Feb-o-mania! Catch the Bug
Welcome to February! Remember 31 days ago, when we were estatic about January, well, clearly we are over that now! Sayonara, January! February is here, the month of heightened flirtations, torrid redezvous, weirdly shaped candies and all that good stuff!
However, before we get carried away with February's red-panic and the crazy frenzy, we need to start off the right way......I'm going to ask you a question which you are required to answer, a question you probably weren't expecting me to ask; a question you would be glad I'm not there to ask you in person because it would be weird, the air would get heavy and we'd both be very uncomfortable. Ok, are you ready? Here goes..........
'Do you love me?'
I'd appreciate if you answer honestly and out loud.
Just in case you didn't know, you ARE supposed to love me, just like you love yourself, but then you already knew that. It's the greatest power that ever will be, not to mention the most difficult and the most unnatural human trait. Love is a higher become-a-better-me kinda calling but it's worth it in the end because it always protects you!
It makes us immune to evil, it protects our minds from getting easily hurt and jaded. It keeps us sane and helps us get through the most tumultuous of situations.
However, most of us know love in theory but fail in its practicals. We fail to actively, creatively and intentionally love the people in our lives the way we should.
So, since I'm the largest culprit of all (guilty face and rosy cheeks), here's what I'm doing for the whole month, I'm taking my phone contacts, starting from the first person with the name beginning with "A" and I'm finding ways to love everyone uniquely. I'm calling it the Feb-o-mania! Love is not a one-size-fits-all, it's deliberate and tailored. Let's love, just as such.
Have a great February ahead.....and don't think I didn't hear you mumbling "Yes" to that question. **Blush** I love you too!
Feb-o-mania plans? Share! How would you show you love to friends and family? What do they appreciate the most? How does this fit into your love techniques for them?
To Skip- How I Found "X"
Weeks ago, a PGI reader sent me this letter about his experience on Dating Boulevard, in search of "X", the ever-elusive Ms. Right. At the end, he asked me how i found my "X" and here is my response to Skip's letter. Hope this helps, Skip!
'There are many ways to find X', the teacher said,'Keep trying.'
He would make me sit and strive to find this mysterious value. On some days, I'd make up a number; I'd make an educated guess and being the terribly assertive person I am, I would argue, that the true value of "X" was equal to my made-up answer.
'X=Dimeji', I'd chirp at the teacher and walk out of the class with that self-righteous look you so rightly described in your letter, Chip.
But in 7 months or less, X would have morphed into this grotesque sum known as "Ex". I'd come back into the class, a little burnt out but still willing to find this X. How dare it prove so elusive? Did it not know I was growing old?
Sometimes, I'd get a real value just like you, Skip! A real value! I would be so certain this was it. This was X! Then it would turn out not to be.
A fond memory was when I found X, for the umpteenth time and oh, how I loved X; how he made my heart skip and turned my mind to mush, how his lashes intrigued me in all its black, curly glory; then I found out that X was finding the square root of Y. Y was some hot girl with huge breasts who I believe lived in Oregun at the time.
The real X is ever so elusive, sometimes and other times right beneath our noses or the noses of others.
So how did I find X?
I'll be honest, I found X because I asked the teacher; no not that teacher, not the one I mentioned in the first part of this letter. No, not Life; Life is a crazy teacher, the one who tells me to keep trying; the one who knocked me on the head with the revelation of big-breasted Y; the one who mocked me every year I got older and still couldn't find X. Life loads you with so much drama and trauma that the chances of finding X in the first place is equal to zero! He almost provides no help at all, just innumerable chances to keep trying to find x, over and over.
The teacher I asked, was the head teacher, teacher of life itself, the creator of X.
I asked Him plainly. "Where is X?"
He stared back at me and knew I was serious this time. I was done with the guessing and the Enny Meeny Miny's- the Dimeji's and the ones who found square roots were now in the past. He looked me straight in the eyes and that day, I knew he heard.
In less than 6 months, X found me.
And after 7 years, the summation of X and I was solved and now, we are equal to 1.
How to Ward off Bae-Predators!
