This Delivery Man Sha...

This delivery man wants to start delivering more than packages oh. Everyday he comes, he makes it a point to compliment my alleged beauty (yes, I said alleged). At first, I thought he was just being a gentleman, but this one don pass my power oh. He always says, "Oh, you're so beautiful," or "God, your eyes are so beautiful." All this time, I've just been smiling like a fool and saying, "thank you," exposing all my teeth.

On Tuesday, he came to deliver a package as usual. I was on the phone with my friend, Dee, so I told her that I'll call her back. He said, "Yeah, get off the phone, baby cause you know I want your full attention." Like a fool, I smiled. In fact, I laughed sef. Gosh, I can be so slow sometimes. lol. I collected the package and signed for it.

As usual, the man started talking about what lovely eyes I had and how beautiful I was. I was not fazed by this. I mean, this was pretty standard for us. Next thing, the man said, "I love a lady with beautiful eyes. When you're making love to a lady with beautiful eyes and she looks at you, it just makes you wanna keep going..." And then he grunted before he continued with so much confidence, "You have such pretty eyes."

Tufia kwa!!! Mr. Delivery Man, I rebuke you!!! Making love to who? God forbid!!! See, warn this man oh. Who gave him the right to be picturing making love to me in his head? *Vera spitting, irritation almost choking her* I can charge this man with mental rape oh (abi isn't that a legitimate charge?). To add, insult to injury, he touched my ringless finger and said, "And I see you ain't got a ring on neither." (darn Ebonics). I just jejely snatched my hand away from his reach. What does the ringlessness of my finger have to do with him? Kai!! You see how 'singleness' is insulting me? lol.

I think I was so shocked by the man's statements that I could not even react. I was caught off guard. Not that it matters, but the man doesn't work for USPS (United States Postal Service). He works for another postal service that I will not mention, and he's African American.

This guy's actions are making me look @ the other delivery guy some kind of way. That one is White and works for a different delivery service too. Even though he doesn't need to bring the mails in, he still does - something I assume he's doing out of niceness. Am I being naïve? He brings the mails in, and then he asks me how my day is going, blah blah blah. I think I need to start having my pepper spray handy. LOL. I can't have people making love to me in their mind all willy nilly....and even having the guts to stare into my eyes while doing it!!!

Temite, where do I get that taser we talked about?

Err...Don't Really Have A Title

If anyone can tell me what that psychopath by the left who calls herself Funmi is doing, then please do. If you ask her, she'll say she was dancing - yahoozeeing to be precise, but if you ask me, I'll say she had one too many whatever-she-was drinking. I guess it's not too bad since her dimple looks so pweety. That's the only good thing about the yeye gal. Oh, and her culinary skills too. Other than that.... *hiss* The past week & weekend has been so busy for me, hence the lack of an update. All I wanna do right now is close my eyes and sleep, but duty calls. On Saturday, we hosted a beautiful surprise baby shower for a dear friend, Y. We had mad fun. I mean, how many times do you attend a baby shower where there is a DJ and an after-party? lol. So yeah, you can say we had a lotta fun. I took lotsa pics. After I deleted the unnecessary and blurry ones, I was left with 250. I uploaded 28 of them for your viewing pleasure. Now, b4 any1 starts asking questions, lemme respond... No, I am not the one on the home page of my photo collections page. That's Uju & her nephew. I didn't even put the pictures there; the website automatically put them. And no, I am not in any of the pictures you're about to view from the shower...sorry. Just click on the most recent album, which is the one on top. Anyway, click HERE to view the pics.





Mom drove my car to work the other day because she was running late and didn't have time to stop by the gas station to put gas in her car. The next day, I went out with my car. Time to come down from the car and I realized the damage the woman had done. Chei. And she didn't even bother telling me. Maybe she thought I wouldn't notice? lol. So now, every time I wanna get outta the car, I have to wind down the window to open the door. This reminds of the molues in Naija. Haba, I'm too fine 4 this oo! What if I attend a posh party where there is valet parking? Wait, what if there are fine boys outside the parry and they see me getting outta my car in that manner?? That na scandal o. Chai!! Mommy, you no do me well @ all. It has been very inconvenient, as you can imagine because I keep forgetting that the door handle is bad. I turn off the car, attempt to get out, and then realize I have to start the car again to wind the window down. Ah, I will be rich in Jesus name. Shebi money is doing shakara 4 me now abi? lol. Anyway, I will try & fix it by this weekend. When I asked my mom about it, she gave the classical Naija response to everything, "It was the devil."


Come Friday, I may or may not be attending the African Bankers Award. I have never attended it before; in fact, I had never heard of it before now, but I was invited by the publisher of Kitu Kizuri Magazine. Why do I feel like this is one of her attempts to hook me up with an eligible bachelor? lol. She has been telling me to "get out there and meet new people". I've been meeting new people ooo! Look @ all the new bloggers I have discovered lately. lol.



Speaking of meeting new people, I met Ramsey Noah on Thursday. He was pretty cool. I took a picture with him. You can see it on my camera *sticking tongue out* I'll update in two or three days.

Time Changes Things

Sometimes, you have such a deep connection with someone that you swear that nothing can ever, ever change it. Not even time. You think that out of sight is not out of mind, but sadly, it is. Or at least, it can be. I know I can testify to that.

I don't remember how old I was when I met C, but I know that we had a kind of connection that was uncanny. I thought nothing could ever, ever separate us. We were so intimate. I knew C like the back of my hands. I used to see C almost every morning and night; we were inseparable. I was pretty sure that C and I were going to be together forever.

But life happened. Life came and changed things, changed our plans, restructured what we thought was going to be our future.

For eight long years, there was no communication between me and C. I never forgot C, of course. There are some people that you never forget, but I just figured that distance was like a temporary thing, you know. I figured that once we reunited, we were going to pick up right where we left off like nothing ever happened. Like we didn't miss 8 years. Like I didn't grow up. Like I didn't change. Or like C didn't change. How wrong I was.

I ran into C at the African Store the other day. Imagine my elation. I thought to myself, 'this must be fate!!' After 8 long years, I have run into C again? I was determined to not let C go. But to my disappointment, what we had was not there anymore. It seemed to have dissipated. I had changed, and so had C. We were no longer the C and Vera of eight years ago. Even if C hadn't changed, I definitely had. I had experienced new things, new people, a new culture, a new way of life. Things that used to come easily to me before were now foreign. Being with C felt so new - not the exciting kind of new, but rather, the unfamiliar kind of new. Everything about our union was so shaky and precarious. The way I touched C even, I did it with so much trepidation, like I was afraid of what will happen. It was just so unnatural.

It is with sadness that I have come to the heart-breaking admission: I AM NO LONGER A PRO @ MAKING CUSTARD!! I had not had custard for 8 long years; I finally saw it at the African store, bought it, took it home, but have not been able to make a decent bowl since then. Something is always wrong with it. Too thick. Too watery. Full of those little balls that nauseate me. Goodness, what happened???!!! I used to be the Custard Queen. It just goes to show how fast things change in life.

Oh, Dear Custard, what happened to our love?

Update: I forgot to say Happy Independence Day. Here's a joke a friend just sent to me via text: when you find your life in darkness, pray to God for deliverance. If after praying you are still in darkness, pay your NEPA bill.

God Bless Naija!!! Happy Independence Day!!!

Afronuts, Standtall, Favored Girl, & Naapali

What better way to honor these beautiful people than to use their names as the title of my post? The 4th time has been the charm for me. I have received this award four times. This could mean one of two things:


1. I'm a very honest blogger, and you wonderful people have finally noticed and certified me.


2. I have fooled all of you, and y'll don't know what da heck you're talking about.


...I'm gonna go with number one. It's the certified, honest truth.







1. Afronuts: My dear, thank you for being the first to present me with this award. I know I promised to come back & make a speech, but I never did make it back. For this, I am so, so sorry. That being said, I have a question I have been meaning to ask you. Don't laugh; I'm serious. What does your name mean? I know what 'Afro' means, but what about the 'nuts??' If it's what I think it is, then I'll say, you naughty, naughty, boy!


2. Standtall: Times without number, I have imagined you having a conversation with my cousin, Nachi. He still believes that the Virgin Mary is not a Virgin. Why? She had breasts when she got pregnant. Who on earth made her breasts grow? Surely, someone (maybe Joseph) had to have been squeezing them. Apparently, no woman can grow breasts without a man first laying his hands on them. What say you, Standtall? lol. For those that are wondering, his last name is Ezimora too. I'm really starting to think that something is wrong with these Ezimora people. I'm clearly the only one who is sane.


3. Favored Girl: My love, you are truly favored. I learnt from Pastor Joel Osteen that I should believe I have the crown of favor on my head. So since then, I have been praying about it. I truly have. That being said, you're truly, truly favored. Your 'frumpiness' did not stop you from catching your husband's eyes. lol. Babe, I hope you have upgraded your wardrobe oh. No more grandma panties!! lol. Not many women can be frumpy yet sexy in their husband's eyes. But let's not push it, okay?


