Save The Date --- Not!

I'm an avid billboard reader. I love them. So, it wasn't new or unexpected when I stretched my neck to read the big billboard on Pulaski Highway and Ebenezer Road. After reading the big red font, "Save The Date!" I anticipated that it would be some kind of fun event --- like a romantic cocktail dinner that's open to all. Perhaps, I have been over obsessing over the cocktail dinner I will be attending this weekend.  And I get to bring a date, too. Yes! But I digress.

Instead of a romantic cocktail dinner, the billboard instructed me to save the date of May 21st 2011 because on that day, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ would allegedly be coming back.  That's right. Jesus is coming back on that day. I drove past that billboard several times and read it over and over - not on the same day, of course. Finally, it dawned on me that this billboard is 100% Verastic material.  So, here we are today.

Billboard announcing the alleged date of the return of Christ

The billboard is sponsored by wecanknow.com and according to them, well, we can know --- the day Jesus Christ is returning.  Curious, I visited their website. On there, they cited several passages from the bible like Luke 24:45 "Then he opened their minds so they could understand the scriptures," Amos 3:7 "Surely the Sovereign LORD does nothing without revealing His plan to His servants the prophets," Nehemiah 8:8 "They read from the book of the Law of God, making it clear and giving the meaning so that the people could understand what was being said," and Daniel 11:33 "Those who are wise will instruct many...," The continuation of this last verse [which was not included on their website] is "...Though for a time they will fall by the sword or be burned or captured or plundered."  Guess there was no need to complete the verse.

It's simply remarkable how we can all read the bible and interpret it to fit us personally. Sometimes, it's a good thing. Christianity, after all, is a personal race. Other times, it puts our gag reflex in an excited mode.  While the owners of this outlandish belief must have meant their website and billboard for good, I, on the other hand could not help but remember a Nigerian man who - in all seriousness - believed that he did not need to tell his wife about his finances because in Matthew 6:3, it says, "But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing."  As far as he was concerned, he was obeying the scriptures.  Who cares if the scripture was referring to giving to the needy (not to marital relationships)?  Makes a lot of sense why Hosea 4:6 says "My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge."

I don't know it all.  I am not under the illusion that I know even half of it. There are questions I have that I have resolved to not knowing until I meet God.  But this much I know: we cannot know the day Jesus Christ returns. It does state clearly, without riddles or proverbs, without ifs, buts, or maybes in Matthew 24:36-44 that "³⁶"No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ³⁷As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. ³⁸For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark; ³⁹and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. ⁴⁰Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. ⁴¹Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left.   ⁴²"Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. ⁴³But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. ⁴⁴So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him."

My people, shine your eyes.

Life's Like That Sometimes

I put this article on my other blog some days ago, but I know that not everyone knows of that blog, so enjoy.

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On Tuesday, July 20^th 2010, what started out as a short trip to the University of Baltimore, Maryland turned out to be a real eye opener for me. How long its lesson would last is still unknown, but for my sake, I hope it lasts a long time.

The University of Baltimore is the most libertine school in Maryland, as I have been told, and while I loved that bit of information about the school, I did not like its location: Downtown Baltimore. For the past decade, Downtown Baltimore and I have had a hate-hate relationship, and we have not been afraid to make our feelings known.

Having forgotten to take my GPS from my mother, the next best option would have been to print out the directions, but alas, I have also developed a sudden inability to read directions from MapQuest and its likes. I relied, instead, on the directions that my friend, Funmi gave me. There was only one problem: she did not give me everything, and the plan was to call her while I was on my way. I would later find out that that was not a smart decision.

