And You Called Me... Why???

When I left Nigeria, I did not own a cell phone. My mother did not own a cell phone, and my father did not own a cell phone. In fact, no one in my household owned a cell phone. There was not - to my knowledge - anything like caller-id on home telephones either - not that it mattered anyway. We did not even own a home telephone either, now that I think of it. I don't remember why dad never put one in. It was one story or another about NITEL. In retrospect, I now know that dad was guying (fooling) us. The point is that even if we did own a home telephone, there was no way to tell who was calling before picking up the phone.

But with the introduction of cell phones, calling changed. I was so happy to know that my family and friends in Nigeria all owned cell phones and I could now call them at any time and vice versa. Of course, that excitement lasted all of one week, two weeks maybe. Who had the time to call people - especially with a calling card - all the time? This feeling is a lot easier to understand if you reside on this side of the border.

But strange things started happening. My [cell] phone would ring and then stop. Ring and then stop. Ring and then stop. Over and over. And over. And over. At first, I thought the connection was bad. It was only later that I learned this was a new phenomenom that was sweeping the nation. It was called, Flashing. For the American, non-Nigerian readers, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this flashing isn't what you think (possibly hope?) it is. This Nigerian flashing is when a person calls you, lets it ring once or twice and then hangs up before you pick up. It's like beeping you - except that you do not want to be beeped, which is evidenced by you not owning a beeper. Now, imagine someone flashing you over and over and over and over .... at 3:00 AM. Yes... feel the anger. LET IT BURN.

Since I did not own a cell phone in Nigeria, perhaps, I do not know the etiquettes of calling. For those who know, please answer the following questions: What exactly is the purpose of flashing someone? Is it to say, "Hey, just thinking about you?" Is it to say, "I'm too low on credit, so I can't call, but please call me back?" Is it to say, "I figured you'd be deep in REM sleep, so I thought I'd disturb?" Or is it what I have been thinking? The caller wants to say, "I'm in dire need of someone to get mad enough to kill me. Is this reason enough for you to send hired assasins after me?"

If a person owns a cell phone and knows how to dial international numbers on it, I'd expect that the person also knows that all the nations on the earth do not see the sun at the same time. In other words, just because the sun has just risen on your side of the world does not necessarily mean that everyone in the remaining four corners of earth - yes, I know the earth is round - is also seeing the sun. Case in point, Nigeria is currently FIVE whole hours ahead of some parts of the United States. I said some parts! That means that when it's 8:00 AM over there, it's actually just 3:00 AM over here, and you are NOT - I repeat, NOT - allowed to flash me incessantly for ANY reason.

No matter what the problem may be, there is nothing I can do for you at that time of the day night day night whatever. I am not God. I am not even Super Woman. So come what may, I cannot fly or teleport to Nigeria at that time. If money is the problem, Western Union is closed at 3:00 AM. If the transaction can be done online, I don't have the money. If I do have the money, I am flippin sleeping!

But it gets worse. Sometimes, the number of the person flashing me does not even show. All I see is unknown number or private number. Sometimes, it's just a blank screen and call is the only thing that is displayed. Yet, the unknown keeps flashing ... and flashing ... and flashing ... and flashing. No amount of anger, irritation, and determination will give me access to this person to say, "Dude/dudette, seriously stop!!!"

There are times when the caller is someone that I know. By know, I mean someone that I may have spoken to once or twice - perhaps a friend of a friend.... of a friend. If this person had flashed me at twelve noon while I was sitting on a heap of calling cards with nothing to do but count the hairs on my head, I still would not have been bored enough to call back. Yet, this person had the audacity to wake me up - right in the middle of that dream ... in the best part of it .... for what?!?!?!

To hail me???

Pardon Me

I might have misled you a bit. Just a bit. Remember when I told you that I was just 21 a little while ago? Yes, yes... I mean when I nagged about age creeping up on me... yes, that day. Well, I also blogged about my upcoming birthday - a day I love by the way - but obviously, a new birthday means a new age. A bigger age.

The point is ... while I was typing away about my upcoming birthday, I may have given the impression that said birthday is in a few days - or at least a few weeks. Did I forget to mention that my birthday is actually on January 14th? Silly me! I have to say that this is the first time I have started receiving birthday wishes from August! Tobenna even wished me a happy birthday in arrears. Nawa o! It's either I have misled you or you all are an enthusiastic lot! Yeap.... definitely enthusiastic :=)

Speaking of birthdays, how can I conclude this post without wishing our very own Nefertiti a very big happy birthday!!!! Neffie, it's 12:00 sharp. Technically, I am the first to say happy birthday. You never said I had to be the first to say it over the phone. So happy birthday once again. I have not forgiven you for having a baby before you even told us - your blog family - that you were pregnant, but that's by the way. I'll try not to mention it today. Wairraminute!! Did Neffie close down her blog, or is blogger on crack this midnight?! Neffie, if you've closed down your blog, then I retract this happy birthday parahraph I just dedicated to you.