4. Naapali: My personal pesin! I've been thinking...of what use are you in my life sef? How can I have a doc in my life and not be using him? I have decided that I will go out today and badly scrape my knees and elbows, and you, Doc Naapali must take care of my injuries, by fire, by storm... FREE OF CHARGE. So please, go & buy your ticket to Baltimore. I hope you don't expect me to fly to Chi-Town for treatment. Now that I think of it sef, the scrapes might not be enough. Where is that butcher knife? I'm off to butcher my left leg off. Bring needle & thread on your way o! My color is a little light, but not yellow. I want the thread you use to sew me to match my skin tone perfectly, please.



Ehen, the rules (which I don't feel like pasting here) state that I should pass the award on to other people and let them know on their blog. Yeah, whatever. First of all, I'm passing this award to ALL MY LOVERS (aka my blog roll). So if your name is there, please consider yourself certified or recertified. For you to own a blog, it means there is an ounce of honesty in you, yes? Secondly, I refuse to visit 70+ blogs to tell them that they have been certified. That would be glorified spamming. Besides, I have better things to do with my time. I don't know what they are yet, but I know I have them.


Unlike Doc Naapali who shameless told people whose names were not on his list to meet him somewhere with their bank account number, I will be dignified. I will not stoop so low and ask for bank account details. I will respect myself, and say instead that...


...I am sorry if your name is not on my list of lovers, but not to worry, my list is not written in stone. It is ever growing and changing. Change is the only constant thing in life anyway, right? Simple measures can and should be taken to rectify this situation. To have your name added, send @ least one of the following perfumes to my address ASAP. Number 1 & 2 are my most precious ones. I know it's a rather short list, but I didn't wanna be greedy, you know...


1. Secret Obsession by Calvin Klein


2. Pour Femme by Bvlgari


3. Romance For Her by Ralph Lauren


4. Rock n Rose by Valentino


5. Absolutely Irresistable by Givenchy


6. Miracle Forever by Lancome


7. M by Mariah Carey

8. Magnifique by Lancome

9. Notorious by Ralph Lauren

10. Vera Wang by Vera Wang

11. Princess by Vera Wang

12. Daisy by Marc Jacobs

13. Gucci by Gucci

14. Ninna by Ninna Ricci

15. Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker



...Yeap, this method is so much more dignified. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. If you've got a problem with it, let your complaints be known by sending one or more of the perfumes above to

Vera Ezimora


P. O. BOX 7893

Essex, MD 21221

United States of America


***All complaints that are not accompanied by @ least one bottle of perfume will NOT be attended to. Shikena!!***

Wedgie Over Here, Wedgie Over There...

Wedgie everywhere....!!! All in favor of comfortable underwear, say "Aye!!"

When it comes to underwears, I usually have only two major criterias: comfortable & colorful. I need it comfortable because my butt cheeks are worth it, darn it!. They deserve to be clothed and adorned in only the most comforable piece of attire, something fit for royalty...in a Hanes package, of course. It has to be colorful because, well, even though my butt cheeks do not have seven colors of the rainbow making their debut on them, they (my butt cheeks) still have the right to feel the rainbow.

I occasionally wear T-strings. Not thongs o! T-strings r the very thin ones. Thongs r too thick, and for me, that is just too much material to be getting stuck between my butt cheeks. The T-strings r much more comfortable. You hardly feel them. But then, that's just me. That being said, I don't wear them everyday or every week. I don't think I even wear them every month. I only wear one when necessary. You know there are some outfits that just look better without panty lines abeg...like those extra tight skirts, yes? *wink, wink*

I used to wear "regular underwears" with bikini strings by their sides. I can't remember what they were called. I stopped wearing them because I couldn't find them anymore. Well, I found them, but just not the ones I liked. I switched to the sporty bikini ones. They have ropes by their sides too, but the ropes are thicker, and not quite as fascinating. They were just too.... errrr.

I recently switched to boy shorts. My people, that was where my trouble started oh. Those boy shorts are big enough to be confused as booty shorts. In fact, they are sometimes called booty shorts, but of course, I wouldn't wear them outside. I wouldn't even wear a booty short outside anyway, so whatever. But why did I switch to boy shorts? The ones I found were coloful, and they looked comfy. But as I later came to find out, those underwears were just fine for nothing. They succeeded in giving me a wedgie every time. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have a wedgie from an underwear that is almost as big as a booty short? Do you know? Oh, the horror!! Several times, I found myself standing in public places and wiggling around like I had something crawling on me. They were never the kind of wedgies that I could discretely pull out. They were always the kinds I had to stand in a corner where no one was looking, put my hand in the back of my pants (trousers) and pull the darn underwear down. Sometimes, I even said, "Forget who is looking. I can't take this anymore!!" and yes, I dug in. It didn't matter where I was...Walmart...on the street, church, bank, Best Buy...whatever!! Desperate situationes call for desperate measures, right? All this suffering for the sake of wearing a colorful underwear???

This didn't happen like once or twice a day. It happened several times a day. The wedgies I got were just phenomenal. They could not be ignored. They were the wedgies from hell. Two weeks ago, I went out with my ever outspoken mom. I was wearing a tight khaki-colored capri, and I had a serious wedgie, as usual. Being @ a public place, I pretended it wasn't there. However...

Mom asked, "What kind of underwear are you wearing? I can see everything. It's giving you pafinga." So 'pafinga' is mom's word for wedgie. That was it! That did it! If mom who wears glasses and sometimes doesn't even recognize people could see that I had a chronic wedgie, then that meant that the rest of the world could see it too. So it was with a broken heart that I came to terms with the harsh reality of my love-hate affair: Boy shorts had to go!

I went shopping on Monday, and I am now the proud wearer of hipsters underwears. No wedgies. No pafinga. They sit on my hips, so they don't show when I bend over (which was another problem I had with the boy shorts. They were pretty, but I didn't care for everyone else to see them when I bent over). The hipsters underwears are pretty too. They're comfy. I have to admit that I am a bit psychologically bruised from having my butt cheeks hang out everywhere but inside the underwear they were intended to hang out in. Thank goodness for hipsters. I may need a Shrink to get over this one.

The real problem now is....what to do with all those boy shorts??? I really wish I had a husband. I would have put him to good use. My good ol' hubby woulda been modeling around for me in the boy shorts by now. He mighta even worn my heels and thrown on a pink scarf around his neck. Boy, I can't wait to be married. Sooooo many ideas!!

What Is In This Bag Sef?

Yesterday, I took my dear grandma to several stores to do some shopping. We started our journey before 3pm, at which time I had neither had breakfast nor lunch - big mistake. We went from store to store to store, looking for everything and getting almost nothing. I don't wanna say I hate shopping, but I hate shopping. I'm not someone who wants to spend an entire day in the mall going from store to store. If money weren't a hindrance, and I knew I could walk into any store and pick up as much as I wanted, then maybe I'd feel differently about shopping, but for now, I just wanna go and pick up the one (or few items) I came for.

But Grandma will not hear of it! Na so so waka waka we dey do up and down White Marsh Mall. And then all those little kiosk people that stay in the middle of the aisle of the mall always wanna sell you everything with a smile. One man wanted to convince me to buy windows to remodel my home. I don't even own a home. Abeg, waka jo! I think it's because I was smiling with them. After a while, I started boning. The hunger was getting to me too much. I was hungry, tired, sleepy, and cranky. My Grandma was busy asking if I was boning because I did not have my 'ula ndi ocha' (oyibo people's sleep). Just because I have refused to wake up @ 6 AM with the chickens like my Grandma, it means I am sleeping like oyibo people. So be it then.

Even though I was cranky, na so so laugh this woman dey make me laugh. Why did she want to enter Forever 21 to shop for herself? Me sef wey be grand-daughter, I have forgotten what it's like to be 21. Grandma, if na joke, stop am o! And then I went into Bath & Body Works to get some foot soak. I was talking to the store attendant while my grandma was looking around. By the time I was done shopping, my grandma had found something she wanted: one of those long brushes, the ones you use to scrub your back. It's not a sponge; it's an actual brush. Anyway, guess what this woman wanted to use it for? To scrub the sink! LOL. I couldn't control myself.

Anyway, you know there r no carts in the mall, so everything you buy, you have to carry around from store to store. My shoulders were aching. My back was aching. My neck was aching. I suffer no be small oh. Every time I had a chance, I dropped the shopping bags on the floor and held on to my ertra large purse/handbag. But then, I still felt heavy. It was then that it dawned on me that my bag was wayyyy too heavy. When I came home, I decided to investigate the issue of the rather heavy bag and see what it was that was making it so heavy. Let's examine, shall we?