Five unanswered calls later and parked in front of the Wal-Greens on Harford Road and North Avenue, I realized I was screwed.  I had called Funmi for directions, but Funmi was nowhere to be heard. I had no idea what way to go next. I could either go back home or ask around and try to find my way. Having traveled so far, I decided that quitting would not be the best option, so I asked for help. When a slim African American lady parked next to me, I rolled down my window and asked if she knew the way to the University of Baltimore. Oh, she knew the way quite alright; describing it to me was the challenge as the maneuvered her hands from left to right, and from top to bottom, all in an attempt to give me directions. Not once did she mention a street I had to turn on. I thanked her and drove to the nearest gas station for some directions I could use.

The Caucasian man with the overstuffed briefcase knew the way. He told me to make a turn on St. Paul.  I did as he said, and sure enough, the University of Baltimore was right there. However, I was met with yet another challenge: the University was scattered all over the place, it seemed.  Several buildings bore the University of Baltimore flag. I had forgotten to check the name of the exact building I needed to go to. It was at that moment that I parked on the street with both blinkers on and put my Blackberry to good use. As it turned out, I needed to be on West Preston Street.

Frustrated, I drove around Downtown Baltimore, guessing which turn to make every time I got to an intersection, and somehow, convinced that eventually, I would get to West Preston Street. Funny enough, I did get to West Preston Street. Unfortunately, though, I was on the wrong West Preston Street. I would later find out from a cop who was parked on the street that I needed to be on the other West Preston Street. “Go on Maryland Avenue,” he had told me. He told me how to get to Maryland Avenue, and off I went, in search of West Preston Street. It was only while I had driven on Maryland Avenue for a while that I realized he never told me where or how far to drive on Maryland Avenue before I found West Preston Street.

It was the second day of my menstrual cycle (too much information, I know, but I was not nominated TMI Blogger for nothing), and I was starting to suffer the cramps. In the midst of my crankiness, fury, anger, frustration, and regret, I parked my car on Maryland Avenue, and right there, across a parking garage, I overlooked the street sign for Saratoga and decided that maybe I needed to call the University of Baltimore. But before then, I swallowed two Midol pills and drank it down with a bottle of water that had succumbed to the summer heat.

My conversation with the University of Baltimore took approximately ten minutes, and as it turned out, I did not need to drive there after all. As I sat in my car and thought about navigating my way back home, I had to take a moment to first recline my seat and rest a bit. Five minutes later, I was on my way home. I did not know the way, but I hoped that somehow, I would end up at home by the end of the day. It would be another ninety minutes before I actually got home.

My journey took me to Hanover, a place I did not recall ever being to before. Everything was unnecessarily difficult, it seemed – even getting a one dollar McChicken sandwich from McDonald’s was strenuous as I had to drive by three times before I finally got it right. It was the sweating Caucasian man sitting in his brown, humid car outside of Royal Farms that directed me back to I-695. “Just go up this way,” he had said, “Then you’ll go past a bunch of stores and shit,” he continued, and quickly added – after he saw the doubt on my face – “I ain’t gonna lie to you, sweetheart. You’ll see the exit for I-695.”

I took his word for it, and just as he had said, I did find the exit. My joy knew no boundaries at that point. Oblivious to how far away from home I really was, I thought I would start my I-695 journey at about Exit 20 or so. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I realized I was on Exit 7, knowing that I had to drive till Exit 34. Still, I was at peace.

Life is like that sometimes. I knew where I was coming from. I knew where I was going to, but I had no clue how I was going to get there, and I relied only on one source for directions. My source, as I later found out, was fast asleep as I hopelessly dialed and redialed her number. I spent so much time driving around and around, unable to get to where I was going because I had no idea how I was supposed to get there. Some days, I wake up feeling that way about my life.

I know where I want to go. I know what I want to do. I know the many, many dreams I have. I just have no clue how to go about them, and along the way, there have been too many distractions – most of which I welcomed and thought to be friendly.  I was a different person as soon as I hit I-695. I knew without a shadow of doubt that no matter what – in spite of the bumper-to-bumper traffic and the long distance I had to drive, I would reach my destination. It was only then that I remembered to turn on the music, put on my blue sun glasses, and enjoy the ride.

