Book Review: Feddie Girl by Nona David

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P. O. BOX 7893

Essex, MD 21221

United States of America

1.443.934.9039

reviews@verastic.com

He Kissed Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Case Of The Hairy Legs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Reason To Get Married

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

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

GBAM!

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

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

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

Every Now And Then

A girl becomes unmotivated.

Maybe sad even.

And she needs a hug here and there

Even an e-hug would do.

She needs to hear that it will be alright

That this, too, will pass.

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

And that these things do happen.

A girl wants to be spoiled

She wants to be spoiled rotten

She wants to be bad and be rewarded for it

She needs to be given attention

She needs to be listened to

Really listened to

And laughed with.

And prayed with.

And, of course, played with.

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

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

Motherhood Inc.

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

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

Oh, Happy Day!!

April fourth = Dad's birthday.

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

Mom: Your birthday is even coming up sef.

Dad: Whose birthday?

Mom: Yours

Dad: Oh, yes! It's today

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

Dad: No, it's today.

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

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

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

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

Happy Easter everyone.  Christ is risen.

I'm Relocating To Nigeria

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy April Fool's Day.  

The Four-Hour Erection

I don't have it --- with good reason.

But every time the Cialis or Viagra commercial comes on and says something like, "If you have an erection that lasts more than four hours, consult your doctor," I cannot help but wonder what that feels and looks like.  And no, this is not a shy and subtle attempt at asking for pictures of four-hour erections.  

Four hours is a long, long time.  It's 240 minutes.  It's 14, 400 seconds --- of a man just sitting - or maybe standing - behind a hard place, doing what?  I've heard and read stories of men suffering from blue balls because they were turned on and weren't given the opportunity to have a plunging relief of their tension.  

The times I've heard and read such stories, they did not sound as if the man was standing, doing nothing, admiring the stiffness that threatened to put a hole in his pants.  Or his mattress, if he was lying face-down on the bed.  But I assume that such a position would be as comfortable as a pregnant woman lying on her stomach.  Of course, if he was not wearing any pants or underwear, the threat of a hole in them would be null and void.  Impossible.

If a man were to be patient enough to let four hours of hardness pass him by, he ought to be efficient.  There are many things that could be, should be done with the hard instrument.  Pounding yams, grinding pepper, staring a hot pot of soup, using it as a pin and needle holder, and hitting a nail.  These are just a few creative ideas that Cialis and Viagra should consider adding to their commercials.  Although it'd be fancy seeing a man walk into the clinic with his emotions on his loins.

And if you're wondering what on earth has gotten into me, quite honestly, I'm not sure.  I need a breakthrough.

Looking For Me?

Every now and then, I like to blog about the key words that people search for on search engines, the keywords that ultimately lead them to Verastic.com  It'd be incredibly unVerastic if I were to blog about the regular words.  Who needs those?  The absurd ones make my day any day.  Enjoy.

1.  Turai Yar'Adua

I'm not sure what bothers me most: the fact that the search for Turai leads people to my blog, or the fact that Turai Yar'Adua is the fourth leading search.  I think it's the latter.  And this is all because of that flattering post about her

2.  www.project@verastic.com

You think I should tell the searcher that www does not come before this or any e-mail address?  Yeah, maybe later.

3.  Oral sex in the bible.

Oh, honey, been there, done that --- searched for it, that is.  This may be hard to believe, but nowhere in the bible do the words oral sex appear.  Go figure!  But maybe my post on oral sex will help, no?

4. "I found out he's married" "green card"

Now, can you ask him if he'd like to be a co-host on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio Show?  You (or he) can read about the talk show, and the show in question is number 11.

5.  Angelina Jolie stay away from my man

*Gasp* Oh, my goodness!!!  Vanessa Pardis, is this you?  You found my blog! How is Johnny Depp?  Wait, did you read the post I put up about you two three?

6.  Ask boyfriend for facebook password to prove trust.

Sweetheart, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but passwords and trust are almost mutually exclusive.  Besides, he could be like me.  I have several e-mail accounts --- which, of course, only implies that I love e-mails J

7.  Aso Rock boyfriend of Turia Yar'Adua

Turai has a boyfriend at Aso Rock?! I knew it!  Now, it's all starting to make sense.

8.  Boyfriend used to date my friend.

We had a show on this one.  Go listen.