1. My daily planner

2. MP3 charger. Have never needed it outside my house since I started carrying it.

3. Big black bottle of pepper spray. Have never needed this either. Besides, the attacker for don wound be finish b4 I bring am out abi? See as the thing big reach.

4. Make-up Bag. Totally useless. I have an idential one in my glove compartment, and I don't wear make-up everyday. I've only needed that one once.

5. Cell phone earpiece. Don't use it.

6. Little brown bag for coins

7. Yellow Wallet.

8. MP3 player, earpiece, and their own personal pink pouch. Don't use my mp3 player either. And I have a little one in the car too.

9. Bottle of lotion

10. Bottle of Scope mouth wash

11. Little silver bottle of Victoria's Secret Perfume

12. White packet of flossers.

13. USB

14. Spare key for my car

15. Extra memory card (just in case I forget my regular memory card in my laptop and carry an empty camera out. Experience has taught me a lesson!)

16. Advil pain reliever. I've barely needed this. Most times, other people need it

17 Pink Lip Gloss. Don't even use it anymore.

18. Nail Cutter: Sometimes I need to cut my nails urgently, and I don't like using people's nail cutter(s)

19. Purple/Lilac spiral index card book. Dunno why I have this.

20. Extra Pens.

21. Hair Bands. Just in case the one on my hair gets lost or breaks/cuts. Don't like my hair touching my neck. Have to have it held up.

22. Little Black & white book: Have no idea what it's for.

23. Bluetooth earpiece

24. Another lip gloss

25. Mac Lip Conditioner (the best!!!)

26. Clear nail Polish

27. Little Note Book. To take notes/ideas down for articles et al when I'm not home or by my compura.

So abeg, make una helep me. What should I get rid of? Don't think of telling me to get rid of the flossers or the mouth wash coz it ain't happening!

Current Facebook Status (updated Sunday): Vera had a very long day and would appreciate a massage right about now. *whispering*...call me!

He Had Me @ Hello

On Wednesday, I went to Sam's Club to buy some stuff. My intention was to pay cash for some stuff, and then pay with my card for the rest because I needed change to go to the African Store, and I don't like paying with card @ the African store. No, I don't trust my own people. Sad, I know.

Anyway, I was in line, very distracted, thinking about God-knows-what. Prior to it being my turn to pay, I had everything figured out. I knew exactly what items I was going to pay for with cash and what items I was gonna pay for with my card. It got to my turn, I offloaded my items from my cart, and then the cashier said, "Hello, how are you doing today?" Kai! My people, that was how this boy just scattered my brain. He even had the balls to expose his white set of teeth and show me his beaurriful smile. It didn't help that his voice was nice too. Yes, I have a male-voice fetish.

All the time I had been standing in line, I had not realized just how fine the cashier was. If I had, I would have switched lanes with immediate alacrity. Why? Fine boys confuse me. They disrupt me. They discombobulate me. I don't stand and stare or gawk at them, so it's not like they make me walk into poles or something (na jazz?!). It's more of a mental thing. I'm usually organized (even mentally. I mean, I arrange my thoughts too!). Fine boys just throw me off and make me forget what I was doing/thinking. They spoil things. They wreck my mind. They make a total mess of my mental plans. They --- well, you get the idea.

All this boy had to say was, 'hello,' and next thing I knew, I was sliding my card and paying for everything. As I was signing for my transaction, I was thinking to myself, 'You big dummy, you weren't supposed to put everything on your card.' Funny thing is, I'm not someone who is so big on looks when it comes to dating. I mean, I cannot define physical beauty to you. I tend to fall for other things like the voice, the crazy sense of humor, playfulness, intelligence, not being into parties (or at least being partied out)...etc. I mean, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right? I'm usually the one who says a guy is fine and then friends are looking @ me like I've lost my good sense. So yeah, other things attract me first, I think.

As if that was not bad enough, the boy even smiled at me when I was leaving and told me to have a nice day. Nice day, my foot! lol. Okay, obviously, he was only doing his job, but I needed him to not do it so well. It was messing with my psychology. Fine boys are a distraction for real. I suddenly feel like writing an entire article about what I want from my husband. Hmmmm. Interesting.

Note to my future husband: Don't be threatened by this admission. I might space out of our conversation for a few seconds (minutes) when a fine boy is passing, but it will never, ever change how I feel about you.

Father Of Mine

It's not my Dad's birthday today, but I just feel like blogging about him. Let's say I want you to know a bit about the man whose loins I have made proud (eww). Maybe I'll blog about my mom next time.

In my XX years on earth, I still think my dad is the funniest man ever. He says and does the silliest things. He says & does things that really make me stay up late @ night & ponder about his sanity. Like...

When he farts (and I mean long, loud, stinky farts), he forces us (including my mom) to all hail him, "Ogbuefi!" I think that is the silliest thing ever. It's bad enough that you have farted; now you want me to praise you on top of it?

***He won't let us leave the room when he farts. We must inhale the bomb.

***He has an unnatural love for cashew nuts, and I think I love them just as much. Only thing is that I'm afraid of pimples.

***He's late for EVERYTHING. If he weren't his own boss, I'm sure he would have been fired for lateness.

***When I was in Naija, we used to go late to church for the dumbest things. Usually, it was because my dad was fascinated by the hens & cocks that were perambulating our compound. So instead of getting ready for church, he'd sit outside and watch them. The funny thing is, I became fascinated by them too. I used to just sit outside & watch them @ odd times.

***Dad would miss church sometimes and tell us to go ahead, claiming that he would stay home and pray the rosary instead. When we're leaving the house, dad would already be on his knees reciting the thing. When we come back almost two hours later, the man will still be in the same position - except this time his eyes will be red. But he'll claim he wasn't sleeping oh. It's just that he decided to pray the rosary more than once. Yeah, right! lol.

***He has a remarkable ability. He can tell the resemblance between a human being and almost anything. He told some lady that she looked like a maggot. Honestly, she really did look like a maggot. I have come to realize that people often look like weird things to me too. Like this very handsome guy friend of mine who looks like cabin biscuit. I also know someone who looks like a carrot. And I know this man who looks like a cat. But don't misunderstand me; they're not ugly @ all oh. They just look like other things to me.

***My dad always gets confused on those roundabout things on the road. He never goes around them once. He must go @ least twice.

***He's very, very careless. Every time we give him the keys to the house, he loses them. We stopped giving them to him.

***My dad swears that snails look like vajayjays. I don't eat snails, but the fact that he even said they look like vajayjays makes them even less appealing. Yuck!!! But he eats them oh. He eats anything.

***He's a meat lover. He says, 'the maggot in a fish is the meat, so eat them all.'

I could go on & on about this man, but how much time do you have? I look very much like my father, and we get along pretty darn well. He calls me, 'mummy' coz his mom has gone to a better place (I never met her). I think I blush when he calls me that. lol. Needless to say, I treat the man like my baby. When he falls asleep on the couch, I cover him up. I dust his shoes for him, I eat with him, I sit on his laps... I do everything. So anyway, maybe it's because of him I am 'weird.' I got my weird genes from him. He got them from his mother. He looks a lot like her. Her name was Susan. He was gonna name me Susan....but Vera happened.

This Is For You, Bumight

Yes, I know you have changed your name, but I like Bumight better. For those that are wondering why I am dedicating an entire post to Bumight, it is because a while ago, she put up a handwritten post - something I told her to never, ever do, so before I even read the post, I left a comment reminding her that I had warned her to never subject me to read her handwriting. It was only after commenting that I went back to read and realized she also had a typed version, specially for me. Oops. I apologized oh, but my darling Bumight insisted that I dedicate an entire post to her, so Bumight, this one here is for you.

Bumight, my darling, my love, my sugar, sweetie, it is with a broken heart that I approach you on this semi-cloudy day in Baltimore, begging and pleading that you forgive me. You know what you mean to me, baby, but just in case you don't know, I will remind you. You, Bumight are the only fungi on my feet, the only rashes on my neck, the only birth mark on my middle left toe, the only maggot in my fish, the only insect in my beans. You're my darling, Bumight.

From the bottom of the bottom of my heart, I plead that you forgive me. From the stretch marks that have appeared on my hips (due to rapid stretching), I plead that you forgive me. From the mysterious brown dot that resides on my left butt cheek, I plead that you forgive me. [I am still investigating this brown dot, and I am currently seeking extra hands and eyes. Touching and kissing of Vera's bum might be necessary. All interested candidates, please apply]. I am tempted to put a picture of the brown dot, but I will respect myself. From my belly button which has recoiled and disappeared into a hole where I cannot reach it or pull it out, I am sorry.