Life is like that sometimes.  Things become incredibly easy the moment we set our feet on the right track. We become very confident of our journey, so no matter what obstacles we may meet on said journey, we laugh and keep pressing on because we know for sure that this road we’re on, leads us directly to our destiny. The hardest part now is finding the White man in his brown humid car, the man who will say to us, “I ain’t gonna lie to you, sweetheart,” and mean his words.  My Pastor calls such a man a Destiny Helper.

Good luck finding your man (or woman).

P. O. BOX 7893

Essex, MD 21221

1.443.934.9039

vera@verastic.com

Verastic on Twitter || Verastic on Facebook

Confessions Of A Perfume Addict

I'm not sure when my obsession with and addiction to perfumes started, but I just know that the list of perfumes I want keep getting longer. I actually haven't bought one in a while (with the exception of the last one I bought *cough*), so I'm doing pretty good, but that doesn't mean that my list of wanted perfumes isn't growing. The title of my life of wanted perfumes reads: Wanted: Full or Half!  Here's a picture of what I have right now.

These are a few of my favorite things

In no particular order, their names are:

1.  Mediterrenean by Elizabeth Arden

2.  Channel No. 5 by Channel

3.  J'adore by Christian Dior (one of my favorites)

4.  Euphoria by Calvin Klein

5.  Tresor by Lancome (used to be my most wanted ... until I got it)

6.  Hypnose by Lancome

7.  Realities by Liz Claiborne

8,  Heiress by Paris Hilton (one of my favorites; don't have it anymore)

9.  In Control by Britney Spears

10.  Midnight Fantasy by Britney Spears

11.  Very Irresistible by Givenchy (one of my favorites)

12.  Amirage by Givenchy 

13.  True Star by Tommy Hilfiger (stolen by mom)

14.  Butterflies (stolen by aunt)

15.  Be Fabulous (stolen by aunt)

16.  Armani Code For Women by Armani

17.  With Love by Hillary Duff

18.  Delicious by DKNY

19.  Red Delicious by DKNY

20.  Bright Crystals by Versace (one of my favorites)

21.  Provocative Woman by Elizabeth Arden (bought this because of the ad. Not bad)

22.  Curve Kicks by Liz Claiborne

23.  Glow by Jennifer Lopez (one of those perfumes I won't be replacing)

24.  Touch of Pink by Lacoste

25.  Usher She by Usher

26.  Allure by Channel

27.  Celine Dion by Celine Dion (haven't used this in months)

28.  Nautica Woman by Nautica (emptied by mom)

29.  Tommy Girl by Tommy Hilfiger (love this! Permanently stationed in the glove compartment of the car for my in-case-I-forget-to-use-perfume-before-leaving-the-house days).

30.  Shania Starlight by Shania Twain (don't remember who took this)

31.  No. 2 De Makari by Makari (a gift from a Verastic fan. It's all gone)

32.  Burberry Brit by Burberry

33.  Can Can by Paris Hilton (gave it away)

34.  Goddess by Baby Phat

35.  Covet by Sarah Jessica Parker (lost the spray thingy. Haven't been able to use this in months).

36.  Daisy by Marc Jacobs

37.  Insolence by Guerlain (Love this!!! Birthday gift from Funmie last year).

38.  Sex in the City (my last purchase ... currently residing on my aunt's dresser. Oh, well).

Out of the 38 listed above, I only have 29 left. Darn. That's sad. These people are milking me. Although I cannot find my list of wanted perfumes, the top four - in order of preference - are clear:

1.  Pour Femme by Bvlgari (My all time gotta-have-it)

2.  Romance by Ralph Lauren (Have loved this since Nigeria)

3.  Miracle Forever by Lancome (Started loving this after purchasing Tresor [number 5 on the list])

4.  Pleasures by Estee Lauder (My second love from Nigerian)

I confess I have this problem, and admission, they say, is the first step to healing. However, I do not wish to be healed or cured of this addiction. I love perfumes. A big smile creeps up on my face when someone says, "You smell good." I don't use the perfumes for validation from people, of course, but smelling good is a favorite past time of mine.


