Have You Met Yotaro?

Probably not.

First of all, I apologize for the very late update. I was busy debuting my acting career in church. On Sunday, I and 10 other singles - Funmie included - entertained my church with a stage play they will not forget in a hurry. We got a standing ovation from a very enthusiastic and appreciative congregation, and it was praised as "the best play ever in House of Praise!!" Ah, ah! If you can't tell, I'm still gloating. Chinenye will testify of its total goodness. I'll be signing autographs as I get ready to add 'Actress' to my resume.  But I digress.

Did you know that Japan has a low birth rate? At first glance, you may see this as a good thing. Why would Japan want a high birth rate? China, for example, has a high birth rate, and is fighting to reduce it. Japan, on the other hand, has a low birth rate because all the young Japanese are "too school/career-oriented." Everyone is more concerned about getting the best grades and going to the best schools. What, you thought it was impossible for that to be a problem?

The young Japanese that are supposed to take over from the aging and retiring generation are not ready to get married and/or have children. Men and women see themselves as different species. In desperation, Japan has agreed to pay each family $150 each month, per child until the child reaches high school. A good incentive, but it is as good as Yotaro?

Picture culled of CNN

This is Yotaro. He's a baby robot. The Japanese are hoping that this baby robot  - who cries, sneezes, giggles, kicks, has a warm body, and is made of silicon - would make the young Japanese want to have a baby. Why and how? Well, by the time they spend time with Yotaro, he will - hopefully - trigger human emotions that will prompt people to want the real thing. You can watch the video below. 

I have to admit: the Japanese people are brilliant. They have a baby robot who does all the cute things that babies do. They did not make a baby who will wake up every two 1.5 hours and cry incessantly for no apparent reason. They did not make a baby who will attack your freshly made up face with vomit. They did not make a baby who will pee on you as you struggle to change his diaper. And of course, no need for the baby who scratches your face and only keeps quiet when you carry him and stand up.  Somehow, he always knows when you sit down. By the way, baby Yotaro stops crying once you touch him, and we all know how it happens just like that in real life.

So, Yotaro is a good incentive. Some Japanese even say that he's a better incentive than a monthly government stipend. But is Yotaro as good as my incentive in boosting the birth rate of Japan? Probably not.  I say the government should mandate every couple to have sex three times a day without any kind of birth control. All existing forms of birth control should be recalled and thrown into the refinery.  In order to ensure that couples don't cheat by doing the pull out method or not having sex at all, a government agent must stand and watch the action live and direct. I need not tell you that abortions or any action(s) that may lead to an abortion would be highly forbidden! To crown my incentive, once a woman is pregnant, she will taken into custody and put on mandatory bed rest and 24-hour surveillance.

What say you?

Wanna Know Why Your Man Is Cheating On You?

And no, it has nothing to do with me. Although the idea does tickle me a bit.

It's all about the Oxytocin.  You see, Oxytocin is a hormone that acts primarily as a neurotransmitter in the brain.  However, it's also responsible for some other things.  Oxytocin is released by men and women during orgasm; it induces labor, stimulates the nipples to release milk when the baby sucks on them, and contributes to maternal bonding.  It is Oxytocin's role in maternal bonding that earned it the nickname, Cuddle Hormone.

So, what does all this have to do with men's infidelity? Women, unlike men, secret a lot of Oxytocin, which is why they bond so easily emotionally.  Most of us have been told that men cheat because (in no particular order)

1.  There's a lack of sex at home.

2.  Their wives have let themselves go

3.  They're horrible people with inactive consciences!

Okay, that last one might be slightly true, but for the rest of them, research actually shows that most cheating men do not do it because they don't get enough sex or because they don't find their wives interesting anymore.  On the contrary, research shows that most men cheat because there's a lack of emotional connection with their women.  

Again, where does Oxytocin come in? Well, a lot of times, the fact that they are cheating isn't the biggest problem.  The biggest problem is that they don't feel guilty about it. And even when they do feel guilty, their guilt is not enough to stop them.  Whatever feeling they have for the other woman just overrides every emotion they ever felt for their real women. But if they had some Oxytocin, they would have bonded more with their wives. They would have felt guilty. They would have .... oh, the possibilities!! You get where I'm going with this?