Now, I know you're all worried about what gifts to buy me for my birthday - yes, I know you want to get a headstart on it, but I assure you that I am working very hard on a list that will suit you and I very well. Despair not. I will not pick anything too cheap. I know how you just hate, hate, HATE it when I do that. It's just that sometimes I cannot help but be considerate. :-) Oh, well. Some people are just made to be nice i.e. me.

I finally got Nwoke Ocha back (on the 31st of August). For those that are confused, he's my laptop. His keyboard - amongst a few other things - was replaced. It turns out I've been doing a lot of typing. Me? Noooo!!! I only update my blog every three days, tweet everyday, facebook every day, write and reply e-mails every day, do some writing most days, reply comments on my blog most days too. That's not a lot of typing, is it? I bought Nwoke Ocha in October. It's amazing that between October 2008 and August 2009, I have damaged his keyboard. Nawa o. Perhaps, I need a laptop with a heavy duty keyboard. Ideas, anyone?

Please, please, please... help me welcome Rosie to Blogville. She was one of my co-hosts for the 'Female, Accomplished, Over 30, and Single' show, and she has joined us on Blogville. Yay!! Go over there and make her feel welcome. I said make her feel welcome. I didn't say chase her away with you kolomentality.

Dear Massage Oil

It's not funny anymore.

Seriously, it is so not funny anymore. I have had you for YEARS now. Your first owner, Funmie gave you to me several years ago, and you were exactly this size when she gave you to me. The only difference between then and now is that you have collected dust and dirt from sitting on my dresser, untouched.

I am hurt that no one - man, woman, child, beast, or stuffed animal - has even glanced at you and raised an eyebrow. For years, I have thought about all the fun times you, I, and someone else could have, but for years, no one worthy has shown his face, so on my dresser, you have remained...looking at me, looking at you.

I have taken the liberty to study your label today. Apparently, you're scented. Scented, huh? For a scented oil, you stink! I don't know if you stink because you have been sitting on my dresser for years or if you stink because you have always stunk, but either way, you stink. Well, you don't stink that badly, but you stink - for a scented oil.

At the beginning of this post, I mentioned that Funmie gave me this massage oil. At this time, I know you must be wondering any, some or all of the following:

1. Why on earth did you take a hand-me-down massage oil from Funmie?

2. Why did Funmie even give the massage oil away? Was the problem with the oil or her partner in crime (who could either have been the massager or the massagee. Yes, the term Masseuse does come to mind at this time, but massager makes for a better Verastic term. You know how we at Verastic dot com can be.)

3. Forget about why Funmie gave the massage oil away. The better question is who did Funmie use the massage oil with? In other words, who was the mysterious massager/massagee?

4. K.Y. huh? What else does Funmie have from K.Y.?

These, of course, are your questions - not mine. This is not me projecting my questions on you. Nooo!! I wouldn't do that. That said, does anyone know the recipe for frying plantain and cooking stew with three or four year old massage oil? And if you do, send it along with the antidote for eating such a meal.

~ Written in a state of euphoria + ecstasy. Nwoke Ocha is back from the hospital. And they did not mess with his hard drive. Life, after all, is good.

*Wink, Wink*

I Was Just 21

Is it just me, or does a woman's age begin to speed like light once she reaches the age of 21. Once upon a time, I could not wait to turn 21. 21, to me, was the real legal age. The problem with turning 21 is that 22 immediately follows - and then 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 ... 114... and before you know it, you're wondering where all the time went. I feel like I just blogged about my birthday. Yet, as it is now, another birthday will soon be upon me.

Today is the last day of August. I do not know about everyone else, but the 1st of September, for me, marks the beginning of the end of the year. And the end of the year marks the beginning of a New Calendar Year and a New Birth Year for me.

At this point, I am very well aware of the thoughts that are running through your mind right now, and trust me, I am just as worried. What on earth are you going to give me for my birthday?!?! Ah, I don't quite know myself. This gift-receiving thing gets more difficult each year. Let's not forget what happens exactly one month after my birthday - Valentine's Day!! (February 14th). A shy smile creeps up on my face each time I think of this year's Valentine. But I digress...