9.  Boyfriend won't give me his Facebook password.

Please refer back to number 6 above.  And when you're done, ask Ray what he thinks about passwords.

10.  Breasts that reach for the sky.

Only a man would search for this.

11.  Does Tonto Dike use Makari?

Seriously???

12.  Get perkier breasts

It's your lucky day!  I know the secret.

13.  How to rededicate my life to Christ.

More often than not, people start with a bible-believing church.

14.  I love my fat wife

Good for you!!

15.  I want a fatter wife

Please refer to number 14 above.

16.  If your boyfriend doesn't call you in a day and doesn't send a text, does he love you?

Heck, if I know!

17.  My friend is technically engaged

You're technically a bridesmaid.

18.  My push up bra will get my man

What kind of push up bra is that, and where can I get one?

19.  Sniff menstruation pads

Before or after they've been menstruated on?

20. Verastic Nigerian blogger.

Finally! Someone looks for me JJJ

That's all, folks!  Out of 536 search words - thanks to Google Analytics - I managed to pull 20 out.

P.S. The show goes live in less than 10 hours (at 10am U.S EST and 3pm Nigerian time).  I'll be co-hosting with Diamond, NaijaBloke, and Kola [Baroka] Tubosun, and we'll be talking about how to, if you will, tell your friend that his/her spouse-to-be is a monster.  Listen here.  Call in: 1.646.929.1905 <<>> Text your response(s): 1.443.934.9039 <<>> E-mail your response(s): radio@verastic.com

P.P.S. The Verastic Facebook Fan Page is still lonely.  Join, please?

P.P.P.S. Go vote for today's show!

P.P.P.P.S. If you have already voted for today's show, vote for next week's show.

Could It Be...

...That I, Vera Ezimora, have single-handedly figured out the root and cause of the political strife in Nigeria??  Ah, yes, indeed, it could be.  You see, it all started like the Garden of Eden.  Remember back then, things were perfect, and there was no sin.  (Azazel, jump in anytime and disagree J).  Things were perfect --- until Eve got lured and deceived by Lucifer.  I'm sure we all know that story.  Fast forward to a couple thousand years later, in the newly independent Country of Nigeria.  Things were running well - as they always do in the beginning - until something went terribly, terribly wrong.

You see, our President, Nnamdi Azikiwe hosted a dinner, a dinner where dignitaries, affluent people, and movers and shakers were all present.  Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa was there.  Alhaji Shehu Shagari was there.  Obafemi Awolowo was there, too.  The event started off with everyone having a round table discussion.  They talked about Nigeria's way forward, about free healthcare for children, and about coming up with a name for Nigeria's currency.

Things were going well until the actual dinner was served.  It was then that General Johnson Aguiyi and General Yakubu Gowon began to struggle over the food, over who would eat more, and over who would take more takeaway plates home.  General Johnson grabbed most of the takeaway and ran off.  General Yakubu caught up with him, murdered him, and ate all the food.  And that, my people, is how we became so greedy in Nigeria.

Now, if you think that this post has anything to do with the event I attended on Sunday where Nigerians could not happily eat a plate of food each, but had to grab plates on both hands, leaving some other people without food, then, well, I cannot confirm or deny your allegation!  If you further insist that this event took place in a church in Baltimore, Maryland, U.S.A,  I still cannot confirm or deny your allegation.

Men Have It Hard

On Friday, I went to my former school to print some things out.  I was about to walk into a building when I noticed an African-American girl in front of me.  She was about my age, give or take a year, and she was walking rather slowly, so I eventually walked past her.  She had on a white pair of leggings, a white shirt, and a pair of white sandals.  Her leggings weren't full in length; they stopped midway between her knees and her ankles.  Her shirt had three-quarter sleeves, stopped somewhere between her elbows and her wrists.  Her sandals were the thong kind, the kind that had the little thing between the big toe and the second toe.

She was not skinny or small in stature.  On the contrary, she was probably about my size, except, perhaps with a heavier, nicer butt.  Yes, I noticed her butt.  As a matter of fact, that's probably why I'm blogging.  With each step this girl took, I could not help but notice the decadent and rhythmic swaying of her hips, the bouncing of her butt cheeks, the thickness of her thighs, and even the way the wind blew the soft brown highlights in her hair.