So, what are you smelling like today?

iLike

If there's one thing people cannot really accuse Facebook of, it's being static.  Since I joined Facebook, they've been rolling out new features every so often, most of which I have been completely ignorant of. I remember when they started the feature where you can tag people's name with the '@' symbol (just like Twitter). At first, I thought it was pointless, but as a talk radio host, I soon realized its usefulness. It rocks.

The other useful feature is the Like feature.

Since its debut, people have generally (note: generally = not everyone) gotten fewer comments on their photos and/or status updates. The number of Likes, however, has been rapidly increasing. The question is why. I have a few ideas:

1.  Before the debut of the Like feature, people were inclined to leave comments because that was the only way they could mark the register and say, 'I was here, and I saw/read this.' They can now just Like it without commenting on it.

2.  The Like feature doesn't cost half as many intellectual brain cells as commenting on it.

3.  The Like feature doesn't take half the time that commenting does.

4.  Sometimes, it is difficult to hide indifference (or irritation) when commenting. With the Like feature, this problem is non existent.

5.  There are those times that one just doesn't know what to say. Whatever they wish to comment on is too good or too bad to have words for it. The Like feature comes to the rescue.

6.  When it looks like everyone else Likes it, it's hard to pass by and not Like it, too. 

7.  When all other options seem undoable or unfathomable ... or too tedious, liking it is the next best thing.

8.  When you actually want to leave a comment and realize that the 99 people who came before you did not leave a comment, but rather all liked it. You decide that maybe you'd rather not be the 100th and odd one out. So, you Like it, too.

9.  And well, there are those times that you're just bored. So, you go around and Like everything that is likeable on Facebook.

Sooooooo, the pressing question on your mind is probably: why would someone bother to Like another person's status update and/or picture, if he/she doesn't really Like it? I may be wrong, but I think it may be for the same reason that married people say they're single on Facebook, the same reason why 14 year olds say they're 18 on Facebook, and the same reason that people take time out of their day to send you e-mails that say, "I like your profile picture. It's so beautiful! May I get to know you better?"  Never mind the fact that you don't actually have a profile picture of yourself. This all happens on Facebook.

Now, to answer the other pressing question on your mind, of course I really liked your picture and/or status update!

Verastic on Facebook | Verastic on Twitter

P.S. This coming Saturday (July 24th), the show topic for the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio is "Randomisity - Phase 2"  It's a show that will be as random as random gets. It's the middle of the year (okay, the middle of the year plus three weeks), so let's get together and talk about anything. Bring it on.

Two things are required:

1.  Co-hosts. If you're interested in co-hosting, contact me (us) right now, please. First come, first serve. I can only have two co-hosts.  radio@verastic.com | 1.443.934.9039 | Funmie: 1.410. 497.7671

2.  Ideas on what to talk about. Anything goes.  Anything.

Tossed Any Salads Lately?

At no point in time is anyone completely knowledgeable of everything in life.  If I did not know this before, I surely found out on Saturday.  During the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio show on Saturday, the show topic was In The Name Of All Things Women.  It was co-hosted by Aribaba, Ego Du Jour, and Funmie.  Aribaba asked us questions about women --- like why we always say we're virgins (who said we aren't?), why we say we're not angry when we really are (that has never, ever happened!), and why we take forever to get ready (because we can. Get with the program).

Anyway, we did a good job of staying on the topic of the day until NaijaBloke decided to ask, "Why do women say 'eww' when you tell them to teabag?"  That was the beginning of confusion for me and Funmie, especially since Aribaba and Ego Du Jour both knew what it meant. We later found out what it means. If you don't know what it means, go ahead and research it. I have no intention of defining it here.