I really was just 21 a little while ago - or so it seems. Now, the memory of being 21 is so distant. I don't even remember what I did for my 21st birthday. On another note, the people at Best Buy said Nwoke Ocha will be ready today. I'm not going to wait for them to call me. I'll just go there by myself and demand to see my boo, and he better be doing great. Can't wait to rub my fingers all over him.

The Silly Things We Do (5)

No matter how hard I try not to laugh, I feel like there is always something funny going on in my life. Somehow, I find myself surrounded by people that say and do funny things - even when they don't mean to. Apart from my dad, only one other man has made me laugh till I have tears in my eyes. But today's post is about my dad.

My mother enjoys baking. She's one of those women who love baking cakes, frying chin-chins, bons, and puff-puff, and baking meat-pies. I, on the other hand, couldn't care less about baking and all that ish (but I do love eating them all, of course). Why suffer to bake stuff when I can just buy them?

But I think my dislike/disinterest in baking and frying snacks is my dad's fault. Yes, dad's fault. It all happened several years ago in Nigeria. I was about 12 or 13. I was curious about baking a cake - even though I had no recipe whatsoever. I pretty much knew or thought I knew everything that went into the cake (flour, eggs, milk, sugar, butter, nutmeg, can't remember what else), but I didn't know in what particular order it was supposed to go in. Did it matter? Anyway, mom won't let me use her oven. She did not want me to waste her gas.

So what did I do? After mixing my cake, I poured it into a metal bowl, and then, I placed the metal bowl in a boiling pot of hot water. It was kind of like making moi moi. I don't know if that cake still qualifies as having been baked. Maybe it was cooked. Or boiled. Anything but baked. It was not baked.

Where does dad come in? Well, dad was my boyfriend, you know. I used to pet him like he was my man or something. I used to clip his nails, clean out his ear wax, and wash his clothes. Whenever he fell asleep on the couch, I was there to put a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body. Dad said I would make a great wife. [Hey, his words not mine.. but I don't disagree, of course. Hehe]. So that day, I could not wait to have my boyfriend (dad) taste my cake - a cake I loved by the way.

Dad sat at the table, and I served him a psychedelic slice of cooked cake. Mom, my cousin Nachi, the help Ngozi, and I were all gathered around dad, waiting for his judgment. It was as if my heart was in my hands. I could not wait to hear the verdict. Dad took a bite, churned, swallowed, took another bite, churned, and swallowed again.

Then while still holding the cake in his hand, he said, "This is nothing but akpu and sugar..." After which the entire family - except me - fell out laughing.

...And there, my friends, is the reason why I don't bake! Yes, that's my story, and yes, I am sticking to it!

The Silly Things We Do (1)

The Silly Things We Do (2)

The Silly Things We Do (3)

The Silly Things We Do (4)

I've Got Good News!

Or maybe not...

For starters, I told you about the waist vs hips phenomenom. Men prefer women whose waist is 30% smaller than their hips. Unfortunately, mine is just 23% smaller than my hips. You can read that post HERE. Secondly, I brought you news that at the age of 27, a woman's fertility begins to significantly decline. I am yet to receive thank-you e-mails for that by the way. You can read that post HERE. Lastly, I brought news from Uju, my med-student friend: she said that for each child a woman gives birth to and breast feeds for a year, she decreases her chances of breast cancer by 11.4%. You can read that post HERE.

So I spoke to Uju again, and she gave me more news. I'm starting to unappreciate her med school. According to Uju (who learned this from her Professor), the most attractive a woman would ever be is when she is the age of 22-23. Obviously, 22 is more attractive than 23. It seems like 23 was only added there to make us feel better. But for people like me that are past 23, it makes no difference.

If you are not yet 22, then lucky you!! You can look forward to being 22 and extremely attractive. For those that are already 22, make hay while the sun still shines. For those that are 23, make serious, serious, SERIOUS hay while the sun still shines (and is about to do down for good). For those that are past 23, oh well!! All we can do now is use enough foundation (popuarly known as pancake by our Nigerian men) to make ourselves look 22...or 23 at least. Some lipstick, eye pencil et al will help. Hmm, I wonder if anti-aging lotions come into play at this point, or should I wait till I age?

I don't know about you, but I'm really sick of receiving news about women from Uju. How is it that they never say anything about the men? Don't tell me they don't have some issues of their own. Seriously, all this time, I thought I was my most attractive right now. I mean, when I look back at past pictures, I think to myself, "I look wayyy better right now than I did before," so how is it now that I'm hearing my most attractive age has come and passed me by.