The world was a large place arranged in order by the careful and deliberate actions of the creator. Now, in the begining, he made man and woman. It was a pair (a him-her kinda project). Things were good, strolls were taken naked and everything was just plain organic and airy.
Then came the serpent; suddenly, "him" and "her" ate a fruit, everything went south, disorder took over, lions began to eat us for lunch, couture was born and most importantly, side-chics appeared.
Since the appearance of side-chics (a.k.a boo-poachers, a.k.a bae-predators), everyone has gone crazy and back trying to understand the best way to deal with this societal dysfunction. These days women look over their shoulders and skitter around like mice, looking through baes' phone, emails, bank statements, checking for the slightest semblance of infidelity, eyeing him suspiciously as he chuckles at his phone....all......because....... of....... one........ fruit.
These poachers are everywhere, just last month in fact, at a funeral, some lady found Ed quite remarkable and whispered, "Hey, dark hot chocolate" as she passed by him. Ha! All over, I tell you, in crevices and cracks, hanging off the walls and slithering through grocery stores and even funerals!
Have no fear though! Once again, we have science to thank for another relationship hack. A couple of months back i stumbled on a study from the University of Minnesota which discussed a discovery of the ultimate territory marking ingredient! Imagine if it works, we might be on the verge of solving an ancient disturbingly habitual social impairment.
So what is it? What is this salt that wards away the vampire?
One word.
Handbags. Two words actually.
Luxury Handbags.
Studies show that the display of luxury items ward off potential bae-predators. Hmmm.
They discovered that women who carry designer bags or shoes come off to relationship-hyenas as stable, as well as having loving devoted partners!
These affair-friendly females reported that they would think twice before pursuing a man who was on a date with a woman with luxury accessories! It didn't even matter if they were told that the luxury item was bought by the woman herself and not the man. They just believed the man had something to do with the provision of these items and believe when a man buys expensive things for his significant other, it means he is vested in the relationship. It's a double whammy, new bags 😍 and territory marking.
Nevertheless, luxury bags probably aren't a sustainable solution. Imagine you invest in a pricey item based on this post and for the first few years, you go everywhere with this bag and bae; what if you can't buy anymore of these expensive bags and the predator sees you 15 years later with the same now-weathered bag, all thread bare and stressed, she'd probably figure out it was just a poor front that she should have ignored 15 years ago. Predator-mode activated!
Therefore, instead of lugging around the 15 year-old hustle-satchel, here's a more sustainable way; ensure your relationship has the highest standard of love, friendship, transparency, communication, honesty and of course, a handbag fund.
What are your thoughts? Anyone finding bae chocolatey? What really is this world coming to (rhetoric question, except you have an answer!)
Must Read: Finding "X"!
Three weeks ago I received a letter from a reader nicknamed Skip. I've traveled, slept, stared into space, chewed Rice Krispies absentmindedly, mulling over this letter, over the questions he asked me. It took me quite a while to figure out what the right response would be. Eventually, I told him the truth.
With Skip's permission here's his letter. Feel very free to respond in the comments section below! (Lix is the nickname dubbed me by this equally aliased person)
Dear Lix,
Any assumption you make about how miserably poor I was at basic arithmetic is right! Actually, only the absolute worst assumption would be right. It was that bad! Solving the supposedly simple sums almost ruined my greatness, but I graduated primary school, eventually. So you can imagine what happened to my super-hero-life in secondary school when simultaneous equations got into the mix. But what’s a super hero without a nemesis?
………. find x
Arrrrgh! This damn question or instruction or whatever.
The frustration it brought me was almost spiritual, I was hopeless, like I was born without the requisite skills to find "x". And come to think of it, it could have been a medical condition. I bet there’s medical research going on right now somewhere; I bet there’s a support group somewhere for folks living with this condition.
Anywhoz, I just didn’t gerrit, I could never find x.
What’s your story? How did it make you feel? Did it bother you too or were you better than me? I bet you were better than me and you found "x" all the time. I can feel your self-righteousness from here sef; mtchewwwww! Lol!