From my right butt cheek which still bears that scar I got when I refused to stay still while my father was injecting me at the age of 5, I am sorry. I am also tempted to put up a picture of this scar, but once again, respect - more like shame - has won. From my arms which are still tanned and discolored from standing under the sun for too long in May, I am sorry. From my thighs which seem to be lighter than the rest of my body, I am sorry. From my armpits which take FOREVER to grow hair, I am sorry. From my eyes which have been described as 'Chinese,' I am sorry. From my elbows which are crazily darker than my arms, I am sorry.

Bumight, ever since that post of yours, I have not slept. Sleep has not found me. I have gone around searching for sleep, but she has hidden her face from me. Please, say you have forgiven me, so that normalcy can be restored to my life. I want to begin to live Verastically again. I have neither eaten nor drunk. I have not even blinked or taken a breath. That is how much you affect my life, Bumight.

From the very first time I set my eyes on you, I knew I had to have you. Forgive what I said on your blog. Like I told you, it was our enemies that wrote through me. The fact of the matter is that I find your handwriting to be very, very beautiful (tongue in cheek), and once upon a time, I used to write like that when I was about two years old. But these our haters, they want to come between our love, Bumight. They are trying to separate us. But how can one separate rice from beans? Okay, fine. Maybe rice & beans can be separated, but we are a different kind of rice & beans. We are the original, 100% rice & beans.

To prove my love and dedication, I am willing to do the unbelievable. All you have to do is drop out of that yeye med school of yours. I've told you that you're not even on their level sef. You're better than allllll of them, including the teachers. Drop out and open your own hospital - Bumight & Sons International Hospital Plc. Together, we will perform an open heart surgery on a blogger of our choice. I personally think we should start with that Afrobabe of a girl who always goes around commenting first on everyone's blog. Once I get her out of my way, I can move up the ladder. If the surgery does not succeed.... i.e. if Afrobabe ends up being less alive than she was before the surgery, we will hide the body under Naijaleta's bed. No reason for picking Naijaleta. He's just been on my mind lately. [Naijaleta, gerrout of my mind! This is invasion of privacy!]. The evidence of the attempted surgery will be erased. No1 will ever know we even attempted it.

So Bumight, my love, what say you?

See Me See Wahala O

Before I go any further, I wanna take full responsibility for this outlandish situation that I now find myself in. Yes, it was my fault. Yes, I have learnt my lesson. No, I will never make such a mistake (I hope).

I met TAB @ a wedding a few months ago. He asked for my number and I gave it. Why? I dunno. I guess I was tryna be nice. (Chemistry = zero. Attraction for him = zero. Possible Future = NEGATIVE). The wedding was on a Saturday. Three days later (Tuesday), he called for the first time, saying he called to hear his baby's voice before going to bed. Hold Up!!! Baby?? Who? When? Tufai kwa!

TAB lives in a different State, so I have not seen him since that wedding months ago, thank God. He has tried to come and visit me several times, but I've been coming up with excuses. What am I gonna be seeing him for?? For a while, there was no communication between us. Well, there was a one-way communication. He comminicated. I didn't respond. So he stopped calling. Recently, he started calling again. I spoke to him once. Other times, we just texted. I told him clearly that under NO circumstance will I enter any kind of relationship with him. Problem? TAB apparently doesn't understand anything I'm saying. Either that, or I'm speaking alien.

Oh, did I mention that TAB is very guilty of four of my major pet peeves??
1. He can't speak English - although he's a college graduate.
2. He can't write English - this is evident in the fact that I cannot understand his texts.
3. He can't spell English - he just spells something that he thinks is English.
4. He doesn't understand ANYTHING I say. Does any1 know how 2 translate alien?

He doesn't know my last name, I think. He'll never discover this blog, I hope. Will that stop me from blogging about him? Abso-freaking-lutely not! I'll show you exact texts that have been shared between us. I'm not gonna edit the spellings or any kinda errors, so that you can see what I have been seeing. The texts you see here are exactly the same way on my phone.

Wednesday, Aug 27th 2008. 12:49 AM
TAB: Hi I am not happy with u response why all this yanga

Me: What yanga are you talking about now?

TAB: I told u that I wanna come see u since then u are telling me this week I have a wdeng next week not sure thats yanga I mean the business when I saw u I think u are d one

Me: TAB, I cannot be the one. I told you I don't even want a relationship. I am not the one.

TAB: What do u want I love 2 take care of lady but I hate yanga

Me: This is not yanga. This is me saying no.

TAB: Saying no to what? 2 me?

Me: To you and to a relationship. I cannot give you what you want.

TAB: I want u but I not cracy about u but I got feeling 4 u if I am chanced.

He spelt crazy as cracy. That was the last straw. At this point, I didn't even bother replying again. I just went 2 bed.

Wed, Aug 27th 2008. 8:48 PM
TAB: Why are u still make things hard 4 me?

Me: I'm not making things hard for you. You're not crazy about me. I'm not crazy about you. What are we supposed to be doing with each other?

TAB: Ok I m cracy about u thats is why am still asking u

Me: I don't have time for these games, TAB. You've already said you're not crazy about me and that's fine with me. Whether you're crazy about me or not doesn't matter because I do NOT want a relationship with you. Please understand what I am saying. I am trying very hard to not be mean to you but you're making this very difficult.

TAB: Whao u said u don't wanna to be mean this is my point there nothing wrong in disagree 2 agree let move on 2 d next chapter.

Me: And what is the next chapter?

TAB: To know each other differences dos n dont personality etc. That will help in building a strong n good relationship it will to allow each other for who we are n makes us 2 be constructive n criticising

Me: So you didn't understand me when I said I didn't want a relationship, right? Goodnight, TAB.

TAB: Goodnight my Vera (your Vera??? Boy, you done lost yo mind!)

Ever since then, TAB has successfully sent @ least one message everyday. I don't bother replying anyone of them. Two days ago, he sent this one, "Hi I havent hear from u for a while all am looking for is good woman that is going to be committed caring n loving I am trying 2 communicate this 2 u but if u cannot this requirements let me know then I make a pick d day I saw u"

My response? None. For starters, I don't even understand the text. If any of you wonderful readers understand it, please do explain it to me. I cannot burn valuable brain cells trying to decipher this jargon. The fact that TAB has my number is embarassing enough to me sef. Can you just imagine me and him having a conversation? I will be bald by the end of it because frustration and anger would have led me to pull out all my hair. If I were dead and TAB came to my grave to ask me out, I will wake up and say, HELL NO!!! If I were to take a man like TAB to my parents, they will definitely be disowning me. How will he talk with my parents? I have a blunt, sometimes-impatient mother and a very, very sarcastic father. Oh, and a Grandma who looks sweet as can be but her words can hurt a rock. The rest of my family will gladly tell him to repeat everything he said, just so that they can laugh. Lai lai.

Mr. TAB, abeg just arrange your dignity and leave me alone oo! You are beneath my capacity! Gosh, I've been longing to say that for so long. I dunno why I keep volunteering myself into this kind of trouble. I need to go wash my head in the river 4 real. The question I keep asking myself is: How and why did I let this get this far? Better yet, why did I even let it start in the first place?

Anyway, after you're done answering my questions and explaining TAB's text message(s), please take a minute to welcome a new blogger, Temite

Positively Obsessed

I have a very obsessive mind...as I have now come to acknowledge. I'm not obsessive-compulsive, but my mind easily gets stuck on one issue. For as long as I can remember, this has always been one of the things about me that even I cannot fathom. Now, here are a few of favorite things. And yes, I am currently very obsessed with thinking about them. I just cannot figure them out, and that drives me insane....!



On Saturday, I attended a cookout. Twas nice....lotsa people, most of whom I did not know. A young girl/lady who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties approached me, shook my hand, and said, "Nice to finally meet you. Don't worry about where I know you from, but it's nice to finally meet you." So of course, I have a new thought to be obsessed with. Who was she? Was she a blogger? (Honestly, for a minute, I wondered if she was SolomonSydelle coz SolomonSydelle is the only Maryland blogger Icould think of). Was she a reader? WHO. WAS. SHE? The fact that I'm blogging about it today tells you that I still don't know. I cannot stop thinking about it. I probably will not stop thinking about it - until I find out, that is. So dear, anonymous hand shaker, please reveal thy self. Biko. I beg of thee.


Take a look @ this pencil. Now, someone tell me why this pencil has two mouths. Every time I see my mom using it, I just feel like snatching it out of her hands and breaking one mouth off. Whose idea was it to sharpen two mouths onto this poor pencil? Why will one pencil be entitled to two mouths? It's not like you can write with both of them at once. Besides, what happens when I make a mistake and need to erase it? What kind of pencil comes without an eraser? Am I the only one who doesn't find this to be mind-boggling? And then again, the pencil has the words 'Happy Birthday' inscribed on it. Whose birthday?? Alright, enough of the two-mouthed pencil b4 I snap.