**SIGH**

Uju is only responsible for the news about breast feeding and the news about attractiveness, but all in favor of shutting her up, say AYE!!

Life Without My Nwoke Ocha

Nwoke Ocha = White Man.

My Nwoke Ocha is sick and in the hospital, and since his admission in the hospital, life has just not been the same. I never knew how much I relied on him to get things done until he fell ill. I haven't seen him all of today. I didn't see him all of yesterday either. He got admitted on Wednesday, and since then, I have not been myself. The situation is grim, but I have been praying and trusting God to heal him, so that he comes back the same way he left - without the illness, of course. Oh, my Nwoke Ocha, hurry home!! I miss you something wicked.

I know this post is supposed to be about my Nwoke Ocha, but permit me to vent for a minute here: whose bright idea was it for women to menstruate AND be bloated while at it??? Okay, fine, I think I know whose idea it was. But seriously... this is soooo not funny! Ms. Flow came yesterday, and today, I am in a very pissed off mood. I'd like to think I am pissed off because my Nwoke Ocha isn't feeling well, but I know that is not the real reason.

Here are a few comforting words to describe how I am currently feeling: Angry. Pissed off. Bloated. Uncomfortable. Irritated. Moody. Emotional. Restless. Really, really pissed off.

The only thing that is worse than being pissed off is being pissed off and not even knowing why you're pissed off. I was just on the phone with Busola and everything was fine until that discomfort under my abdomen started again. All of a sudden, I was about to bite the poor girl's head off. There is no reason why I should be feeling like my waist is vibrating! And this is not the kind of vibration that comes with a happy ending. Speaking of that vibration, I ought to discover it sometime in my lifetime, no?

*****END OF VENTING*****

So Nwoke Ocha is ill. Did I tell you that already? Perhaps, it'll help if I stop mentioning the name and just say who the heck he is. He is my white Sony laptop - hence the name (which was given by Mr. Shoes, by the way...). My laptop went off and won't come on. They think it might be the motherboard. Darn Best Buy people don't give loaner laptops (even though I even paid $300 insurance on the laptop, and it's not even a year yet..). Seriously, Best Buy sucks!! And I think that is just one more thing that is pissing me off right now. I'm using mom's laptop, and it sucks that I have to keep going incognito whenever I'm checking my blog (or visiting any site that has "Verastic" in it.) Wouldn't want mom finding this site or its many, many relatives. Of course, it's almost a fool's dream that mom would never find this site because I blog with my real name.

In less than ten hours, Verastically Speakin will go LIVE. Do tune in. We'll be talking about women who are in their 30s, accomplished, and single Speaking of that, I think I need to call up my co-hosts and make sure we're all on the same page. ---> And that's another reason why I'm pissed! Why the heck have I not called till now (the 11th hour)? Anyway, the show will be LIVE in less than ten hours. Don't miss it. Fear not. I'll be mighty nice while on air.

Lastly, AfriPRO Houston, in collaboration with African Business Council of Texas brings you the Houston Africa Business Expo 2009 --> today, August 22nd 2009. Watch the video and click HERE for more details.

For The Love Of Tigeress

Verastically Speakin Talk Radio will be airing on Saturday, and we'll be talking about women who are accomplished, at least 30, and single. It's gonna be hawt!! Tune in www.blogtalkradio.com/verastic And if you have any comments on the issue, you know where to reach me ---> radio@verastic.com

I'll be co-hosting with Good Naija Girl, Rosie, KC (a guy), a girl in London whose real name I cannot disclose at the moment because I don't know if she wants it disclosed, and... Tigeress! Yes, our very own Tigeress. I e-mailed her and begged her to co-host, but the girl - such an extortionist! - insisted that we meet face to face. So meet, we did.

On Friday, August 14th 2009, I had a busy day, but I made it all the way to see Tigeress (even though she was about 40 minutes away from me. Yes, this is love), and we met. The babe is fine ooo! And I got to play with her birthday hair. But we forgot to take pics. Some other time.

On my way, my face looked just the way I felt: tired. So while I was driving, before I got to the tunnel, I took the opportunity to do a little make-up. Make-up here = only eye pencil. There is a reason why we are advised not to do make-up and drive at the same time. The way the eye pencil was drawn everywhere but where I wanted it, it looked like I had suffered two black eyes on one eye. Even I, was afraid of myself. I was eventually able to wipe it off and make it look descent. All for the love of Tigeress, of course.