As much as I would just love to take credit for this Oxytocin vs Cheating Men theory, I cannot. I learned of it from the Dr. Oz show. Daytime television is not totally useless.  However, I do have a verastic twist to this: In light of this new discovery - however valid it may be - I suggest that all women mandate their men to take daily shots of Oxytocin.  It wouldn't be any different from transgendered men who take shots of estrogen.

Now, now, I know what you're thinking: But Vera, women have Oxytocin, and they still cheat! To that, I say, "How dare you accuse us of such a despicable act?! We are not capable of such filth."  *** All women now motion to adjust their halos***

P.S. Fri from WeddingNouveau.com has an awesome post about the fashion that has now become the African head wraps. You should check it out.

P.P.S. Verastically Speakin' is one whole year today. We've come a long way from our first show (Dates: Whose Bill Is It Anyway?).  I was so flippin' nervous.  And for today, I'd actually appreciate a few happy-birthday texts, calls, e-mails, Range Rovers ... the works.

P.P.P.S. In case you did not notice, the title of this post speaks in present tense. If your man is really currently cheating on you AND you know about it ... AND he's still your man ---- well, no comments.

P.P.P.P.S. The above statement does not apply to married folks. Married folks are allowed to cheat back. Or better yet, marry a second husband or wife (as opposed to a courtship where you could should just break up).

DISCLAIMER: I hereby release myself from all consequences of anyone following my advise and marrying a second spouse or breaking up with your significant other. You may do any of these at your full discretion, bearing in mind that no matter what you decide to do, your decision does not affect me --- unless, of course, you're going after my husband. My current unmarried marital status has no bearing in this.

Daddy, I Love You Die!

10 11 Things My Daddy Is Good At:

1.  Being funny. No one has made me laugh like him.  He has a very active imagination like me. Two of us are usually the only ones who can see the striking resemblance between a person and a thing --- like that woman who looks like a maggot. Don't ask.

2.  Being silly.  When we had three Ngozis in my house, my dad always made it a point to call out their name for no reason, knowing that they would all assemble at his presence. And when they get there, he'll burst out laughing. There was also that time we had a cement man in our house. He was 'plastering' the fence. Dad went and tickled his legs. Poor man almost fell off the ladder. It didn't help that a few minutes before that, we had all just discussed the increase of snakes in the area.

3.  Stealing meat from the pot.  My daddy is the Captain General of this. No one else can do it like him. He is second to none. Somehow, no one ever sees or hears him sneaking into the kitchen. The only proof of his mischievous act is the droplets of oil on the floor and his unusually shiny lips and chin.

4.  Eating meat.  My mother calls him kura.  I assume that this must be some kind of meat-eating animal. My daddy will eat any meat. I have seen so many types of bush meats, some I did not even know were edible.  His plate of soup usually has more meats and less soup, unlike mine which is always the opposite.

5.  Being mischievous.  Apart from tickling the cement man and making him almost fall off the ladder, dad is good at playing pranks. That was how he convinced Uncle Simon (dad's younger brother) that he - Uncle Simon - did not like meat. How can someone convince you that you don't like meat? This may have happened long before I was conceived, but dad hasn't changed much.

6.  He's playful.  He lets me paint his face.  To make it even funnier, we do it on one side of his face, which makes him look strange.  His employees are often too confused and/or scared to admit that their boss looks like a clown. It never gets old seeing the looks on their faces.

7.  He's humble.  One of the things I love and admire so much about him is his humility.  He would sit, talk, and laugh with dirty mechanics, his nursing assistants, garbage disposers, and the likes. Not once have I seen or heard him belittling someone because of what he has or does not have.

8.  He's generous.  Daddy will give and give freely.  When it comes to giving, daddy never says no. He'll give whatever we ask of him, however we ask. He may complain while giving it and say that we are chopping his money, but what is family for --- if not to chop your money?