Sometime in April or maybe May, I went to Shoppers' grocery store, and I was passing by the aisle where they have baked goods. They had doughnuts, muffins, croissants etc. Then I saw this sign: Shoppers' World Famous Colossol Doughnuts. Errrrr. World famous??? Since when? Until I saw that sign, I don't think I even knew that Shoppers made douughnuts. And now they had the nerves to call their doughnuts world famous?? Oh, please! So I went back there today, just to take a picture of the sign, but sadly, it was gone and now replaced with that a new one. Now, their doughnuts eat other doughnuts for breakfast. Well, whatever. I'm glad that I got a chance to finally blog about this. I have been thinking about it since April or May.

I passed this stop sign about two weeks ago. I couldn't help but notice the weed growing behind it. I actually went back to that street today with my camera to go take a picture of the sign. And no, the road wasn't even on my way. I actually drove there today just to take this picture. I parked the car and came out, just to take a picture of this sign. Why? I'm very puzzled by why and how the weed started growing behind the sign. The sign is metal/iron. It's silly, I know, but I have not been able to stop thinking about it ever since I spotted it. What if the weed grows long enough to completely cover the stop sign? Will a person still be given a ticket for running the sign? Hmmmm. I wonder.

There Is A God Somewhere

Yesterday, (Saturday August 24th), I attended a wedding. It was really nice, of course. The blushing, glowing bride was gorgeous! The dashing groom was practically floating in his agbada. Love was in the air. Music was blasting thru the speakers, and people were doing all sorts of dance moves. Whether they were in sync with the music or not is a story for another day.

I went into the reception hall hoping to attract as little attention as possible because I was late. Instead, I got lots & lots of attention. Apparently, my outfit was HAWT. I cannot count how many people said they loved the outfit and asked who made it. I said 'Thank You' so many times that I automatically assumed anyone that so much as looked @ me was about to compliment me. One lady asked how I was doing and I replied with 'Thank You.' Oops. Well, it's not my fault jo. I was all that and a bag of chips. Forget what you know. I was stylin & profilin.

I was feeling so cute that I didn't have time to dance well. I needed to perambulate the hall, so that those who didn't see me would see me. I even thought of taking the mic from the mc to give this speech, "Good Evening, everyone. My name is Vera Ezimora. I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has complimented my outfit tonight. For those who have not, I realize that the lines to get to me are a little long, so you're welcome to send all your compliments to P. O. BOX 7893. Essex MD 21221. Thank you in advance. And I'll be signing autographs in front of the high table - directly in front of the bride & the groom."

I couldn't go thru this wedding without something funny happening to me. Just as every other story I have told you, I was jejely sitting down minding my own Verastic business when some man who could not have been less than ten years younger than my father came in front of me and began to roll his hips for me. All I could see in front of me was his groin shooting out. If you were looking @ this man from behind, you would have thought he was giving me a lap dance. Or worse case scenario, fellatio was going on. What else coulda had his hips gyrating like that?? Shamelessly shameless, I tell you.

Was I embarrassed? You. Have. No. Idea.

I have never seen this man in my life before. I don't know what he was attempting to do: makossa dance, public seduction of Vera, public display of hips flexibility, wooing of Vera, or public embarrassment of Vera. He succeeded in doing the last one.

I pushed him away. BEGGED him to stop in the name of love... b4 he breaks my heart... further. He left and still came back three times! And he had the nerves to ask why I had not taken his picture with my camera. Of course, I took his picture - not because I wanted to, but because my friends were gone and I needed them to see this nuisance of a man. And no, I will not post it up here. You never know who might be reading this biko.

But Mr. Hip Gyrator was just an unwelcome distration. I had my eyes on Mr. Contagious [Smile]. We shared a little more than a couple of words between each other and lots and lots of confusing smiles. I sat there pretending to be looking @ my camera, but I wasn't. I was tryna send a nonverbal message. I didn't want to have the don't-talk-to-me look on my face, and @ the same time, I didn't wanna have the please-talk-to-me look, so I settled on the I'm-too-busy-pretending-to-look-at-my-camera-to-notice-you're-staring-at-me look.

At the end of the day, we said our goodbyes in between lots & lots of mysterious smiles. That smile of his was contagious. He just kept on smiling, and I smiled right back. And it wasn't the fake smile I gave him. It was not the please-stop-smiling-at-me-you're-freaking-me-out smile. It was not the what-the-heck-is-so-funny smile, and it was not the yeah-whatever smile. It was the God-I-love-your-smile-so-please-keep-smiling smile. How could one not smile back @ that smile? It was so easy, peaceful, beautiful, calming, and contagious.

No, no, I'm not in love. Just saying there is obviously a God somewhere. Off I go to tell God how I want Him to plan our next chance meeting.

Bananas & Tomatoes

I was driving this morning and almost entering someone else's lane...all because I was trying to peel a banana respectfully, whatever that might mean. So there I was, innocently holding the steering wheel with my left hand and holding the half-way-peeled banana in my right hand, trying to take a bite....which meant putting the banana in my mouth, head first.



Then I looked to my right and saw this oyinbo boy giving me this erotic look. Honestly, I was not trying to do anything naughty to this banana, especially while driving at sixty-five miles per hour on the highway! Anyway, what could I do but laugh?

But it got me thinking. I remember when I was in elementary school in Naija - the age of learning the baddest words. I was in Primary II when I learnt what a 'prick' was. I still don't know why it was called a prick. Was it because of its ability to prick?? Oh, well. I have long found a new name for that member of the body. And no, I do not wish to discuss it. But in order not to be considered as 'rotten' or 'bad,' we often called it banana instead, which made & still makes sense.



I lived in the North (Jos, Plateau State), so we called the female genitalia 'toto' which is vagina in Hausa. But what I do not understand is why toto was also called tomato. What exactly is the resemblance?? The color? The textture? Ugh...! The shape? Goodness, please...not the shape! LOL! Maybe it's its ability to squirt out liquid. Hmmm. That's a very disturbing thought because tomato's liquid comes with seeds!




I do not know about everyone else, but I do not squirt out seeds. If I did, I would have grown more than a few hundred Verastic trees by now. I have had my fair share of peeing on the soil (and it was the good soil too, not that sandy soil that was poor for agriculture). You can thank boarding school for that.


I bet it had to be a man who came up with the idea that tomato somehow looks like toto. Tomato is a fruit that is eaten as a vegetable. It seems to me like tomato is a confused specie, much like the female specie...as men would always gladly say. Besides, what kind of tomato were my Primary II school boys referring to? Plum tomato? Round tomato? Cluster tomato? Heirloom tomato? What???

Don't tell me I'm the only one who is scratching my head and wondering what kind of tomato I am... or was??? I'm tempted to put up a picture of each kind of tomato, but I'll respect myself. LOL. I don't want you to think I'm crazier than you already think I am.

Mr. Slow

Why do I keep doing this 2 myself? I went to see a movie with this guy. Let's call him Mr. Slow. Honestly, he's slow. I think he stays on slow motion. The way he talks, the things he says...goodness! So why did I subject myself to such cruelty? I don't know. I wasn't thinking anything could come out of our movie event. In fact, the only reason I decided to see the movie was because I wanted a situation with the least amount of talking.

So off we went to see the movie. Everything was going great - not because of him, but because of the movie. I was enjoying the movie. We got to the end of the movie and some nice romantic song started playing. Can you believe that this dude started singing right along with the song? Oh! My! Goodness! To say that I was humiliated will be an understatement. Why did he have to sing?

On a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being the worst), his voice was like 20. And he wasn't even trying to sing under his breath. He was singing out loud confidently. Someone had to have told him that he sounded good. Where else could he have summoned the courage to belch the lyrics of that beautiful song, in spite of sounding like a toad? Not only did he not know how to sing, he also didn't even know the lyrics. Whew! Somebori, say it isn't so, please. I was pissed the heck off!

My blood was boiling hot. It was so hot that it was about 10 degrees above hell. Yes, I was that pissed off. Pissed off and embarrassed. All I needed was for those White people to vex and start stoning me with their popcorn and fries. If that had happened ehn, Mr. Slow would have known a different side of me. I would have shown him what hot water does to garri.

As if that is not funny enough, he actually thinks we're in a relationship. LOL. Where did he get that idea, you ask? Who knows? He and I never had such a conversation. Which kin relationship by default be this one? I don't even know how to start laughing anymore. If this is my enemies' way of getting to me, they have failed! I refuse to be tricked into homicide. Yes, my enemies are trying to make me date someone whom I will surely end up killing, but they have failed. LOL.