When I was almost on her street, I had to park and turn my hazzard lights on. Why? My magic lip gloss was missing! Okay, it's not magic per se, but it's my favorite, and I wanted to put it on - just for Tigeress. Alas, that did not come to be. I was stuck with vaseline *sigh*

I planned on leaving at 8 PM (cause I just had to be home in time to watch Monk @ 9:00 PM), but that didn't happen. You see, Tigeress took a liking - more like a "loving" - to me and practically went down on her knees and begged me to stay. As the kind-hearted person that I am, I couldn't say no. How can one say no to that birthday hair? So stay, I did.

We were going to get chicken from some Naija joint, but that didn't happen. Tigeress found interest in something someone else. Unfortunately, I left 10 minutes before her friend came back with the chicken. My only regret is that Bumight went there after me, and I fear that she ate what would have been mine. I hoped she will choke on it, but she's still tweeting; I think that means she did not choke. One of two things could have happened: 1 - She didn't eat the chicken. 2 - She ate the chicken and didn't choke. Aaaahhh.

Well, that's it for now, folks!! Be back Saturday.

P.S. This Saturday show is attracting a lotta attention. I wonder why. I may or may not be getting two more co-hosts. Hey, the more the merrier, right? But boy... so much estrogen! Thank goodness I have a man on the show too. A little testosterone to calm my their nerves.

I Wish To Go Back...

It's funny how when you're a child, you spend everyday dreaming about becoming an adult. When I was a child, that was my number one problem. I needed to become an adult, so I could do so many things. I wanted to wear make-up. I wanted to have money. I wanted to paint my toe nails. I wanted to be in the University. I wanted to talk to boys without hiding. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have children. I wanted to live alone, have a job, and be in charge of my life. I wanted to grow breasts and have my period. I wanted to go out at night and party till dawn. I wanted to be an adult and not be forced to go to bed at 9:00 PM. I wanted to stay up till dawn. That was my problem: I just wanted to be an adult.

So now, I'm an adult. I have not accomplished some of those dreams, but I have accomplished most. I have a drawer full of make-up. I can paint my face anyway I want it, and I have gotten quite good at it, if I do say so myself. But sometimes, I don't even feel like doing it. I have money - compared to how much I had when I was a child. But I'm still broke. It's like the more I have, the more I need. I paint my nails any color I wish. Lime green. Hot pink. Turquoise blue. Whatever floats my boat. But nail polish color is no longer an issue. Who cares the color I paint it?

I am in the University. Sometimes, I feel like dropping out. Too much driving. Too many assignments. Too much stress. I can now talk to boys any time and anyhow without anyone complaining. The problem is that I don't want to talk to boys. Boys are no longer an issue. Been there, done that. Next ===> I am not married yet, but I still want to be married. Perhaps, I obsess over it more and more - largely because it is an obsession I have grown to fancy. Either that or my booming-career obsession. Oh, there is also the one about going to an all-you-can-eat suya joint. I do not have children yet, but I already have plans for them. I'm already taking notes on how not-to raise my children. I have a job, but I don't live alone. I can't actually afford living alone at this time, but if I could, I wouldn't. That'd be one more ish to worry about.

I am in charge of my life, but I'd rather not be. I'd rather relinquish the charge to God. It doesn't feel so good being in charge of myself. Too many responsibilites. Too many things to think of. So I'd rather have God do all the thinking while I do the living. After all, He is able. I am not. I have obviously grown breasts - way bigger than I even imagined (need a picture?), and I now see my period - sometimes twice a month! This Ms. Flow that I used to cry and wish for, I now wish she'd not come so often. Wearing a pad for five days and having blood gush out from between your legs in not very comfy. Too graphic, I know. Sorry. It doesn't help that my waist feels like it's vibrating when Ms. Flow is around.

I can party at night - all night - till dawn, and I get tons of invitations to do so, but suddenly, it doesn't seem so appetizing anymore. I'd rather just go home and climb into bed. I can now stay up till dawn (instead of sleeping), but I'd rather not do so. I find myself begging for sleep. Right now, my eyes are a little red. I ought to be sleeping, but it's the third day, and Verastically Livin' must be updated. *singing* Sleep, sleep go away... come again another day ... little big Vera wants to write.

These days I have new worries: money - I'm broke... I need money to do this and that. School - I'm tired of it. Wanna graduate already. Too many assignments here and there. Work - don't feel like going. Would rather sleep in. Career - when will it take off already? Will it ever take off? What if it doesn't? God, I don't wanna be a liability on my future husband. Husband - that's another thing to worry about.

