Take Note

It takes a major rude awakening, as in a very serious one, to realize and come to terms with maturity. While the confusing phase of puberty and exuberance of one's youth might be overwhelmingly liberating and exhilarating, it takes a certain level of early self-actualization to forge in this present day. These days, most young persons are so far gone and carried away by popular indulgences that they become amnesiac to the correlation between age and common sense. Gone are the days when meeting people your age or (perhaps otherwise) was fun and intellectual, when meeting or holding a conversation required parties involved to be mutually and intellectually challenging/empowering but nowadays...well...sigh. Everybody wants to sing or be a Twitter celebridy.

Like most young individuals, I almost got swept along by the orgasmic wave of youthful exuberance, where depending on family/folks was the sole means of one's livelihood, where cramming trendy topics meant you were hip and in-the-know, where being friends or acquainted with few famous persons meant you were almost as famous (only in your head): If only these pay bills. Meanwhile there are discreet, quiet and mostly very young persons, not necessarily from lavish backgrounds, who are struggling and earning highly lucrative legit reputation all by themselves: Yes I know enough. You hear most youths throw a fit about Nigeria being a terrible nation, no employment, no amenities, blah blah blah...(not that I'm saying the country is rosy), but the problem is; people get too comfy in their shit to attempt the unusual, which is what sets those smart people apart.

In a period where young people believe and thrive on popularity, I can't be surprised though. And as for those who get high on daddy's money, I wish you well.... But really though, with the country's supposed condition, how can you amount to much when you don't prioritise your life yet try to attain popularity at any cost--as if its a job. I'm all for being socially relevant and accepted but except your PR (either good or bad) reflects in your account or pays the bills somehow, please stop being famous for free. My point is; young people need to GROW up and move ahead with time, rather than being eternally stuck in the unrealistic/immature realm of yester-child. Thank God I had my awakening when I did. I realised soon enough that DIY is a much favoured option over depending on failed connections, insufficient aids from undependable folks and hanging with the sorry likes of you-know-who. When you hang, nobody go tell you to wise up and grow up.

Mr(s) Bitch

At almost any chance available, Girls (or is it feminist they call themselves) always strive to equal or even outshine, out power, out-man, out-everything men. But is it ever a competition? Do men even have the time when they're still busy trying out the appropriate condom size.

I can understand the female folks' freudian struggle of egalitarianism though, but what's the (big) point? When all they end up accomplishing is: looking like/coming off as Bitches or rather subtly, Divas. Try pee while standing or sport a goatee if you're so badly pressed to rival men, instead of the lousy attitude you pass off as tough.

I stand to be corrected, but in my 20 something years of living experience, Girls have the disgusting habit of being devilishly RUDE (that's even putting it lightly) in their place of work, especially those in charge of customer's relations: it's as if "insolence" is a preferential criterion on their resumes. They are everywhere, usually the ones you meet at front desks (when you need help the most), reception areas, Jamb/Waec office (old hags that remind you of wicked stepmoms), admission office (when you're desperately seeking college admission), bank cashiers..

And I don't care if the sour attitude is a reflection of a bad day, hormones or PMS aka Mad Cow Disease, I've got problems too but you won't see me wearing it on my sleeve. Bitch! this ain't an episode of Desperate Housewives, so spare me the drama.

But seriously, Girls! what exactly is...are your problems? Must you add another to the already long list.

Anyway, I raise my glass to all the Guys like me; bitches trapped in men's body who have and still put such misplaced X chromosomes in their place.

PS: For fear of turning a chauvinist, I'd leave out my countless nollywood-worthy bitchy encounters.

Dear Heart,

Hey I know you in charge of my body, but I do have a brain & a mind (of my own). So you can start telling your staff aka hormones to take a break or leave me alone. Ahn ahn! What is it sef? Any little visual stimulation & world war III would ensue in my south region. Dear Heart: PLEASE I HAVE A LIFE (at least I pretend to).

It is not enough that I battle the voices holding their lame ass perennial UN summit in my head, you & your cohorts too would start a war in my body(frowns). A slight provocation, & my blood pressure, body temperature is raised just as blood rushes to the south pole. Meanwhile my mind is telling me to ignore you cos it hasn't agreed on a peacekeeping strategy for the ensuing war you are creating.

Hears whispers & mumblings *Screams* will you both shut the fuck up; the noise is killing me (heavy sigh). And you Mind aka Perv, I ain't using my hand on myself (I'm out of vaseline anyways) neither I'm I doing porn. Didn't I just mute you?!PERV.