And so, when I got to the building before her, I did not do what I would have, should have done.  I would have, should have opened the door, gone through, and then, courteously held the door ajar for her.  Instead, like a doorman, I opened it and waited for her to go past first.  I even said, "Go ahead."  And she did.  As she walked past me, my eyes were still fixated on her.  Facially, she was forgettable.  As I type this now, I don't remember her face anymore.  I do, however, remember her butt, her hips, her hair, the color of her skin, her sandals, and possibly, the size of her breasts.

As I walked behind her, I found myself scratching my head, mesmerized by two things:

1.  Could this be how all the gay people became gay?

2.  Why on earth did I not leave the house looking like her?! 

Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a pair of three-quarter leggings somewhere calling my name!

Tonight Is The Night

In Nigeria, mom owned a Pharmacy, right across our house.  We lived in Jos, about five minutes drive from Aribaba's house, but our house was a lot closer to the Muslims.  The young lady who worked in mom's pharmacy shop, although a Christian, lived in the heart of the Muslim community.  During one of those times when there was tension - but no actual fight - between Christians and Muslims - mom's employee (whose name I cannot remember now) always brought us news.

"Tonight is the night!" She always told us.  They said they're coming this night to kill all the Christians.  And they're starting with all the rich Igbo people here."

We were not rich, but we were certainly Igbo.  Our house was not small.  It would have definitely given the wrong impression [that we were rich].  Behind us, there was a rich Igbo man whom we rarely saw, but who always drove out in a different car - all with tinted windows.  In front of us, a very deaf and very rich man resided.  He, too, was Igbo.  Beside the deaf man, a rich doctor and his wife, both from Delta State resided.  They were not Igbo, but they weren't Muslims either.  Beside us, my uncle's hotel stood strong.  Talk about sitting on a landmine!

So, every night, we went to bed in fear, wondering if it was going to really be the night that the Muslims would attack.  Every time one of our dogs barked, we wondered why: armed robbers, reptiles [we had a lot of those, too], unfamiliar late-night visitors, or Muslims?  We went to bed with knives, mortar pestles, and sharp, metal suya sticks.  We did not have guns, tasers --- or at least, mace.  In retrospect, I can only imagine what little damage our weapons would have done, if any.

Today, Jos has a different story.  The tension between the Christians and the Muslims isn't imagined or just talked about anymore.  It is felt, died for, buried, and mourned.  The good news is that we have our very effective Government. They are ever present to lump all the casualties into one mass grave --- and then, life goes on.

The Government is alive --- or maybe not so alive.  Its wife is ambitious, ready to take over the Country.  When she cannot, she rallies her sons in-law, debating which one of them would succeed the incapacitated Government.  After all, Nigeria is only a little village, a village that hosts 100 to 200 people, plus or minus 50.  A constitution (especially one that is written to be obeyed) is only for Countries, big Countries, Countries that have people, people that have education, education that edifies, informs, and betters.  That wouldn't happen to be Nigeria, would it?

Come Saturday, we would be talking about the State of the Nigerian Union on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio.  I'll be co-hosting with Mustapha and Nonso.  You really, really don't want to miss this one.  We'll be talking about Yar'Adua's life (or lack of it), Turai's ambition(s), Jonathan's Acting Presidency, Jos' violence, and the youth's recent rally in Abuja (called, Enough Is Enough).  You can watch a short video of the rally below, courtesy of 234Next.com 

Listen to the show at its usual time, 10am U.S. Eastern (3pm Nigerian time) here.

Join the conversation by calling 1.646.929.1905

Text  or e-mail your response(s): 1.443.934.9039 <<>> radio@verastic.com

Follow me on Twitter for quick updates.

P.S. In case you didn't notice, the blog template has  changed.  Notice the tabs up there?

P.P.S. Daylight Saving Time has started, so there's now a five hour difference between U.S. Eastern Time and Nigerian time = the show will now be at 3pm in Nigeria (no longer 4pm).

P.P.P.S. Verastic now has a fan page on Facebook.  About time, huh?  It was created yesterday.  26 fans is a little lonely.  Please join.

P.P.P.P.S. This would be a really, really good time to vote in the poll --- at the top right sidebar.

Fotunatus Is Totaled

Totaled!

Remember that little accident I had on Sunday morning, the one that gave Fotunatus a dent and caused him to be rushed to the hospital?  Well, that little accident wasn't so little.  My insurance called and gave me the grim news: "Ma'am, unfortunately, due to the extent of the damage of your vehicle, we're gonna have to count it as a total loss."