Why NOT To Chill In A Public Restroom

Techinically, I wasn't chilling. I went in there for a reason. Heaven knows that I only pee in a public restroom when I have to, so I definitely will not be going in there to chill. What the puck! Yes, I said 'puck'. I learnt it from Funmi's three year old baby who said, 'what the puck?' I thought it was so cute, so now I say it every now & then. Well, I don't mean cute as in awwww, she said her first f-word, but cute as in awww, she mispronounced it. Okay, obviously, there is no way for me to say this and meaningfully justify or explain the cuteness of a three year old saying 'puck'. And if you're wondering, the baby learnt it from Funmi's younger brother. And no, I do not at any time of my life - consciously or unconsciously - include the f-word in my vocabulary. Back to my post...

On Monday, July 27th 2008, I was to meet someone at Macy's. I picked Macy's as the spot because I was going to go do some laptop window shopping @ Best Buy which was a few blocks down. As it turned out, I was too tired & exhausted to go to Best Buy, so I just went to Macy's. I was even too tired to shop - not that I had the money sha. My eyes were a bit pink, revealing the limited sleep I had the night before. I literally dragged myself through Macy's. I was even too tired to sniff perfumes, so you gotta believe me when I say I was tired. All I did was circle the shoe section and try on as many shoes as I could, nothing strenuous. About five different women asked me if I needed help. Wetin na?? I no fit try shoe for free again??? *hiss*

When the time to meet the person was getting close, I decided to do myself a favor and go to the restroom to 'powder my nose.' Who even coined this phrase? Does any1 actually go in2 the restroom to powder their nose? Once you enter the bathroom, there are two aisles - one by the left and one by the right. I went to the aisle by the left. I cleaned the leather couch in there and put my bag on it. Alas, I was finally going to use the little make-up I had been carrying in my bag for ages.

My people, there I was oh, jejely opening my blush kini when some Oyibo lady walked in. The haste with which she had walked in should have told me that all wasn't well. This lady went into the stall behind me and next thing I heard was ppppprprrrruuuuuuu ppppprrrruuuuuu prrrrrruuuuuu. Goodness! That one na proper cholera o. I just packed my stuff and quickly ran to the other aisle. Before I could even get to the end of that aisle, a powerful stench almost blew me away. In fact, I was blown away. I didn't have to look far to notice the big feet in a pair of athletic shoes inside one of the stalls. Me sef, I begin dey wonder whether na man abi na woman wey dey inside stall. I had to organize myself o. So yes, I just left the bathroom completely.

Fifteen minutes later, I went back in. I saw the first lady coming out of the bathroom. The look on her face was, "Uh oh, she knows what I did in there." Me sef, the look I hoped was on my own face was, "Yes, I know what you did in there." So the stalls were free. Awesome. I went back to the left aisle of the bathroom because Mrs. Big Feet was still in her stall on the right aisle. I was just beginning oh when some Mexican - to be politically correct, let's call her Hispanic/Latino/Spanish - woman went to that same stall (the one where Mrs. Guilty Shitter had just exited), and before I could blink, she started her own session.

You've gotta be kidding me! That's what I was thinking. Which kin nonsense temptation be that na? The only thing worse than smelling of shit is smelling of someone else's shit. So I ran out of the bathroom again. About ten minutes later, I went back to the right aisle. This time, Mrs. Big Feet wasn't there anymore. I was able to successfully finish powdering my nose and combing my hair to look presentable. Thank God I also had perfume in my bag - two for that matter. Some day, I'll blog about all the crap in my bag.

I washed my hands and left the bathroom, but then I realized I didn't have lotion in my bag. I decided to go to the lotion/perfume section to get a little dab of lotion. As if I had not been traumatized enough, I was walking towards the perfume and lotion section when some nosy Black lady who was waiting for her friend to try on shoes asked me if I had gotten a makeover from Mac. Means what?! Did I look that jacked up before? Of course, I didn't ask. I think I knew what the answer would have been.

To compensate for all the mental injury that Macy's and its customers had caused me, I went to the lotion/perfume aisle and poured some of the lotion (Unforgiveable Woman by Sean John) into my little lotion bottle. Wetin? No be steal I steal am now. Na sample I dey sample. Honestly, I had been planning on going to Victoria's Secret to get more lotion, but there I was, in a section full of several sample lotions. Ah, I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by oh. I filled up on my bottle sharp sharp! In fact, when this lotion finishes, I shall revisit Macy's and fill up with a new kinda lotion. Who knew that such an expensive, nice-smelling lotion could come at such an affordable price?

As for those women who wanted to reperfume me with the stench of their shit, e no go better for them @ allll. If no be say I don change sef, I for don invoke cholera for their side.

Now that you're done laughing at me, please take a moment to read my new article, Poles Apart. Thanks!!

Aloofar, I Dare You!

Before I continue this post, I just wanna say that my reason for updating today is because Lil Miss QMoney (yes, I said 'lil') thinks I am so predictable. Apparently, I have been updating on Tuesdays for the past four weeks. So now, Lil Miss Qmoney has been expecting updates on Tuesdays. So Qmoney, how you like me now?! The predictable Vera has now become the predictably unpredictable Vera ehn? Hehehehehehe. I laugh in Igbo.

So QMoney, for all you know sef, I might just decide to update on Wednesday next time. Or Thursday. Or Friday. Okay, to make the long story short, I might just decide to update on any other day apart from Tuesday...and Monday, of course (since this post you're reading was posted on Monday).

Now, back to the reason for this post, that Lil Mister Aloofar (yes, I said 'lil' again), how far can he really go? So the story is that I wrote - more like yelled - on Aloofar's comment box, asking - more like ordering, demanding, and commanding - him to update before I vex finish. And the Lil guy had the effrontery and ordercity to come back and threaten to do me something.

So Aloofar, I want you to come and do me something right now. Whatever that something is, do it to me. This is a dare. I am daring you to come and do whatever it is that you have threatened to do to me. Abi you dey fear? No fear oh. I no dey bite - yet.

*Singing* Oh oh, e get as e dey do me, do me, do me, do me...na the way you dey do me-ey! Boy, I love the way you do me, do me, do me, do me, do me......

I'm Having Twins!!!

To say that I am thrilled will be an understatement. Yes, I, Vera Ezimora, am having twins. I know what you're thinking.... Vera didn't tell us she's pregnant.

Okay, rewind.

Did I ever tell you how slow a cook I am? I am not the sort that people should depend on when they're really hungry - unless I'm just gonna make them a bowl of cereal. In the time I would use to cook one meal, you would have already had breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And even snacks in between. Anyway, I have been cooking moi moi since 1pm on Sunday. It is past 12 AM on Tuesday and I just got done. Don't ask me how that happened. Just keep in mind that it took me 8 hours to wash the beans.

Fast-foward to how I found out I'm having twins.

I put half of an egg in each moi moi. So there I was, throwing half an egg in each moi moi when I noticed this twin egg. Two chicks would have hatched from this egg. In case you didn't know, I have always dreamt of having twins, so finding this twin egg was a sign. You know what I did? I didn't put the egg in any moi moi. I ate it! Yeap, I sure did. I even prayed over it before eating. As the Lord has made two chicks (yolks) in this egg, so shall one of my eggs produce two [identical] babies. Amen. So now, I'm convinced that I will be having twins.

For the record, I am not currently pregnant. And I'm not trying to get pregnant. In fact, I am not doing anything that can make me pregnant - all pun intended. But when I do become pregnant, I will be having twins. If they are the same sex, I would prefer for them to be confusingly identical.

All that I can say to you wonderful readers is that you need to start saving money for my twins. Open up special bank accounts for them if you have to. On second thoughts, you don't need to save the money. Just start sending the gifts immediately. Sigh.

***Rubbing my tummy***

I think I hear some sounds in my tummy; they must be sounds of my future twins kicking. Actually, I think it's just the Peak milk I put in my garri that is stirring things up. The darn milk gives me gas!

Opportunities

I spent my weekend @ Ocean City, Maryland, but I will blog about the experience when I update later. For now, there are a few things I have to mention.

My Contant Info:

So apparently, it has been next to impossible to get me on the phone. Oops. The other day, I managed to listen to the voicemail, and I started returning calls from April. LOL. Anyway, all that has changed now. However, if you do call me and I don't pick up. please leave a message that includes your name & number. I'll have a mighty hard time returning calls with no messages. So now, you have three ways of contacting me, and they are all current.

Address: P. O. BOX 7893
Essex MD 21221
USA

Email: vera@verastic.com

Number: 443-934-9039

I'll be looking forward to hearing from you all.

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Event Planning

If you live in the MD/DC area and need an affordable event planner for your event (wedding, party, whatever), then email enneventplanning@yahoo.com And yes, I am 'affiliated' with Enn. Shoot, I just might be planning your next event! *wink, wink*

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Kitu Kizuri Interview

I'm gonna be writing a new article for Kitu Kizuri, and I need to interview single African women who are at least 25 years old. If you're interested, please contact me ASAP. Feel free to send me a snail mail, an e-mail, or just call.

Criteria:
1. Must be female & African
2. Must be at least 25.
3. Must be single. (Single as in neither married, engaged, nor in a relationship).