And you Heart, I can't love like that: I was born this way...not stupid. Don't you even dare cupid me, I got a gun oo. Fuck it whatever (throws hand). Ehn ehn Mind, you were saying? Finally some sense;

Dear Heart, Mind says to tell you to bring it on. I wouldn't give a fuck anyways. I made it this far. No matter the number of hard-ons, blood pressure or butterflies you put in my gut. Imma pretend to have a life.

Me: huh? Say what? Lmao. You think I won't be getting some. The Joke's on you fucker. A horny bitch just rang.

Now talk to the hand!

Yours truly,
My Brain.

BBM the Menace

I wholly gave up (what's the legal term?)...errm...my rights to privacy and any smidgen of common sense the instant I bought a phone pretending to be a fruit. And I joined the "fad" called the Blackberry community.

From that moment on I've encountered persons of all dermatological & cerebral variations on BBM:

Persons aka strangers who request me on a whim & ask to fuck me right before I can type Hi.

Persons who suddenly wanna be my parent & have an opinion about my every actions: that includes my display pictures & status updates. As if my Mother ain't doting enough. Hiss!

Persons who send broadcasts. Not because they know what it means but because we now live in a society where phones are toys for Retards.

Persons who send red PING for no apparent reason.

Then my all-time personal favorite: BBM decorators: Persons who won't ever correspond with you yet re-add if you delete them.

*Insert random Convos*

Pinger 1: Please use a dp

Me: Ok! Continously autoEnd chat

Pinger 2: Are you Gay?

Me: I insert Omawunmi's single (If you ask me)

Pinger 3: PING!

Me: Broadcast PING right back repeatedly

Pinger 4: Why is your status Busy?

Me: I just feel "Busy" makes me look cool.

Pinger 5: Is your status about me?

Me: Yes it always is...End chat then delete if persist.

Pinger 6: Is that really you in your dp?

Me: No oo..its Chris Brown

Pinger 7: What's the meaning of your display name, it sounds bitchy?

Me: Smh...Go figure.

Pinger 8: Hey I saw your pics on a friend's phone. Can we meet? I wanna fuck you

Me: Sure. You get the Gold Circle. I'd get the Lube.

Pinger 9: Forward this BC or you will die

Me: Too much Afmag

Pinger 10: What's the meaning of Go Figure?

Me: Go figure

So much for Smart Phones & Idiots. *Eyes rolling*

Get Illuminated

How do you start to educate intelligent fools? OK!...here goes...

I respect Conspiracy theorists for one thing: they are expert devil's advocates. They are genius rabble-rousers that invent the most believable/impressive controversies, throw it out, then stand back, allowing guillible & impressionable fools to grasp at whatever crumbs, twist it, then hopefully turn it into an international spectacle.

The ignorance associated with the Illuminati these days is at all time too high; & I'm tired to here (touches upper neck area). Everybody seems to know one, two or more members of the "secret" group. That's not even the annoying part. Ask most of these fools with supposed inside info the origin or objective of the Illuminati & suddenly it becomes rocket science. The same way, ask them the significance of Friday the 13th & they'd throw you some dumb tale about a hollywood flick. Imbeciles! Always wanting to portray an air of intelligence courtesy; collections of intellectual gibberish/hearsay junks they gathered eavesdropping & overhearing lame theories...on Google & Youtube.

Apparently, the real & sole intent of the group as an ancient religious brotherhood sworn to guard a certain religiously historic artefact would rather be pushed to the foreground while affiliations of the rich/famous takes precedence. For crying out loud, historic literatures (which are readable by the way) as much as events readily resolves beyond reasonable doubts any discrepancies or assumptions. But no, the baseless ramblings of a Theorist--a mental invalid--is more appealing/believable.

If it isn't Lady Gaga's album cover art one minute or the finger depiction of the devil's horns by Beyonce, it would be a too-creative music video inspired by the Illuminati; (an extremly covert brotherhood that has a badass history/reputation for covering its track: secrets & members). I really marvel at people's stupidity/ignorance. Why would a brotherhood so previously secretive suddenly reverse it ways & ply its members (celebrities for that matter) openly? To what end I wonder. Even dumbass college cultist ain't that showy.