9.  He loses things.  Every time mom and I travel, we have to make spare keys because there is no doubt that the keys we are handing to dad will not live happily or safely ever after.  He will lose them, perhaps the same day.  Usually, he'll leave them on his car and drive off.  That's the story most times.

10.  He sucks at cooking.  Eating, he can eat.  There are many other things my daddy can do, too.  Cooking, however, is not one of them.  Ever since the burnt stew, balled akamu (pap), and raw oatmeal incidents, I have learned not to eat anything my daddy cooks.

11.  He's perpetually late.  With him, there's no such thing as being there a little late. There's definitely no such thing as being there on time. Even when he's the chairman of the occasion,. we always come walking in like we own the place., Ogbuefi Nnanyelugo is always late. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

(And Happy Father's Day to all fathers, current and future. May you live long to leave memorable imprints on your children's lives).  

Amen.

Guess Who's On Twitter!

No, not my mom. That would be disastrous.  My mom's baby sister, Aunt SO is on Twitter, and that's almost as disastrous as my mom being on Twitter.  If there's one thing I am always grateful for, it is the sense of humor in both sides of my family. Even when people are not trying to be funny, they're still funny.

Last week, my aunt called me and told me that she has been seeing some things I've been writing on Twitter with the '@' sign. She wanted to know what I had done to her computer to make her able to "see all those things on Twitter." I didn't do anything to her computer, I told her.

I still don't know how she got to it, but I suspect she was prompted by Yahoo! to join her Yahoo! buddy (me) on Twitter. She obliged and ended up on Twitter.  "I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed - not that she needed to confess. It was quite obvious that she did not know what she was doing. "Why are you following me around on the internet?" she asked me. I wasn't following her. In fact, as it came to pass, she was the one following me - literally --- which explained why and how she could "see all those things on Twitter."

She was on the Twitter homepage, and I was trying - unsuccessfully - to tell her what Twitter is for. That was when the spotted the famous Twitter prompt for an update:

To this, my aunt asked  - in quite a defensive tone - "Who are they asking that question?  Why are they asking me what is happening?  What is their business with me?"

Before I could explain that Twitter really means no harm - I hope. Aunt SO went ahead and replied.

As most of you may already know, no matter how many times you tweet (i.e. update your twitter account), it will continue to ask, "What's happening?"

But Aunt SO wouldn't hear of it.  "You see!" She yelled.  "These people are still asking me what is happening. What do they want me to tell them?"

And that was how Aunt SO lived her brief life on Twitter. She is survived by her favorite niece, Vera Ezimora.  Aunt SO will not be missed on Twitter.

For those that aren't already on Twitter, what are you waiting for???  When you do join, follow me.

P.S. Thanks to you, Verastically Livin' won the 'Best Daily Read' award from Nigerian Blog Awards!!! J


P.P.S. Category B of Nigerian Blog Awards is now open for nomination!!  Go ye and nominate me in all the categories.  Yes, precisely, I said all.

Whose Fanta Is It Anyway?

I was at the African store the other day when a Kenyan man walked in with his two children - a boy and a girl of about three and five years old respectively.  There was a fridge stuffed with a variety of soft drinks. Naturally, the kids reached for the Fanta.  There's something about the orange soft drink that makes it irresistible to kids (and sometimes adults, too).  I vividly remember Fanta being my favorite drink as a child. Not much has changed since then. However, I do accommodate other brands of orange soft drinks. It seems like only yesterday when I used to call Fanta Tanfa - something my father has not gotten tired of reminding me.

As the kids each reached in to grab a bottle of Fanta, their father helped them to it and encouraged them along the way, saying, "Yes, take the Fanta. That's Fanta straight from Kenya!"  The owner of the store is Cameroonian, and I, the eavesdropper, a Nigerian. So, there we were, three nations, all wearing the Fanta-is-from-my-country look. And I could not help but wonder, whose Fanta is it anyway?