Aaaahhhh.... what I would give to go back to being a child. I just want to worry about obtaining the permission to paint my toe nails any color I want to. Want to go back to having a hot pink plastic lunch box with a pretty Jasmine Princess designed on it, packed full with a sandwich (or a little plate of fried yam/plantain) and a box of ribena. Want to go back to assembling in the school hall and reciting how and why children should be in school by 7:30 AM. Want to go back to my canary yellow blouse and grey skirt uniform, completed with an extremely white pair of socks and a pair of brown sandals. Oh, and the hair too. Who can forget the weaving hair styles? The "chookoo," the "police cap," the "upside down basket," and my personal favorite, the "love come down" style.

Ah... the days of sheer bliss!!! JJJ

Happily Single & All That Other Stuff...

Happily married ... of course!

Happily single ... what?

Yeah, that's what we're talking about on the radio on Saturday. Set your reminders! Saturday, August 15th 2009 :: 10:00 AM U.S. EST/ 3:00 PM GMT time

Has everyone heard last Saturday's show? It was so much fun that the show became full and couldn't take anymore calls. It's so unfortunate that so many people were scrambling to hear my very sexy voice, but couldn't get through. Oh, life can be so cruel! Or maybe it was full because there were so many women tying up the line, tryna hear the voices of the men I had. Shameless. You all are shameless. But who can blame you? I was giddy too. The last time I had so much testosterone was uhm --- uhm --- never! If you haven't heard my men tell us what men want, just check out the audio player on the right sidebar. Or you can download it HERE.

P.S. If anyone still wants Ekene Agabu's number, home address, social security number, date & place of birth, age, height, weight, favorite color, and of course, most importantly, favorite toothpaste, I'm here to help .... for a very minimal and convenient fee of one bottle of any of the following perfumes ===> Pour Femme by Bvlgari, Romance by Ralph Lauren, Miracle Forever by Lancome, Nina by Nina Ricci, Rock n Rose by Valentino, Diamonds by Emperio Armani, and lastly, Vera Wang by Vera Wang. Vera is my homegirl!

Next week Saturday (August 22nd), I'll be doing the show about women who are 30, accomplished, and single. Amazingly, I still do not have an actual co-host. I have potential co-hosts, but nothing definite yet. I have come up with five reasons why it's so difficult to find co-hosts:

a. All the single 30 year olds have now regressed back to being 29.

b. All the singles have gotten married since I scheduled the show.

c. Ever since I put statuses on Twitter & Facebook, all the single, 30 year old women have vanished off the face of the virtual earthd (so they know nothing of this upcoming show that I write of).

d. They want to co-host, but they don't know that I cannot read their mind. They do not know that I need them to contact me ASAP ===> radio@verastic.com 1-443-934-9039

e. None of the above. According to one beautiful, single, 30 year old woman, they're just "shocked that they're 30 and single..." If that be the case, please come out of the shock! I need you.

Look, peeps, snap out of it and contact me. I have begged. I have asked. I have cajoled. I have pleaded. What the heck else am I supposed to do here? I'm short of demanding that every woman show proof of age and marital status. Don't make me....!!

Tune in on Saturday. I'll be co-hosting with Ezenwanyi (and Funmie, maybe).

P.S. My apologies for not having replied the comments in the previous post. My spirit has been willing, but my body has been very, very weak.

Kokolette 1 & 2

Has anyone had the misfortune of watching the Koko Mansion? I read on Bumight's blog that she watched it, so off I went to watch it too. Before I started watching it, I was alert and oriented X 3 (times 3). I was aware of my name, the time, and my location. Five minutes into it, I forgot my location and time. Barely remembered my name sef. Yes, it was that boring! A buncha girls in a house doing nothing and living in peace & harmony. Oh, yeah...there goes the drama and suspense. And... there goes five minutes of my life I will never, ever get back. Great.

Skipped through most of it. I just couldn't handle it. Julius Agwu came in at some point and started misyarning. He said the show is not really about D'Banj, but rather about womanhood. Say what????? I'm not sure how 12 girls living in one house and competing for one man is about womanhood. The koko crew claim that D'banj is taking "the bull by the horns" and ending the debate on what to look out for in an ideal woman. There goes your womanhood. Womanhood ko kokolettehood ni.

I can't be too mad at Julius for misyarning like that. He was paid thousands to come and sit there and misyarn, so he's forgiven. I bet that as the words were leaving his mouth, it took everything he had to surpress a laugh. Bet he was thinking, "Chei Julius... you sabi lie ooo!" Enjoy this episode. If you fall asleep and knock your head on the table, just wake up and try again. The rest of the episodes can be found on YouTube.

Oh, and what's this I hear about Koko Mansion being over?? I'm just starting to get used to having a boring Naija show to catch online. And then they just take it off like that?? Some times you think you know people...

