. He wouldn't dare it in a nation where democracy actually rules [Or in a nation where juju is as potent as it claims to be]. He'd know better than to waste his time and money on chasing after a shadow. 

The people at Dust Beings have created some interesting flyers. Enjoy.

Book Review: Feddie Girl by Nona David

Feddie Girl is a book set in U.S.A and Nigeria.  Anyone can read and enjoy this book, but if you went to school in Nigeria, then you really need to read this book.  If you went to a boarding school in Nigeria, you really, really need to read this book.  If you went to an all-girls federal government college in Nigeria, then don't even bother reading this review. Just go ahead and buy the book right now.

Although I did not attend a federal government college, I did attend an all-girls' college, and many of the practices are the same (with the exception of being called a Feddie Girl, of course).

Feddie Girl is about Carlotta Ikedi, a thirteen year old spoiled, half-caste teenager whose bad behavior landed her within the gates of FGGC Uddah. Carlotta was as clueless as you can imagine. On her first day in school, she promptly asked for some Diet Coke --- and extra ice.

Reading this book brought back a lot of memories from corporal punishments to morning duties to inspections to college-speak to verbally-abusive teachers, and to strict living - with lights out, rising bell, and mean 'witchy' prefects . If you went to college in Nigeria, you'd remember being told to "kneel down and fly your hands" You'd remember college-speak like "please, allow me," "please, spare me," and starting your sentences with "You girls..."

Feddie Girl reminded me of subjects I had long forgotten, like Integrated Science, Business Studies, Introductory Technology, Home Economics, and Agriculture. It reminded me of those times in class when there'd be no teacher, and somehow, a totally senseless argument would erupt, and before you know it, the entire class is throwing missiles at each other in the form of shoes, textbooks, and notebooks. And I was forced to remember the insults we used to haul at each other. I did not know the meaning then, and I still don't know the meaning: "You stupid, bombastic, jabajantic, nonsensical..." And, of course, in every class, there's always one 'Iroko tree,' a person who is noticeably taller than everyone else.

Feddie Girl is an entertaining, exciting, and engaging page-turner, full of unexpected twists and turns, several trips down memory lane, and lots and lots of humor. My only regret is that I did not read this sooner. The moment I started, I couldn't stop.

Buy Feddie Girl from the publisher | Buy Feddie Girl from Amazon | Become a fan of Feddie Girl on Facebook | Visit the author's blog 

To have me review your book, product, or service, contact me:

P. O. BOX 7893

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United States of America

1.443.934.9039

reviews@verastic.com

He Kissed Me

Friday, April 16th 2010 was a life-changing day for me. There I was, standing, listening to him, captivated by his smile and playful personality, hanging on to every melody that his lips sang, and then it happened: suddenly, we were all alone, he stood in front of me, gazed into my eyes, his perfect white teeth exposed. He took my hands in his and our hands locked as our fingers intertwined in perfect harmony. Then, he kissed me. Passionately.

That's one version of the story. The other version is: Timaya was in Annapolis, Maryland on Friday, April 16th 2010 for a live concert. As I - like many other frantic fans - stood close to the stage, cheering him on and dancing along to his beautiful songs, he held my right hand and kissed it. But I prefer the first version of the story. 

So, I did not know that I'm such a Timaya fan. In fact, Mr. Shoes gave me his CD since last year, and until Saturday, I had not bothered to listen to it. Bracket and Timaya were in town, and I am so glad that I got to do. Bracket performed first. I thought they did a good job --- until Timaya hit the stage. He was playful, lively, silly, fun, and all around 'totally awesome!'

And he was quite naughty, too. He bopped a girls head back and forth to insinuate that she was going down on him --- and she was just an attendee (like me), but I think she enjoyed it. One girl, also an attendee, touched his chest, but Timaya, in his generosity, helped her by moving her hand to his groin. I won't bother talking about what he did on stage with another girl. I'll just say that when Timaya says [paraphrased], 'I need a girl on stage. If you're underage, please don't come. I might do something funny,' you should probably request that Mr. Timaya define funny.  Unless, of course, you're looking forward to the humor of the something funny.

But that's not important. The important thing is that I got kissed by Timaya. And it is imperative that you remember the first paragraph of this post as the true, original version of this story.  Oh, I guess I could mention that he also did dash Funmie a kiss on her hand. After the show, Funmie and I were ecstatic! We held our heads - and our right hands - high the entire night. I even promised not to wash my right hand for the rest of April. Maybe for the rest of 2010. We took pictures of the famous hands; who knows, you might see them in the kissing hall of fame one of these days. 

The famous hands. Mine is the one on the left. Not quite sure why my pinky sticks out like that.

The famous hands were passionately kissing. Fox News might call this, too, a "terrorist fist jab".