Wonder where my hubcap flew to.  Mystery.

Up close and personal

Still up close and personal.

Really, really up close and personal.

I did not know how to respond. I just cried silently as the insurance agent spoke.  And this time, it wasn't the puff puffs that I was crying for.  Fotunatus is was is was is a white twelve year old Toyota Corolla.  He never gave me any problem whatsoever.  The last thing that I feel like doing right now is going car-hunting.  I neither have the time, the money, nor the desire to do so.  My insurance is going to give me some money, the amount they have deemed to be the value of the vehicle.  I'd really rather have the vehicle back.

As I type this post now, tears of anguish, anger, and frustration are messing up my otherwise flawless foundation.  But Bro. W, a guy from my church, just called to check up on me.  He didn't see me in church on Tuesday, so he was wondering what happened.  I didn't tell anyone about the accident - even though it happened before church on Sunday, and I still got a ride to church.

Bro. W said I shouldn't worry, that God would never forget His own, that everything happens for a reason, and that at the end of this, His name would be glorified.  He also gave me a proverb. He said my case is like that of a King's palace that gets burnt.  When it gets burnt, people think it's a thing of shame, but what they don't know is that it is a good thing because the burning of the palace would cause it to be rebuilt into a finer, stronger structure.

Very well then.  God, the ball is in Your court.  Do with me and Fotunatus as You please.  Oh, men, I miss Fotunatus.  I cannot believe it's over for us.  I went over there on Friday and took all my things out --- and that includes the puff puff.  I left the air freshener though.  Just because we're parting ways does not mean he should stop smelling good.  For the record, I did not intend to eat the puff puffs.  I was just going to give them to Funmie.  She wouldn't have known how stale they are until she took a bite out of them.

The famous puff puffs!  I don't know what happened.  These puff puffs looked a lot yummier before the accident.  Okay, I guess she would have known they're stale.

I'm done crying.  Operation Find-Serakus has officially begun.  Yeap, Serakus is the next car's name.  Lucky him/her!  I don't even know if Serakus is a male or a female name.

Angelina, Stay Away From My Man!

That's apparently the sentiment of a lot of celebrity women when it comes to Angelina Jolie.  But who can blame them?

Remember Billy Bob Thornton?  He was engaged - happily or unhappily - to actress, Laura Dern until he came across Angelina Jolie.  Next thing we knew, they were both wearing vials of each other's blood around their necks.  Oh, and they were also married from 2000 to 2003.

Who can forget the case of Brad Pitt?  Am I the only one who is disappointed that their relationship has not met its demise?  I mean, it shouldn't be this way.  Nollywood movies have told us that this is impossible!  When you steal a woman's husband, karma will bite you in the nether region.  Oh, karma, where are you when I need you the most?  But anyway, once upon a time, the all-American sweetheart, Jennifer Aniston, was married to Brad Pitt.  I thought they were so perfect for each other.  In their marriage vows, she promised to make him his favorite banana milkshake for the rest of his life.  And he was enjoying those milkshakes, too --- until he filmed Mr. and Mrs. Smith.  Yes, yes.  The one with Angelina Jolie.

And now, history is trying to repeat itself, it seems.  Johny Depp - who, by the way, has a very nerdy sexiness about him - is filming a thriller with Angelina Jolie.  A movie that allegedly has a steamy sex scene (what else is new?) between Depp and Jolie.  This time, however, there is a woman who owns a man, and is not afraid to show it!  That woman is Johnny Depp's long time girlfriend and mother of his two children, Vanessa Pardis.  Apparently, she wants Johnny Boy to have nothing to do with that movie.  Or with Angelina.  Who can blame her?  After giving twelve years of her life to Johnny Depp, the woman is not ready to lose it all to one  Angelina - no matter how sexy her lips are!

If I had a man that Angelina Jolie were after, I, too, would tell her to stay the heck away from my man!  Who am I kidding?  My words would be more like, "Angelina, how do you do it ... and may I get an autograph, please?"

Very Mini Hiatus

The story, cut and dry:

I had an accident yesterday.

It was my fault.

Fotunatus [my car] was towed away after the accident.

I'm grateful I didn't end up in the hospital.

I'm not very happy right now.