Logically speaking, why would a SECRET society thrive on popularity or be desirous of being pop culture? So many unanswered questions. Many would be appalled beyond reality if they actually discover magnitude of relevance of Illuminati to christianity instead of the supposed attached paganism. I challenge your intelligence to take it up as a research project rather than follow suit the herd of dumb, starstruck f*#?tards who would be part of a community than get a clue.

Get illuminated not illuminati'd.

Sport: Passion

If passion was a crime, soccer fans would be on constant death rows, relative to a romantic lover who has jail term, Period! I'm no fan, I ain't got passion, neither do I follow the sport, but I see enough passion exhibited for this sport to know it is a favoured sport, almost comparable to the proclaimed love for God. Even sex don't stand a chance. And that's putting it lightly.

Before I knew better, I could never come to grips with the sense in a soccer discussion (I still haven't totally come to grips FYI). You'd have to have actually encountered or had your cyberspace timeline clogged with "the discussions" to understand my drift. Note my use of discussion instead of verbal karate cos its often more of the latter than the former or at least that is how it ends--if the discussion actually ends that is.

Now that I do know better, I respect soccer fans a lot for the amount of quality time/effort they devote to this passion of theirs. They'd stay up late, travel miles, empty their bank accounts, turn down sexual overtures (which is a deviation from men's Psych 101), just to keep abreast of the sport. Only for them to take (the discussion) from anywhere like twitter to agbero bustop & of course every other places best left to the imagination. As fanatic followers or soccer buffs, they have sects or rather clubs that they support--(don't bother about national teams, fans ain't as passionate)--Chelsea, Arsenal etc. Spouses would support their better-halves, so would kids that haven't differentiated between L, M, N & L, L, L of the alphabet, even retards with negative IQs would also join suit, to all constitute a nuisance, just so they can be part of the soccer phenomenon. You would find responsible looking, suit-clad execs in beer parlors almost turning Area boy just to prove their soccer affiliation's superiority. And that's if they aren't even trading expletives or punches already.

As an observer, I learn a lot from these encounters. I now know: names like Wayne Rooney, Didier Drogba (please don't bite me), soccer is a ego sport, some people just love the art of noise making, people claim kinship to soccer players that don't know they exist much less give a damn, people would support a cause regardless of how hopeless aka fans of certain clubs...Lol! Plus I get entertained

I might not have passion for the sport but I love the associated drama.

My Marital Scare

You would think the long boring years of going through school is the most terrible experience or being locked away for good behind the electric walls of a hightech security Penitentiary is the worst nightmare. But my worst personal phobia--counting Hades--lies in a rather seemingly joyful institution: "Marriage".

First off, I think any human who stays married for over 5years should be honored annually/paid stipends cos I respect them, A LOT.

The idea of being with a particular person, no matter how wonderful, for the rest of my life is too much a romantic reality for me to grasp; growing up with one's parents is killing enough without having to add the coup de grace. People always think me a dumb misogynist, extreme cynic or too gay, each time I attempt to justify this premise rather than see my inherent fear of losing my independence, getting divorced & perhaps losing my sanity. Why do I always see the negative side of marriage some of my friends often question? why can't I see the pure bliss of holy matrimony they argue? Seriously I wanna agree with them but apart from hailing from a broken home, marriage these days has been trivialized to the point of cliche jokes if not obscurity even. If at all you survive the relationship curse, you see marriages being nullified just 24hours after, some, even decades later... Just so to pronounce how fashionable infidelity/divorce are nowadays. Besides some of us aren't just marriage material. Period.

I always wanna maintain the fact that irrespective of how problematic my marriage is--that's if I get married--I would wanna swim through no matter how murky the water is, after all I'd stand before God to declare "For better for worse": that includes me forgiving my wife for infidelity even if caught red-handed & vice-versa (Yinmu), afterall we are humans, but how realistic is this logic. How forgiving are we when the in-thing is splitting up & hooking up with the next available hookable.

I've seen both firsthand/secondhand how divorce & foolery aka "I'm so in love" have broken homes & turned the kids into psychological wretches. And Just so I've got folks whose marriages make Indian movies seem realistic. But I'm inclined to the negative cos I'm very anal about failure. As a scientist by qualification though, I'm as openminded as the labia, hoping one day someone would come along to push me in the marriage pool. *Rme*

Blackberry: the mental fruit

You would never imagine a fruit as simple as the Berry family could actuate a substance abuse effect as much as constitute a nuisance of incomparable magnitude, until you taste the Blackberry (& don't get me started on Apple). Gone are the days when fruits were just a nutritious staple, now they are the new high...welcome to the 21st century.