My family has a strict kiss-and-marry rule, so I should probably contact Timaya and tell him that he is now obligated  (by law and by force) to pay my dowry.   But while I'm doing that, why don't you go ahead and watch this video of Timaya kissing me. It was recorded on Funmie's Blackberry Bold 9700 (you know, the phone I have been day dreaming about!). Unfortunately, I don't have good pictures of Timaya because right after Bracket finished performing, my Nikon D40X decided to breathe its last breath. It will be dropped off at Best Buy tomorrow. I'm camera-less ... for now. Thankfully, however, I'm open to receiving the Nikon D90 as a Vera,-you-totally-deserve-this! gift *batting eye lashes*

As you watch the video, begin to pay particular attention from one minute and 30 seconds (1:30). Enjoy.  Needless to say, I love the song that is playing.

View the concert pictures on Facebook or Shutterfly | Become a Verastic fan on Facebook | Follow me on Twitter | Subscribe to my YouTube Channel | Listen to Saturday's radio show, These Are A Few Of My Favorite Hairs - featuring Caramel Delight, JuiceeGal, and Ray.

The Case Of The Hairy Legs

I must have been about 13 or 14 when I first witnessed my friend, Isabella shaving her legs with a shaving stick. Prior to that, I don't think I knew that people even do stuff like that. I was a late bloomer in every sense of the word. After the first time I witnessed Isabella doing it, I witnessed her doing it a few more times. I distinctly remember she got cut by the blade at least once. Being of mixed race and very light, the spot and trickle of blood seemed to be the only thing I could notice on her leg. But when I curiously rubbed her legs, I did admire its smoothness and freshness.

But it would take me several years before I came to own a pair of hairless legs myself. It happened in America. And I, too, started with a shaving stick. But the day I cut the skin on my Achilles heel, that was the day I put an end to the hairless legs routine --- until I discovered the wonder of Nair Hair Remover. I have since moved on to Veet Hair Remover. Needless to say, I don't understand why people use blades when hair removers are 100% painless.

On that note, my mother and grandma, naturally, were not happy when they found out about my hairless-legs sacrilege. Men, according to my grandma, just love women with hairy legs. She pointed to my aunt's very yellow legs, filled with dense strands of long, black hair, saying they were beautiful, that men admired them, and that I should try to be more like her. It feels just lovely, I suppose, smoothing one's arms over a pair of legs that feel like dry grass straws. But since I am not a man, I cannot personally confirm or deny grandma's theory. 

Thankfully, however, Ray can. So come Saturday, April 17th (at 10am U.S. EST/ 3pm Nigerian time) Ray, Caramel, and JuiceeGal will tell us what kind of hair men and women should keep --- or not keep, why women shave their arm pits, and why men don't shave their legs. It should be fun.

Listen here | Call in: 1.646.929.1905 | E-mail your responses: radio@verastic.com | Text your responses: 1.443.934.9039 | Join Verastic on Facebook | Follow me on Twitter

P.S. Please show your mother/motherhood some love by participating in the Motherhood Inc blog event. Submissions are currently still being accept. Just e-mail all pictures to project@verastic.com

P.P.S. Some people are confused about the location of the radio information. It's no longer completely located on the left sidebar (although you can still get to it from there). To get to the radio information, just click the Radio tab. It's located above, between the name of the blog and the blog posts.

And, of course .... vote in this week's poll!

Another Reason To Get Married

It turns out that apart from tax breaks, procreation, and guilt-free sex, there are actually other reasons to get married.  Surprised?  Me, too!  So, I was reading my bible the other day, and I came across an interesting verse in the book of Deuteronomy (Chapter 24 verse 5):  "If a man has recently married, he must not be sent to war or have any other duty laid on him.  For one year, he is to be free to stay at home and bring happiness to the wife he has married."

Wait.  I feel the urgent need to stress the important part of this verse: "...For one year, he is to be free to stay at home and bring happiness to the wife he has married."

GBAM!

One whole year of happiness ... being brought ... to me!  I hope my future husband, wherever he may be, is reading this right now. When we get married, he will stay home with me for one whole year --- and do nothing but bring me happiness.  Happiness upon happiness.  A happy woman, as they say, makes a happy home. When you think about it, he's really doing it for his own good because he, too, will enjoy the happy home.

For one year, my husband will stay home with me, and every morning I wake up, I may decide to redefine happiness. Whatever the new definition is, he is obligated to indulge me. Happiness might come in the form of a Range Rover Sport. It might come in the form of Jimmy Choo shoes. It might come in the form of a trip to the Caribbeans. Or maybe a Michael Kors bag. Or a brand new house in Lekki (I hear that's a good area in Lagos). Shoot, I might even want a private jet!  I wonder if I should get married on a leap year. That way, I'll have one extra day of pure, unadulterated, uninterrupted happiness!