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A short film is being shot (or about to be shot), so if you live around (or can make it to) the MD/DC area, then read the following:

Nigerian Actor(s) needed for Short Student Film in Washington, DC

We need a young (age 23 to a young looking 28), tall, and well dressedAfrican (most ideally Nigerian) actor to be a short film shooting inDC during the last weekend of August. The actor be able expressemotions with very little direction. He must be able to speak in anauthentic African and American accent. He must be able to speak"Pidgen" or broken English as well. The role requires some basic dancemoves. There will be dance and blocking practices in early or midAugust that he MUST be able to attend in order to seal the role.

We are also casting for a supporting Female role. She must be in herearly to mid 20's, well dressed and have a GREAT sense of humor. Weneed a very witty girl. The part is small, but very fun and greatexposure for the right actress.

Summary--Through a series of wacky dreams, a young Nigerian manrealizes that that his Bollywood obsessed ex-girlfriend is truly theone for him.

This is a no pay gig, but we can offer the chosen one film credit, acopy of the film, food, jokes, kindness and fun!

If interested, please send a headshot and resume to aikwueme@gmail.com. Also, include a phone number so we can contact you.

Enigma

You’re supposed to change your toothbrush every three months, right? I think so. Anyway, I change mine like every six to eight weeks. Why? I brush too hard and too often – apparently. In the morning, I brush at least twice, but most times three times, and I brush at night too. So in a day, I brush about four to six times. And then, of course, I floss and use Listerine mouth wash at least once a day. Weird?

See these two tooth brushes? The one by the left belongs to my mom, and the one by the right belongs to me. The thing is, my mom started using her tooth brush about two weeks before I started using mine. So why does mine look like I’ve been using it since we entered the new millennium? It probably has something to do with me being unable to withstand the temptation of chewing the bristles of my toothbrush. Why do I chew the bristles? This is just one of the many enigmas in my Verastic life.



Look at the bottom of the toothbrushes sef. On my mom’s toothbrush, you can see ‘Colgate’ written at the bottom. Mine is completely wiped off. When I brushed my teeth two days ago and found stray bristles on my tongue (that I almost swallowed, by the way), I realized three things: (1). I need to change my toothbrush. (2). I need to stop chewing the bristles of my toothbrush. (3). I might need psychotherapy. Could the chewing of my toothbrush be related to some deep childhood trauma? What could it be?? I think it happened when I was a little girl, about 6 or 7 and was forced to use McClean toothpaste instead of Close-Up. I hated McClean! I loved the red, seemingly transparent toothpaste. Oh, mommy…what have you done to me? I know what you’re thinking: what does Close-Up toothpaste have to do with chewing your bristles? Yeah, whatever!

Speaking of my toothbrush, for the past two weeks I have been suffering from a mysterious illness that apparently has no cure. It’s called the HARD & ITCHING NIPPLES SYNDROME. I am not quite sure why they have been mysteriously getting hard and itching. I have scratched and scratched and scratched, yet relief has been far and in between. The itch has been like a mosquito bite: ridiculously itching, sweet to scratch, but tantamount to causing tear and a permanent scar. My nipples, of course, are the last places I wanna have cuts and/or scars.

Last week, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I did the only thing I could think of doing: I went into the bathroom and put my toothbrush to good use. Yeap, I scratched the heck out of those nipples. They don’t itch anymore, but they still get unnecessarily hard (when is it ever necessary?). This, of course, is also an enigma.

Anyway, you might not have noticed, but I just included my address. I figured you all have been dying to send me hand-written letters. LOL. Please, feel very free to include some gifts – you know the usual…perfumes and Range Rovers. Yes, Rovers as in plural. LOL. But if you insist on sending perfumes, *rolling eyes* I’ll appreciate one or all of the following:

1. Miracle Forever by Lancome.
2. Romance by Ralph Lauren
3. Rock n Rose by Valentino
4. Diamonds by Emporio Armani
5. Princess by Vera Wang
6. Vera Wang by Vera Wang
7. Daisy by Marc Jacobs
8. Gucci by Gucci

Wait oh, am I seriously, publicly begging for perfumes on my blog? I have sunk to a new low. Hehehehehe. Needless to say, my love for perfumes is an enigma that I do not wish to figure out. I’m pretty content with just acquiring them.

Oh, I guess I should put that address up now. It can also be found on my profile.

P. O. BOX 7893
Essex, MD 21221

God Has A Crazy Sense Of Humor

Saturday: I attended a fab wedding @ Sheraton Hotel. I wore a burgandy evening gown. Hair done - almost, make-up flawless - I think, and feet hurting - definitely. The wedding was nice. Food was nicer. The music was the nicest. My mother was one of the people on the "high table." So there I was standing in front of the high table talking to my mom when one of the men on the high table interrupted my conversation with my mom.

Him: Hello, my dear, what is your name?
Me: Vera
Him: And how old is Vera?
Me: XX
Him: Oh, really? Well, Vera, I have a few friends that are looking for wives.
Me: *smiling....what was I supposed to say???*

Later on, I was sitting solo by my table, watching the guests dance when Mr. Wife Finder came and pulled me off my seat without notice or permission. My mother was at the high table laughing @ me; she could see the look on my face. This man put his hands on my waist and said, "Oh, baby girl, you can dance! You're so beautiful. I can't believe no one has married you yet." I just jejely removed his hands from my waist. So what was the problem with this man, you ask?

1. HE IS MARRIED
2. His wife was also present at the wedding.
3. When he was at the table interrupting my conversation with my mom, his wife was there. Not only was she there, but she was seated between him & my mom, so he had to literally stretch over his wife to talk to me.
4. He's not young. He couldn't be less than ten years younger than my father.
5. He's short. With my heels, I was taller than him (and I'm 5' 5")
6. His wife is wayyyyy taller than both of us. She had to be about 5' 11" (I was thinking to myself that this woman fit vex just knack our heads join together.)

The man was so fascinated by me that I was uncomfortable. Which kin yeye wife is he finding for his friend? Nonsense!

SUNDAY: I attended a huge graduation party. The celebrant graduated from med school. Awesome!! As usual, I went armed with my camera and dance steps. I was taking pictures when some man came to me and said, "I love the way you're doing what you're doing." I just assumed he was referring to my dancing because it would have been really lame if he was talking about the way I was taking pictures. Later on, he started asking me all those yeye questions... Are you Nigerian? Oh, really? What part of Nigeria? Oh, so do you speak Igbo?....blah blah blah. He went his way, only to return later while I was dancing alone. The thing about dancing alone is that it allows all these nuisances to bug ya. This man started dancing some moves ehn... hmmm. To say that I was embarrassed would be the understatement of the day. My facial expression obviously didn't hide it. Uju was laughing @ me. My mom was laughing @ me. My mother's friends were laughing @ me. Whew! When I couldn't take it anymore, I told him I had to go take more pictures. The problem?

1. He was old! He already had white hair sprouting from his eyebrows.
2. He was short. I was taller than him.
3. He could not dance to save his life.
4. He threw four dollars on me, and when the person picking the money attempted to pick up the $4, the man vexed ehn! Wetin sef? Na on top four dollars I go dey collect public embarrassment? Mba o.
5. He is probably married too. I have no proof. This is just a safe assumption, although his marital status didn't matter because he was a no-no!

Monday: I was having what was supposed to be a professional conversation with some African American guy. He told me he was getting married in February, and we were discussing his options for tuxedo rentals, colors, etc. Next thing, he interrupted me in the middle of my sentence to say, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, but you got such a pretty smile." That kinda caught me off guard, but I said thanks. Then he said, "You're so beautiful." At this point, my eyebrows were raised. Then he said, "I know I'm getting married soon and I shouldn't be flirting with you, but you're just so beautiful." I didn't know what to say, so I just kept saying "thanks." At the end of the conversation sha, he apologized for making me feel unconfortable. The problem with this dude?

1. He's almost married.
2. He's obviously prone to cheat.
3. He's probably cheating already with someone else.


Anyway, so I assume this is all the handwork of God. He must think I'm finding this funny. Well, in all honesty, I am. What other choice do I have??

P.S. On Sunday, June 8th, I attended the christening of Uju's handsome nephew, Jordan. I've been forgetting to mention that you can view the pictures at http://www.verastic.shutterfly.com/

Robbin' Da Cradle

Ah, my life. So here is what happened to me yesterday.

I was jejely sitting at a table in the public library, my laptop on and running with my online class displayed. I was supposed to be studying, but I was engrossed in my favorite author, Eric Jerome Dickey's book, PLEASURE, a book that had way more sex plots than I cared for.

As with every other good novel I have read, I was totally, unashamedly into the book, oblivious of my surrounding and the pair of eyes that had been watching me. But he interrupted my flow. The conversation that followed between us was fast paced and familiar in an unfamiliar way.