And my imagination Lix, sometimes I would just drift during tests and stare at the ceiling; who was this being asking me to find x? I used to picture Gandalf. Sometimes it was my old primary school math teacher. He was mean and probably a wizard too.
Sometimes they were together, Gandalf and my old primary school math teacher.
They would sit and laugh, share stories about my previous tests and mock me.
The fun they had during my London GCSE Math exam! And I ended up with a ‘U’ grade too. Lix, there’s the A* and the A grade, then B and C, then D, then E, and then there’s F for Fail, followed by ‘Absent’ and finally U for ‘unclassified’. You can imagine the kind of intense nonsense I must have written to be graded lower that someone who was absent.
Are you still proud of me? Are you close to buying the ‘medical condition’ theory yet?
The ultimate humor is how confident and sure I always was about "x". I always thought I found "x" until the teacher said I didn’t, until I got my test score.
I’ve always wondered why anyone needed "x" anyway, why so necessary? Why so frequently? Like why is it so important and what is it supposed to do? What happens when you find x? The right x.
One time, after all was said and done, I found x and I was certain. There was no confusion; her smile, the way she looked at me and how she made me feel, this was it. If there ever was an x, this was the most confident I had ever been.
She was vivacious. She looked like I like, walked like I like, thought like I like and prayed like I like. What more could I ask for? And what she saw in me, when she spoke about me; the best medicine.
She always built me up.
Whatever went wrong?
My best answer has always been timing. Timing not because she was older, timing not because she was ready to settle waaay ahead of time and I wasn’t. Maybe her fault was being right at the wrong time.
There was no doubt she was right, there is no doubt. She was definitely x, the right x. Errrr okay Lix, I know. I know I shouldn’t be taken seriously as to what x is, isn’t or what it should be, but she felt so right, the only heart I ever broke.
How the hell then do you find x? Not just any x though, but the right x? Is there an x for every phase? Is there really an absolute right x that works out the theory of everything or do you just find any x and make it right? Did every couple find the right x or are they just getting by?
..one x to rule them all, one x to find them,
one x to bring them all and in the darkness bind them..
…hehehe… straightface.
You’ve found x Lix. Tell me.
I always thought I found x until the teacher said I didn’t, until I got my test score.
On your sofa,
Skip.
A Tale of Outsourced Sex
Everyone knows that awkward Sarah-Ab-Hagar triangle, right? Not your typical everyday story; Sarah and Ab are trying to have a kid, God says 'Chill guys, I got you.' Sarah really really wants a kid but more for Ab than herself. At a certain point, she doesn't even care if this kid comes from her or not, so she sends Abraham and Hagar (her maid/ housegeh) away for the weekend; personally buys Hagar's lingerie, packs a hamper full of dark chocolate, some red, some juicy pomegranates and pays for their stay at Funky Oasis Adults Only resort. There was no way the girl was returning without at least one fertilized egg.
For a long time, I thought that was a selfless act; Sarah: the most selfless, giving wife that ever will be (because ain't no other girl in this day and age would doing any of that)
Sarah of life!
Even before Accenture ever dreamt of developing optimization frameworks for operational and infrastructural efficiency and outsourcing.....Sarah was already right there, outsourcing the heck out of her duties, optimizing and renting out certain infrastructure.
Of course, she later came to regret it, as would any woman, who outsources her role as wife, lover and custodian of the South-End wonderland of her husband. Not only did Hagar return with a fertilized egg, she also returned with an attitude, which in my opinion was all Sarah's doing. You just don't outsource a man's junk like that, girl! Not for any reason!
Of course, we all think this doesn't happen any more in this century. That was 1872 B.C.E, this is 2016! No woman is going to tell her husband to sleep with the maid; no woman outsources. Those were my thoughts too. Then two weeks back as I poured my cake batter into the baking pan, a thought dropped straight into my mind: We still outsource our husband's needs! It's subtle and Hagar-less but we still do; all the things we get frustrated dealing with, or stuff we've taken for granted, like talking about his day...in detail, like putting down your phone and actually relating with him, like not bringing work home, like not developing the mystery headache...all these things really just create a void. A void willing to be filled by other people.