I can't find the desire or the humor to type up a post.

I don't know how long this will last.

But I'll be back as soon as I can.

Surely, this accident must glorify God somehow.  I'm desperately waiting to see how.

P.S. I'm okay.

P.P.S. I just wish I took the puff-puffs out of the car before it got towed away. They were tasty.

I Want A Fat Wife

Those are precious words that you'll probably never hear from a man's mouth.  Perhaps, this blog is as close as you'll ever come to hearing it from a man's mouth.  And I am not even a man, so go figure.

Remember back in the day when the bigger a woman was, the better looking she was considered?  Remember how that used to be the evidence of good living?  It used to be the proof that she was well taken care of by her father or husband, preferably her husband.  Remember how the women with wide hips and butts as wide as pillows held sideways used to boast of having an ikebe super?  Igbo men call such hips/butt "ukwu pathfinder [pathfinder hips]," "ukwu transformer [transformer hips]," "ukwu v-boot [v-boot hips]," "ike danger [dangerous butt] ... and the list goes on.  Well, what happened?

Did men stop wanting the pathfinder hips, hips that are sure to find the path at any given point, even without a GPS?  Did men stop wanting the transformer hips, hips that can power the electricity in an entire block (or consequently cause the electricity to fail due to too much voltage)?  Did they stop wanting the hips shaped like that v-boot Mercedes Benz?  Did they stop wanting the dangerous butts, the kind that literally cost people their lives?  Or did we, women, change?

Women everywhere seem to be in a craze for the skinny bones.  Have we [African women] become more educated about the risks and dangers of obesity?  Or have we become more westernized, looking to the likes of Beyonce and Rihanna, for our ideal image?  What is really going on?  What we used to consider voluptuous, curvy, and shapely is now plain ol' fat.  One man's fat, I realize, is another man's average and vice versa.

But you know what's interesting, while we [women] spend a lot of time making ourselves over, redefining the meaning of [black] beauty, nipping here and tucking there, the standard of beauty, it seems, has remained the same for the men: tall, dark, and handsome.

I'm sure you have plenty to say.  Thankfully, Good Naija Girl, Caramel, and I will be discussing it live on the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio show tomorrow, Saturday, March 6th 2010.  The show will be airing at 10am U.S. Eastern time [4pm Nigerian time & 3pm U.K time].  Click here to listen.  Join the live conversation by calling 1.646.929.1905.  Send your thoughts/stories/questions via e-mail radio@verastic.com  or text 1.443.934.9039.  Follow me on Twitter for updates.

Ka chi fo [Goodnight in Igbo].

P.S. I'd like to say a big congratulations and best wishes to Onyi and Noni.  It's been a year since they started their journey.  I pray God's blessings and favor meet them both at the point of their individual and collective needs.  Amen.


P.P.S. Don't forget to vote [in the top right sidebar]!

Mr. Shoes And I Are Getting Married --- Today

And this time, it's not an April Fool's trick - like that other time.  I'm sorry you had to find out this way.  And I'm sorry I kept it away from you, but if it makes you feel any better, I also kept it away from Mr. Shoes.  You see, this isn't exactly how I planned to get married, but as they say, when the going gets tough, the tough gets going.

I'll make this as short and as simple as possible: from Friday, February 5th to Sunday, February 7th, we experienced suffered a snow storm.  It took me five hours to shovel the sidewalk and dig Fotunatus [my car] out of 26 inches of snow.  School was out for over a week.  Less than a week later, we received another 12 inches of snow.  More shoveling and digging ensued.  By the end, I was sure I would need a chiropractor to fix my back, shoulders, waist, and arms.Since then, it has snowed about three or four more times, albeit very lightly.  This week and next week, we're expecting snow; I don't know the amount.  

So, where does Mr. Shoes come in, you ask?  Well, you see, while we were shoveling, my male neighbors shoveled and shoveled and shoveled --- while their wives stood by the door and directed them, "Honey, you didn't get that little part there," and occasionally, their wives brought them soup, sandwiches, and warm beverages.

I want to be a wife, darn it!  Shoveling isn't fun.  I'd rather be giving directions and offering warm beverages.  So, yes, Mr. Shoes and I will be getting married today.  I have to make sure that I marry him before the next snow storm.  Wouldn't want him thinking that I married him just because of the snow storm.  I mean, what kind of wife would that make me?