Him: What book are you reading?

Me: *taking my eyes away from the book and lifting my head to see a young guy standing on the other side of my table* Uhm... Pleasure by Eric Jerome Dickey.

Him: So why do you have your laptop on?

Me: I'm supposed to be using it.

Him: Why don't you use the ones here? *referring to the library computers*

Me: Cause I have mine.

Him: But these ones are free.

Me: So is mine.

Him: Are you writing a paper?

Me: No

Him: Is it (the book) for school?

Me: No

Him: Are you in school?

Me: Yeah.

Him: What school?

Me: XXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXXX

Him: What are you taking up there?

Me: Psychology.

Him: Oh, cool. So can you read my mind?

Me: *laugh...this is a question I have heard too many times* Not yet.

Him: Want to know what's on my mind?

Me: *smiling, realizing this dude was flirting with me* Tell me.

Him: I can help you; you can help me. You feel me?

Me: No, not really.

Him: Can I come over and draw it for you?

Me: Sure.

Him: *comes over to my right side. Draws two stick figures, one being me, and the other him. A bent arrow extends from my stick figure to his stick figure and another arrow from his stick figure to mine* Got it?

Me: *shaking my head* No. Tell me in words.

Him: *Pulls a chair and sits by my side, less than an arm's length away* You help me; I help you. We help each other. Cool?

Me: Cool.

Him: I might become crazy tomorrow, and you'll be my Psychologist.

Me: Okay.

Him: I know a lot about cars. Maybe I could fix yours some day.

Me: Cool.

Him: So maybe we could have ice cream, see a movie some time.

Me: *smiling uncontrollably, with much shame* How old are you?

Him: How old are you?

Me: I asked first.

Him: And I asked second.

Me: So answer first.

Him: Save the best for last.

Me: Tell me.

Him: How old do I look?

Me: Don't know.

Him: Guess.

Me: I'm bad at guessing.

Him: Practice.

Me: I did. Failed woefully @ it.

Him: I'm 18.

@ this point, I lowered my head in SHAME.

Him: Hold old are you?

Me: XX

Him: Cool.

Me: No, not cool. I'm XX years older than you.

Him: I know. I can do math.

Me: That's a lot of years.

Him: I know.

Me: You can do math.

Him: Yes. So what's up?

Me: *smiling* I can't do this.

Him: Why not?

Me: I'm older than you.

Him: So?

Me: So...I can't go see a movie with you.

Him: So you can't have a relationship with an 18 year old?

Me: No.

Him: I'm legal. It's not like I'm 17.

Me: I know.

Him: I should have lied and said I was 21

Me: I'd still be XX years older than you.

Him: You wouldn't date a twenty-one year old?

Me: *shaking my head* I wouldn't even date someone my age.

Him: So you're saying you can't learn anything from me?

Me: I didn't say that.

Him: So you can learn something from someone younger?

Me: Yeah, but not in the way you want me to.

Him: Can we be friends?

Me: Sure.

Him: Will you call me?

Me: I'll think about it.

Him: When will you let me know?

Me: When I'm done thinking about it.

Him: *looks at me funny like he could see through me, his look betraying his unbelief in my words* If I walk out of here, I might never see you again.

Me: I come here all the time. *lies*

Him: I don't. So you're gonna call me?

Me: Yes.

Him: How were you gonna call me? You didn't even ask for my number.

Me: I was going to. *lies*

Him: When?

Me: After this conversation *lies*

Him: *laughs* Who are you gonna ask for?

Me: You

Him: You didn't ask for my name.

Me: Was going to.

Him: When?

Me: After getting your number *lies*

Him: *looks @ me in that way that woulda made me tingle...if he was a man* What's your name?

Me: Vera *truth*

Him: Let me put my number in your phone.

I hand him the phone, he puts his number in and saves it under his name, Hakeem

A little girl is lurking close to him, about 11 or 12 years old. I ask: Is she your sister?

Him: *smiles* Yes. She's not my daughter.

Me: I didn't think she was. *truth*

Him: *stands up, stretches his hand out to shake mine* I'll be looking forward to hearing from you, Vera.

Me: *shaking his hand* You will. *LIES*

He was fine, no doubt. The conversation flowed well, almost literary and poetic, but after all was said and done, he was still 18, and I was still XX years older than him, unwilling to become a cougar. All I could think about were the insults I will receive from my big-mouthed friends, Uju & Busola. I could just hear the insults in my head:

1. So Vera, are you taking your man to Mickey D for a happy meal?
2. Is your man at the baby sitter's place?
3. Vera, were you his date to his high school prom?
4. Have you ever changed his diaper?
5. Busola will say, "Look, Hakeem, just because you're dating my friend does not mean you can disrespect me. After all, your mates call me Aunty."
6. What's your favorite Gerber flavor?
7. Vera, have you fed your man his bowl of cerelac?
8. What size does he wear, 2T or 3T? ('T' stands for toddler in children's clothes).

Kai.... my Verastic life!

**** Hakeem is not his real name. And yes, this is a true life story.*******

Priceless!

His Versace sunglasses ------- $200

His 2008 Acura RL ----------$46, 280

His colgate smile -------------$1, 000, 000

The blush on my cheeks when I caught him staring @ me ---- $9.99 (from Revlon)

The look on my face when I realized that he was a she ------- PRICELESS!!!

There are somethings in life that money can't buy. For everything else, there is Mastercard...to buy medicated glasses, so I can better differentiate between men & women.


This is a true life story...unfortunately

I Met Mr. Kisser.....Again!

If you don't know who Mr. Kisser is, please click HERE

Where do I start?? Okay, I'll start from Sunday morning.

My blogville husband, NaijaBloke (yes, we are still married!) came into town. He forgot his charger, so he came to meet me in church on Sunday morning to get my charger (which he was supposed to give me back later, but forgot to... but anyways... lol). I was to meet him later that night at a big party in Capitol Heights.

But first, I had to attend a little graduation reception. Busola's sister graduated from high school, so I went over to pay my respects. I didn't have time to buy her a gift, but I remembered to return her mother's plate - the one I used to take rice home in May. I was trying to find parking when I drove into something. I thought it was nothing until I was ready to leave and realized I had a flat tire. Crap! My front passenger tire was gone.

Busola's dad and uncle helped me fix my spare tire. I didn't even know I had a spare tire and a jack in my trunk. It's amazing how many things I don't know about my car. The spare tire, as I learnt from Busola's dad, was a doughnut. It was one tiny tire that looked like it belonged to a motorcycle.

In spite of my discomfort with the tire, I drove one hour to Capitol Heights to meet NaijaBloke. The party was bubbling. The musician was Mr. Solek. I had never heard about him till that day, but he was really good. The music was the kind that had you bopping your head and tapping your feet unconsciously. I really wanted to dance, but Funmi and the rest were not there to act stupid with me on the dance floor. NaijaBloke was on the dance floor talking with his friends and he asked me to come & dance. I was still sitting down doing shakara... until I spotted Mr. Kisser.

I jumped up from my seat and ran to NaijaBloke. I told him I needed to make a call, so I ran outside & called Funmi. The stupid girl just laughed @ me. I went back inside and went straight to the dance floor. I tried [unsuccessfully] to cover my face with my braids. That dance that I was doing shakara for ehn, I started dancing it immediately. I refused to look @ Mr. Kisser's face, but I had to watch him from the corner of my eyes to make sure he was not too close.

Eventually, our eyes met. But I chickened out and looked away immediately. LOL. Mr. Kisser kept looking @ me, but I kept dancing and acting oblivious to the pair of eyes that were watching me closely. I knew Mr. Kisser would not approach me as long as I was with NaijaBloke. But when I got tired of the staring, I told NaijaBloke that I had to leave. Really, I was tired, but that was not my main reason for running away. Bloke said I should give him 5 minutes. He went to talk to his friends. Those five minutes felt like five hours. I felt so alone. So vulnerable. So naked! Mr. Kisser was still watching me. He was trying to make me sweat. LOL.

Finally, Bloke walked me outside. If you see the speed I used to drive off ehn... I didn't even care that I was driving on a doughnut. Kai! Which kin wahala be dis? The reason why I really didn't wanna talk to Mr. Kisser was because I had been ignoring his calls. I had stopped picking his calls after that one conversation we had where he complimented the ebony skin that I didn't have.

I told my marine friend about my ordeal, and he had a good suggestion: next time I'm in such a situation, I should approach the person first and accuse him of not calling me or returning my calls. LOL. See me see madness ooo! If I had done that, Mr. Kisser woulda called me crazy. LOL.

Anyway, I fixed my tire yesterday (after visiting 3 different locations under the hot sun). They said the hole was so big that it could not be patched. I got a new tire. Don't ask me where the hell I drove my car into. I've been asking myself the same question. Bloke had the nerves to say that women cannot drive. I go wound pesin oo!