Picture source: Wikipedia

Wait, let me explain something here. People that are not familiar with the Fanta (or any soft drink) that comes in the breakable bottle may not understand the hype. Almost every African I have had the soft-drink discussion with believes that the Fanta that comes in this breakable bottle is sweeter than the Fanta in a can or plastic bottle. I don't know how true this is, but if it is indeed true that the Fanta in a bottle tastes a lot sweeter, then what does that mean?  

Does it mean that Fanta is catering to the apparent sweet tooth that Africans have?  Does it mean that the laws that govern the making of Fanta in other countries (like USA and England) does not apply to Africa? Or does it mean that Fanta has realized just how much Africans cannot wait to become diabetic, and so, have offered a helping hand?

It could, of course, just be that the Fanta in Nigeria, Cameroon, Kenya, and all other African nations tastes just like the one in our new respective countries, and that the packaging is the only difference. Oh, the other difference is that here in the States, we do not have to provide an empty bottle of Fanta before we buy a new one. It makes one wonder --- why do they make us provide empty bottles before we buy new bottles of Fanta [in Africa]? 

But whose Fanta is it anyway? It's Coca-Cola's Fanta.  And Coca-Cola is a born citizen of the United States of America.  It currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia.  Go figure.

Finally, A Perk!

I have been menstruating for the past decade (Hey! Don't try to calculate my age. I was a late bloomer!), and just when I thought I would never be rewarded for the gallons of blood I have lost and the combined hours of menstrual cramps I have endured, Always came in and changed my story.

So, there I was, shopping for my favorite brand of pads - really, Always is the best! - when I spotted this on the box.

This is the pad I always get - the overnight ultra thin - and I use it whether it's day or night.

No matter how bold the word 'FREE' was written on the box, I refused to get excited. This, after all, is America, and nothing, as I have come to learn, is free. That said, I still bought this gifted box of Always pad. 

I took it home, opened the box, and pulled out the slip with a 14-character alpha-numeric code.  I was instructed to go online (with the code) and redeem my free movie ticket. Still, I refused to get excited. They'll probably tax me or demand my credit card information, I concluded.

I printed my e-ticket online and took it to my favorite movie theater where I presented it and asked for a ticket to see Killers (Watch the trailer here). It worked! Yes, I actually got a FREE ticket. No hanky panky --- for now anyway. I did not want to blog about this before seeing the movie for fear that the Always people would revoke my ticket. But now that I have seen the movie, my new fear is that they'll send me a bill.

Having received the opportunity to watch a free movie, I am sincerely grateful to Always (No, I was not paid to blog about this!), and I wonder what's next. Are they going to send me to a free dinner at Chilis Restarant (I love that place!)?  Are they going to send me a Macy's gift card? I could always use that.  Hopefully, I wouldn't have to wait for a decade before receiving this reward from Always.  

P.S. All of a sudden, I feel like menstruating!

The UNschooling Of --- School

Remember how you used to wake up at 5:30am --- maybe 6:00am to take a shower, have breakfast, and rush off to school -- where your assignment(s) will be checked and graded? Remember how teachers blessed you with homeworks at the end of the school day? Remember how you had to go home and spend a couple of hours trying to figure out your homework --- especially that last number? Remember jacking studying for exams, hoping to ace it and get that special gift from mommy and/or daddy?  Well, all of that doesn't have to happen anymore.

The new school is in town! And it is here to tell you that you should allow your children to reach the fullest potential --- of their stupidity.  I watched an episode of ABC's Nightline where Juju Chang had me cringing in my seat.  Unschooling is not homeschooling.  Homeschooling is where children don't go to school. Instead, they are schooled by their parents/guardians (with the curriculum) at home.  Unschooling, however, has no schooling whatsoever. Instead, the children are allowed to just basically do whatever.  Yes, whatever. Watch TV. Play. Sleep. Bake. Whatever. Because children, it appears, are good decision makers who should be allowed to take control of their lives.

I decided to research this unfortunate phenomenon some more. Critics of Unschooling say that parents of the Unschoolers are just lazy.  Supporters of Unschooling say they don't want to leave the enlightenment of their children to a government-controlled agency (i.e.school).  My thoughts: Someone needs to tell them that the entire country is government-run.  If today, the lawmakers  - who by the way are part of the government - decide that driving red cars is illegal, it would become illegal.  That's what happens when government is in charge, which only happens like, you know --- all the time.  