(Tongue out) I got my phone with the simple intent of keeping in touch with the world & to satisfy that silent, smug feeling that comes with you telling people "I use a Blackberry" (talk about Complex), but little did I know I was indirectly admitting myself into the Blackberry mental institution. Once you enter, a number of identification is assigned to you called PIN. So, instead of swapping phone numbers or exchanging complimentary cards with fellow inmates, you quickly dole out PINs without forgetting to let everybody know you use a BB bold or torch (You better not mention curve or javelin & woe betide you if you try too hard to belong by saying you own a BB pearl) how dare you be so poor. By the way, a monthly admission fee called BIS, depending on service provider, is a requisite which at first might seem affordable; when you're still forming...until...the berry buries your wallet.

Now, fast forward x32 couple of months & hundred of BBM contacts later, that's when your meds' effect dwindle & the psychosis starts taking its toll. By now--like me--you must have, ditched your novels/books, stopped watching the tube, even cable. In short you stop having a life & now a permanent resident at the Blackberry ICU: You wake up holding your BB (that bible you used to read for devotion is becoming stale), meanwhile you slept late..say around 3am tweeting/downloading with your BB--network was sleek right? (welcome to club insomnia). Once out of bed, its business as usual, you ping: in the shower, loo, on top okada, everywhere imaginable...while you carry your charger/extra battery along.
And all of a sudden you've earn a Phd in shorthand (smh, lol, btw, idgf, brb, ikr... Dnt wory dey coin nu 1s evry sec).

Ok! Now play in slow motion! Between updating your BBM status to warn off dumb broadcasters who are compelling you to forward a message or else experience a mishap (As if being in the loony bin ain't bad enough) & you gladly pushing the delete button on these annoying contacts with all the attitude of a dramaqueen & you muttering the worst expletive your faculty can muster as you angrily reply some Perv for inboxing you some sexually pervert text on Facebook, you wouldn't mind but wonder (Na who send me work sef). Not to mention the theatrics of begging for follow backs, celeb insults, tweet fight, inane tweets...on Twitter sorry I meant Ubersocial, which is all fun, except you waste a good part of your life here.

Back to normal play mode & almost all BBM contacts gone, you may start to sense the need that you require help (Yes! Psychological help) in context of what your BB puts you through, but like any psycho that is so far along in his head, you can't actually come to grips with the fact that you need HELP. Don't forget these are institutionalized people.

FYI, as a BB junkie myself, I am contemplating BB rehab as I write this on my BB, but rehab is expensive, plus my BIS will soon expire so I need to start saving up for my next admission fee. & that's just a tip of BB user's life.

PS: Did I mention persons of certain age who ought to be in nursing homes are stuck here too, clueless as to what to do & why they are in Freud's Haven.

From the Memoir of the Stylist

Since my days in primary 3 when someone first called me the word "Gay" I knew I was special. I wondered then as I do now why the man called me something nobody called the other male kids. In bids to protect me, my Aunties often scolded this person to refrain from calling me such, but my innocent mind was too excited to protest such a unique appellation. I thought he must have seen something different, therefore special in me to tag me with such a novel title.

You see, I grew up with women: my Mum, Grandma and Aunties, whom a lot of (ignorant) people hold accountable for my present psyche (I smh! If only they know). In reference to the special thing I assumed the man saw in me, I've always had a knack--a rather girly one--to criticize and therefore choose my Aunties' wardrobe & believe I did a badass good job because not only did they retain my fashion-advice services on every--as in every damn occassion till they all left the country, I got references as well. That's when I realized my specialness (if that's a word); I was a self-made fashion stylist. And that heralded my dream in fashion eventhough then I didn't know there existed a tangible platform for such a profession.


Regardless of Cynics' opinion about Fashion Styling being a talentless profession, I among many became a self-made one, doing & earning (intermittently in my case) a living without any formal training whatsoever. I can point out & recommend any fashion no-no in my sleep (Yes I'm that good). Though I'm not international material, at least not yet, my innate talent & working experience gives me the longterm edge.

To the matter of my chosen career being talentless, I'd argue thus: Cynics say we do not need someone to prescribe what or how to wear clothes, fashion designers do that already by designing the clothes. They believe it just being a lame attempt at furthering the lazy whims of extra hands in the fashion business. But if that were the case, why would you need a public image Consultant or Publicist, if you can do your own public image bidding yourself? Well...that explains what a talentful job Cynicism is....Loool (head thrown back).