What Do Men Want???

Just when I thought the upcoming show on Saturday couldn't get better, it did!! Don't be found missing on Saturday, August 8th 2009 as I and THREE able-bodied, intelligent men discuss that which we [women] have all been dying to know: What Do Men Want? [Do I hear a yum-yum from the woman beings?]

For so long, the question has been, 'What Do Women Want?' It was [still is] so prevalent that an entire movie had to be dedicated to it. After watching the movie, I walked away with a new question: What Do Men Want??? So let's find out, shall we?

Before you read any further, do take five seconds to do that poll by the right sidebar. Now, if the poll is anything to go by, it seems like men want respect and good sex. My twitter friend, Kookie Jar was kind enough to direct me to Steve Harvey's book, Think Like A Lady; Act Like A Man. From there, I learned that men want three things: support, love, and sex.

Since I am not a man, I cannot say for sure what men want. For this reason (and also the fact that it'd be great to have a little loads of testosterone on Verastically Speakin'), I have the pleasure and honor of co-hosting with three men: Ekene Agabu, Christian [Chris], and Mustapha. Yippee!!

First, I have Ekene Agabu. He's a writer and a speaker whose distinct focus is on sex and relationships. Yes, that's his picture on the left. Yes, he's very nice. No, I don't know his marital status - yet. For those that have inquired [about his marital status], tune in on Saturday; ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set ye free!

Second, I have Christian [we can call him Chris]. He's quite opinionated, and not at all conservative. I will try my best to warn Chris to keep it clean. Oh, he speaks French. Oh la la. Unfortunately, I don't have Chris's picture - yet. I'll update this if I get one. I do not know his marital status either. But together, we can find out.

Last, but not least, I have Mustapha! He has a lotttt to say! I know his marital status, but I'll let him say it himself. So tune in on Saturday. He'll probably be the middle man between Chris and Ekene. Or maybe not. Saturday will tell. Unfortunately, I do not have Mustapha's picture either. If he sends it, I'll definitely update. Watch this space.

There is still time for questions/comments. If you have any questions/comments for me and/or these men, e-mail them to radio@verastic.com Alternatively, you could text your questions to 1-443-934-9039. Include your name and where you're writing/texting from.

In case I have not said it before, Verastically Speakin Talk Radio isn't just about me. In fact, I don't think it's about me at all. That said, I am always looking for new co-hosts. If you're interested, e-mail radio@verastic.com or call 1-443-934-9039. If you have an idea for a show that will be hawt, please send the idea ASAP.

I am still looking for co-hosts for the Female, Accomplished, Over 30, & Single show. If you're interested in co-hosting with me, contact me RIGHT NOW. If you're wondering about the criteria, read this.

The Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio airs every Saturday @ 10:00 AM U.S. EST time/3:00 PM Naija time. Visit www.blogtalkradio.com/verastic to listen and join the chat room with other listeners. Or you could just listen and/or call in via telephone: 1-646-929-1905.

Connect with me on Facebook

Follow me on Twitter

Join Verastically Speakin' on Facebook

If you're my friend on Facebook, click HERE to read people's comments/responses about what men want [from women]. Interesting stuff.

Email: radio@verastic.com

A Priest Has Been Reading My Blog!

That said, I know that he will also read this post. But at this point, it cannot possibly get worse.

On Saturday, Mom gave me the phone. She said Father John Doe (not his real name, obviously) was on the phone and wanted to talk to me. He heard my radio show. That automatically made me very uncomfortable. So I spoke to him. He commended me on a job well done, asked me how often I do the show, etc. I was very uncomfortable. I really don't like discussing my blog, articles, and/or radio show with grown folks.

But it got worse. Oh, yes it did. Imagine my discomfort when he talked about the oral sex bit. Whew!! He said I was laughing about it and refusing to take any side [refusing to say if I'm for or against oral sex]. Why on earth did he find that post? Why didn't he find the post about when I rededicated my life to Christ? Or my Thanksgiving post? What about the one where I quoted the bible and said that faith without action is dead? And where I said it's so ironic how God takes care of me all the time. What about when I called God a romantic?

Why, why, WHY did it have to be the one about oral sex?!?!

On that note, I also need to tell Mom to stop helping me spread the gospel of my radio show. Mom knows I do a radio show every Saturday morning. What she doesn't know is how she can listen to it, where she can listen to it, and what the heck it is that I talk about. I intend to keep it that way. Imagine my mother listening to me talking about size. Nooooooo!!! This is one familiarity I don't want to have with my mother. We have already watched glorified porn together. That's good enough.