As if that wasn't bad enough, NaijaBloke (Yes, him again!) asked about women and salad tossing.  Again, Funmie and I found ourselves at a complete loss. No matter how I tried to creatively and figuratively think about what else salad tossing could possibly stand for, all I could think of was this:

As fate would have it (can I really thank fate for this?), Mogaji was there to explain it to us. Apparently, salad tossing is the act of eating/sucking/licking someone's butt hole.  Now, please tell me, why would someone in their right mind eat, lick, suck --- or even want to look at another person's butt hole? We are indeed talking about the butt hole that shits and farts, right?  I have heard many things, but this one takes the cake.  It has gotten me all shaken up.... and positively disgusted.

So many things have been running through my mind since I first heard this: In what position does the lickee stay while his/her butt is being eaten or licked? What kind of pleasure does the licker derive from sticking his  head between someone's naked butt cheeks. Finally, whose salad did NaijaBloke toss (or who tossed his salad?)

That said, I still don't know why they call it salad tossing. And no, I do not wish to find out.

P.S. The good news is that I won 8 out of the 15 categories I was nominated in for the Nigerian Blog Awards. Thank you all for nominating and voting for me.  I really, really, really appreciate it. What would I do without you?

P.P.S. Stay away from people's butt holes.  It's shitty in there.

You're Not Getting Younger ... Anymore

That's something I have heard more times than I wish to remember.  It has become more prevalent now that I have ceased to get younger. And that's exactly my point. At what point does one cease to get younger? I used to think that one never gets younger anyway. Unfortunately, that's not a universal belief. 

I cannot count how many times I have been told (by my family and even by people I don't care for) that I am not getting younger anymore. Is this in comparison to the time that I was in fact getting younger?  "You're not getting younger anymore," they say, "When are you going to get married?" They want to know. Of course, this entire thing is all about marriage.  It never stops until you get married. And then, a new issue arises: when are you going to have children? And after that: when are you going to have more children?

When, oh, when, will Miss Vera Ezimora acquire the almighty sought after, most prestigious degree, the MRS degree?  When, oh, when will she stop being Miss Vera Ezimora and become Mrs. Vera Somebody?  I'm not sure what all the hurry is about. I'm still a kid at heart. Besides, I don't exactly have a man knocking my door down, begging for my yellow hand in marriage.

When Miss Vera Ezimora's husband realizes that somewhere in this world, there is one Miss Vera Ezimora who has been predestined to be his wife, when Miss Vera Ezimora's husband realizes that both our names have been etched in the sands of time, and of course, when Miss Vera Ezimora's husband realizes that unlike before, he, too, is not getting younger anymore, and then, he decides that he will ask for me to have his back for the rest of what will be his very fruitful, very happy, very satisfying, very healthy, and very wealthy life (because of me, of course), I, in turn, will accept his proposal.

And together, we shall not get younger --- anymore.  Like that other time that we used to get younger.

On A Lighter Note

So, Sunday is the fourth of July. America will be celebrating its 234th birthday.  Woot, woot!!  My 4th of July weekend is usually boring and forgettable. As I type this right now, I don't even remember anything I did during the past July 4th weekend. This July 4th, however, will be different. I have some fun events lined up. You can be rest assured that I won't be wearing my grey pencil skirt - the one with the generous zipper. As a matter of fact, I won't be wearing a skirt at all. Since that incident where my bare butt cheeks - God bless them - were exposed, I have developed what seems to be an incurable phobia for tight-fitting pencil skirts.

Now, before I go, I'll leave you with this video. It was orchestrated by my very good friend, Fox.  Some of you may know him as Chief from the Igbo Behaviors show he did on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio [By the way, if you have not listened to it, you're on a long thing].  Watch the video.  It'll be sure to crack your ribs.  Listen to the show. It'll crack your ribs, too.  In the event that you'll need to see more - as I anticipate you would - you should visit his channel on YouTube.

Have a safe and happy 4th of July!!!