Now, is anyone else wondering what the bible meant by happiness?

Every Now And Then

A girl becomes unmotivated.

Maybe sad even.

And she needs a hug here and there

Even an e-hug would do.

She needs to hear that it will be alright

That this, too, will pass.

She needs to be told that it's not her fault

And that these things do happen.

A girl wants to be spoiled

She wants to be spoiled rotten

She wants to be bad and be rewarded for it

She needs to be given attention

She needs to be listened to

Really listened to

And laughed with.

And prayed with.

And, of course, played with.

But a girl is always, always grateful to everyone who has called, e-mailed, texted, and checked up on her - one way or another.  She's very grateful for all the encouraging words that have given her hope, for the humorous words that have her laughing at ungodly hours of the night, and for the commitment.  

Right now, a girl has to go to bed.  She hopes to be back in three days, feeling more like her self.  But she does hope you'll listen to the Verastic Talk Show today (at 10am U.S. Eastern/ 3pm Nigerian time). It'll be co-hosted by Catwalq.

Motherhood Inc.

It'd be awfully strange if we do not have one - a Mother's Day celebration, I mean.  Sunday, May 9th 2010 is Mother's Day in the U.S. of A.  To commemorate this day, verastic dot com will be having another blog event, like the Valentine's Day one - except for mothers this time.

Everyone who has or had a mother, everyone who has or had someone like a mother,  everyone who is or was a mother, and everyone who is or was an expectant mother is welcome to send pictures.  Send them to project@verastic.com by Sunday, May 2nd 2010.  Perhaps, the flyer and video below would entertain you better.  Enjoy.

Oh, Happy Day!!

April fourth = Dad's birthday.

This April 4th period wasn't different from the April 4th period last year.  On Friday, April 2nd, mom and dad argued about dad's birthday.

Mom: Your birthday is even coming up sef.

Dad: Whose birthday?

Mom: Yours

Dad: Oh, yes! It's today

Mom: No, it's on the 4th.

Dad: No, it's today.

Mom: Noooo, your birthday is on the 4th of April.

Dad: Oohhh, you're right.  It's on the 4th oh!

Every year, we go through this.  The man never remembers his birthday.  I'm starting to believe that he doesn't even know how old he is.  How does one forget his own birthday?  Mine is on the 14th of January.  From the 15th of January, I am already planning all the gifts I intend to receive for the next birthday.  This year, I don't have a long post like I did last year. 

Happy birthday, daddy.  I love you more than I can ever tell or show.  I thank God for His obvious hands on your life.  I thank God for preserving you till today, and I pray He continues to preserve you and that He blesses you with health, long life, and prosperity.  Amen.

Happy Easter everyone.  Christ is risen.

I'm Relocating To Nigeria

It's something that has been in the works for about six months now.  I cannot count the number of people that have said, 'Come back to Nigeria.  There are opportunities here...' but it's not so easy packing up your life and moving cross-continent when you've lived somewhere for so long.  If not anything, I wondered how on earth I would transport all my shoes.  And what about my winter clothes?  I love my winter clothes!

Little by little, I have been sending my things home.  A pair of shoes here.  A few clothes there.  Some books there, too.  It's amazing how much I have moved.  Of course, most of my things are still here, and by the time I move, I know I will not be able to take everything - at least not all at once.  

Verastic dot com's domain has been paid for, for the next two years.  I'll keep blogging from there, of course.  Now, the speed and reliability of the internet is a bit scary for me, but I should be able to survive.  The talk show, however, is going to suffer.  The good news is that I have gotten a job in Nigeria.  It's amazing how I got a job without even stepping a foot in Nigeria.  It pays to blog and make friends in high places, I guess.

I'm not quite sure why I'm blogging about this now.  It's not like I'm moving today.  Or this week.  Or this month even.  I guess I did not want to just spring the news on you.  My emotions are all over the place right now.  I'm somewhere between anxious, excited, scared, and unsure.  Nonetheless, it is a move I have to make.  I know there would be lots and lots of challenges.  I know I will experience culture shock in my own country.  I'll have to get reacquainted with NEPA.  I'll be living in Lagos (and I used to live in Jos when I was in Nigeria), so I'll have to get used to the heat, the traffic, and the craziness that is Lagos.

I'm set to meet some very interesting people though.  I'll be meeting with some well-known celebrities (yay!), interviewing with two magazines, and of course, I'll be meeting up with bloggers.  Like I said, I'm anxious, excited, scared, and unsure.  So much is happening at the same time.  The good thing is that they are all good.  I'll have to learn how to be fashionably dressed at all times.  I hear the girls in Lagos don't play.  I apparently have to wear six-inch heels and carry a coach bag --- just to go and buy a cup of butter.  

So, would this be a good time to say April Fool?

.... Or should I wait till it sinks in real good?

Happy April Fool's Day.