She told her sister, my favorite aunt - who happens to be a Deeper Life Church-going born again Christian - about my radio show. My aunt bombarded me with questions. I tried my darndest to dodge them like arrows. What is the show about? How do you do it? What do you talk about? Do people hear you? So people call in? So do people ask for your opinion? Who do you do it with? What radio station is it on? It's online? What website is it on? How does it get online? So you have a private conversation with someone and make it public?

Oh, darn!! I don't need this right now.

Well, I told her the website is Blog Radio. She doesn't need to know the rest of the link. I told her we talk about relationships. She doesn't need to know about that episode that addressed the size of certain body parts. I told her a few people call in from Maryland. She doesn't need to know that people call from America and other continents for that matter.

Well, there. That wasn't too hard now, was it?

***Little prayer: May the Holy Ghost Fire destroy every temptation my aunt has to google me. Amen.***

In case you have not heard, the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio intends to be hot this Saturday! Oh, yes, it will be. Our topic of discussion: What do men want? Seriously, what the heck do they want?! And co-hosting with me is none other than Ekene Agabu. He's a writer and a speaker with a distinct focus on sex and relationships. Oh wee!! Yum, yum!! Click on his name to visit his website. And for the ladies that are wondering, no, I do not know if he's single. Fear not. I'll find out - all for you. You see the hoops I jump for you? Don't say Vera has never done anything for you. Click on the show title to go to its page and set up a reminder. You don't wanna miss this!

Talk To Me

I have never been female, 30, accomplished... and single ... all at once. I feel a deep obligation to stress at this point that I am currently female, have always been female, and will always be female. That said, there is an epidemic out there. Women of all backgrounds, races, nationalities, and tribes are suffering the case of Manlessomnia. As one who has suffered this illness before, I can say it is so not funny!

Looking in from the outside, it is easy to say that women who are accomplished are the problem, but one never really knows. Each situation, I believe, is as unique as the woman in it. I do not know for sure what the problem is, but I'll sure love to find out!

My Mom, God bless her heart, has a thesis - which I should say I completely disagree with! A married female medical doctor (in her middle/late 30s) asked Mom if she knows any single, Nigerian men. Apparently, the doc's friends (who are also all in their 30s) are all very accomplished and also very, very single. We're talking Manlessomnia X3. Okay, I digress...

Mom came home all worried and heavy-laden. When I asked her what the problem was, she said, "Young Nigerian women are wasting away. No husbands to marry them," I should mention she looked a little too sad for these women's predicaments, considering that she does not even know them [she only knows their doctor friend]. Anyway, mom's well-thought-out thesis? Young Nigerian women are single because ALL the young Nigerian men are now gay.

I don't know about you, but this is a hard pill for me to swallow. I know there are gay Nigerian men out there (contrary to what we would like to believe), but I doubt if their gayness is correlated to these women's Manlessomnia. But what do I know? I'm just a girl who sits in front of her laptop and makes up words like Manlessomnia.

There is a reason I bring this up right now. I have scheduled this as a show on Verastically Speakin Talk Radio. If all goes well, we'll be discussing this on Saturday, August 22nd 2009 (10:00 AM U.S. EST/3:00 PM Nigerian time). BUT! Here comes the aha moment. I need co-hosts for this. The show will run only if I get co-hosts. Yes, co-hostS. As in more than one. Three, to be specific.

Here's what I need:

2 female co-hosts (You have to meet the criteria, please: female, accomplished, @ least 30, and single)

1 male co-host (You also have a criteria to meet: If you have mingled with a woman of the above description, you're good enough for me. It doesn't matter if you dated successfully or not. Whatever the story is, bring it on!)

So if you're interested, please e-mail me: radio@verastic.com I'll take the co-hosts on a first-come, first-serve basis (that's if anyone comes, of course. LOL).

P.S. Your nationality/race/tribe does not matter at all. This is not a Nigerian problem; it's a female problem. And I need serious, open-minded, and talkative people. It's a talk show, so we need to talk.

Thank you, darlings!

*Manlessomnia:
an acute
a chronic case of manlessness that causes many, many, many sleepless nights.

Ah, Women Sef...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Little Cup Of Inspiration

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

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

I Think I'm Married...

.... to my Mother!!!

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

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

Mom: I need to talk to you.

Me: Uh oh. What did I do?

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

Me: What is it?

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

Me: Uhm...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That Reminds Me...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They Tried To Get Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Mr. Shoes

Happy birthday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Randomisity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For All You Breast-Owning People...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For The Shoes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is It Still Fornication....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm off to imagine stuff.