If supporters of Unschooling cannot stand a government-run agency, then their best - and only - option would be to move to another planet. But then, the government probably won't permit that.  Tough luck.

Does anyone else wonder how these children would be able to compete with their mates? In today's world, their is so much technological advancement that by the time college students graduate from the University, whatever they learned in college would be ancient and outdated. I should say that I do acknowledge that school isn't for everyone. However, these children should be allowed to make that decision for themselves --- when they reach the age of accountability (which so happens to not be at the age of five).

My words to my future children: When you have one degree under your belt, a good job, and a loving spouse, you can now go ahead and decide whether school is or isn't for you.

And, on that note, I leave you with Juju Chang's report on ABC Nightline about Unschooling.  Enjoy.

Spotted: Vera Ezimora's Ass

I don't know what came over me on Sunday, but I was feeling unusually sexy when I woke up that morning. For church, I wore my tightest pencil skirt, a grey skirt. And I matched it up with a black three-quarter sleeve shirt. I was looking hot, if I do say so myself.  Although compliments were not the reason I wore this outfit, it did, naturally, feel pretty darn good when I received tons of compliments, even from those in church.

After church, I went for a get-together at an aunt's house, a gorgeous lady from Cameroon. I call her Mom 2.0.  I was there until Aribaba called and said he was on his way to my house. I left Mom 2.0's house, promising to return, and went back home to meet Aribaba and his friend. I stuffed them with pounded yam and bitterleaf soup. We watched a Ghanaian movie [Kiss Me If You Can]. I don't know what the title had to do with the movie, but it did have a lot of sex, all of which Aribaba and his friend enjoyed --- of course.

After Aribaba and his friend left, I was going to change into something more comfortable, something that didn't feel like a second skin. However, it was already past 9pm, so I decided to just rush over to Mom 2.0's house. I walked in there majestically --- because, well, I was feeling too hot to be handled. I had my silver four-inch heels on, and I just couldn't be stopped. I sat down for a while, and then, I went to help myself with a glass of apple juice. It was while I was getting my apple juice that it happened.

Mom 2.0 came up behind me and asked, "Vera, what's that behind you?"

When I realized what it was, my heart sank. So, the zipper of my very tight pencil skirt had given way and exposed my butt cheeks which had a black lace thong buried between them. I tell you, you could have knocked me over with a feather. So many thoughts ran through my mind: 

What I Know:

(i) My zipper did not pop in church

(ii) My zipper did not pop as soon as I got home

What I Don't Know:

(i) When did this happen?

(ii) How long did I walk around with my ass exposed?

(iii) Did I come into Mom 2.0's house with my ass exposed?

(iv) Did all the guests at the party take a peek at my verastic bum?

(v) Did Aribaba see my butt cheeks and not tell me?

(vi) Worse, did Aribaba's friend see my butt cheeks?

(vii) All those smiles I got at Mom 2.0's house, was it because the people were being friendly, or was it because of what I had  - or did not have - behind me?

What I Hope:

(i) My zipper was in tact while Aribaba and his friend were at my house.

(ii) When I entered Mom 2.0's house, my zipper was still in tact.

(iii) When I sat down at Mom 2.0's house, my zipper popped.

(iv) When I stood up from the chair, my shirt covered my exposed butt cheeks and Mom 2.0 was the only one who saw them.

What I Fear:

(i) My zipper popped at my house, and Aribaba and his friend were too shy to say anything.

(ii) I walked into Mom 2.0's house with my ass literally exposed.

(iii) Everyone at Mom 2.0's house got a sneak peek of what lies beneath (and they didn't have to pay for it!).

(iv) I'll never know the truth.

For the rest of the evening at Mom 2.0's house, I tied a wrapper around my waist.  I went from "hot babe" to "who is that village girl with the wrapper?"  Way to end a totally sexy day.