This is the truth, i'm not trying to sound like those bearded aunties who tell you "Ah. Someone will steal your husband of you don't "cooperate." I'm not, but maybe 'beardy' Aunty Ava does have a point.
Take Vashti for example, she did not "cooperate" and guess who came along with advanced submission and respect-your-bae skills printed all over her CV? Esther!
Be his best friend, his priestess, his helpmate, the source of his wise counsel, his naughty lil' thing! They aren't duties or obligations, they are your rights and they really are part of who you were destined to be since the beginning of the world.
Letters to my Greatgrand Daughter- Why You Don't Deserve to be Happy
Dear Charly,
You do not deserve to be happy. Yes, I said it! YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO BE HAPPY!
You deserve joy-the highest form of it. You should want to climb to the top of a mountain and scream in delight, just because you can. You shouldn't have to pout and sulk because you lost a job or can't find Mr. Right or be sentenced to moodiness because Mr. Kinda-Right is acting up. Joy is that sparkly ball of tickled delight that bubbles unconditionally somewhere from your mid-gut, somewhere between your large intestines and stomach.
Oh Charly, if there is a man who makes you just plain ol' happy, i hope you are beginning to see how ordinary, common and unexciting that is. Happiness is dependent on variable factors; people, money, success, jewelry, makeup (don't ask), friends. They all have one thing in common, the lack of the consistency and the permanent ability to keep you in a constant state of happiness! So if Mr. Kinda-Right or even Mr. Right makes you happy, good for him, the day he doesn't feel too giving, guess what you'll have bobbing around your intestines? Joy! Crazy, infectious joy.
True, there is a time to cry and pout, certainly, but make sure it doesn't overwhelm you to the point of hopelessness. Endeavor not to crumble under heartbreaks and disappointments. My first heartbreak was very similar to the 6th layer of Dante's description of hell. I was lost to the world, whenever I was conscious, and whenever I fell asleep I sighed in relief as I slipped into oblivion, temporarily rid of the evil and pain on the earth. Every time I saw him, it would feel like my heart had been ripped from my chest severally and there was nothing left. It was the first time I would subject my state of joy to a person; unfortunately that wouldn't be the last time. I learnt much too late to learn to keep my state of mind independent of the willful actions of other humans or expectations. How about this- You be the one who infects with this beautiful thing called joy. It requires a conscious effort and a permanent reminder that you are full of so much love and positivity that, really, it's a wonder you haven't imploded! Your joy is from within and your internal environment must always be kept in a constant state of controlled delight, let nothing have access to it.
“Joy comes when you make peace with who you are, where you are, why you are, and who you are not with. When you need nothing more than your truth and the love of a good God to bring peace, then you have settled into the abiding joy that is not rocked by relationships. It’s not rocked by anything.”
So, you see you do not deserve to be happy. Not even a little.
Love,
GreatGran x
Why "Yoruba Demons" are Here to Stay
Here's a conversation between my friend and I:
My friend: I enter wedding receptions these days and everywhere I turn, I see "Yoruba demons"
Me: *laughing uncontrollably*
My friend: Yes, o! And they always look so good! Fresh, with their full beards, wearing their black native and staring at you from behind their sunglasses
Me: Ehn just don't look at them na, sit down far far away from them
My friend: *sighs ruefully*
Me: *Sigh in solidarity because I know how we girls do like the quintessential bad boy*
Fact: Girls love them some Yoruba demons. We like the psycho ones that stare at us from behind the dark lenses; the ones who make us feel uneasy and uncertain; the guy that says like 5 words per day , that smells like a Tom Ford lab and throws us an occasional side grin. Yes, The one that uses his eyeball-print as the passcode to his phone and has at least 3 aliases- Jimi on the mainland, Jay-Eye on the island and Jim off the shores of Nigeria.
As for the simple, nice guys with the ready grin, one universal name and no passcode on his phone....... though, bleh, not so much.
Why? Why do we tend to fall for the no-good demon and ignore the good guy?
A study shows that we like bad boys because our minds think they might make good fathers for our kids.... I know, they lost me there too. Here's the weird biological explanation.
Women are drawn to bad boys because bad boys are confident, assertive, exciting and the biological interpretation of this to the female mind is that these confident, assertive creatures will produce after their kind, that is, produce confident, assertive children who have a better chance of surviving on the planet. Remember "survival of the fittest", this principle is engrained into our biological psyche and our decision-making process unknowingly depend on it in this case. Somewhere in our minds, the Bad boy is the alpha male and we are drawn to him because we believe he will give us viable offspring that will survive the elements.
Basically at the root of this is the need to procreate and multiply.
Note that in theory, women say they want a nice, adorable guy; the type of guy who treats his girl like a queen and loves her for who she is. But in reality, what she really wants is to fall into the clutches of a bad bad bad boy who will turn her mind to mush and give her demon babies that survive the elements!
That's just jacked up. Lol.
Then the plot thickens, a study shows that we get more to attracted to bad boys when we are ovulating! Tsk! Your own body trying to set you up to be a single parent. I can't believe it. We really are our own worst enemies.
So, if there is a wide-eyed nice guy and a Yoruba demon up for grabs, chances are that the more aggressive guy-demon will be chosen and nice guy gets the bench. The warm friendship bench.
Girls are not stupid though, we know you are bad....so as sharp girls who want to eat their demon and have it, we choose to fix the bad boy; we want him to go to church with us, join the ushering department and submit his phone password. Just like that!
*Blink*
We want Bad boy to retire because we suddenly show up on the scene. It doesn't work that way. You'll realize this once you discover that you can't get the leopard to go spotless or to wear velvet. Demons don't change. I don't know where we get this change idea from.
I blame Disney movies for this false understanding of the concept of change in relationships. There's an implicit understanding that change is guaranteed once you get into a relationship with someone. For example, Beauty and the Beast, the guy changed because she showed up and kissed him; the little Mermaid, she kissed him and changed into a human to be with the guy; Tarzan ditched his hot signature loin cloth for a suit at some point. Since we were kids, fairy tales have been tied to the "He will change. Kiss him, he will change". Ain't no demon changing here. He won't change. If you do kiss him, you'll probably change-into a mum, a single mum thanks to your ovulating ovaries. Sigh. Girls won't stop liking the demons, they are here to stay. As for the good boys, 1 in 3 will eventually become a demon and we'll all live happily ever after.
The Friendship Challenge!
Friends love through all kinds of weather ❄️ ☀️🌨⛈🌪 ⚡️💨☔️
To all my friends, old and new, 2016 is that year you have NOT been waiting for! I'm on a become-a-better-friend campaign and so I guess I'll be in your faces very much this year.
*Intermission*
Every time I post something like this, I get tried and tested immediately! I feel like there are some mystical blog deities that just send me bouts of trials, mandating that i practice what i preach the moment I publish stuff that is targeted at improving lifestyles. Anyway, i'll have another accountability post soon!
*End intermission*
Where was I? I'm trying to be a better friend and family member. 2016 is that year when I will be in your face, call you at odd hours, make awkward video calls, put up photos of us riding on camels in Dubai, throw back on Thursdays with you (beware of old unflattering photos on instagram).
P.s I have never been to Dubai, friends, 2016 is the year of Dubai! Let's buy tickets and fulfill this camel-riding photo dream!
So a quick glance on how to improve my friend status this year....
According to the Stanford Encyclopedia, friendship is built on 3 main platforms:
1. Concern: Reciprocated concern actually, not just regular concern; and according to Aristotle, spending time with your friends, wanting the best for and doing good to them is pretty pivotal to healthy friendships. Err...so no envying or being too busy or ignoring calls *blink*
2. Intimacy: Sharing experiences and information that build trust which also implies that we must avoid anything that would weaken the trust so painstakingly built e.g gossip
3. Shared activity: I need to find creative, fun activities to do with you guys! This is where Dubai comes in! *Grin*
I'm so excited about this and I know what you're thinking, my friends.....I forgive you in advance for ignoring my calls.
Becoming a better friend this year? Yup or Nah-ah?
Friendship-themed Give-Away coming up soon!
