Eleyi is no longer funny - This extended holiday needs to end.

I am going to start by professing my love for MY hp laptop. I missed this baby. I went on a tri state 1 week trip without it and I was exposed to more expensive macbooks et al. I do love the mac more than the PC (yes I am on that bandwagon) but there is nothing like having your own laptop that logs you on to skype and twitter automatically. When I used others' laptops, I had to consciously click "not now" when I was asked whether or not I wanted my password saved. Abeg, who has time for all that?

When I was in school, I wanted so desperately to be home. Now that I am home, all I have done is put on the weight I lost while I was in school. Not even in a good way. People need to stop keeping candy in their houses when I sleep over ja re. I am also sure I have slept an average of 10 hours a day or more in the past few weeks. I need this holiday to be over.

Blackberry empathy? Can I preorder? 'Nuff said. 

Back to my trip: it started on Saturday morning and ended the following Saturday night/Sunday morning. Megabus from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh for Redeemed church's 7th anniversary celebration. Speaking of which, that picture they took of me is a bad one o_o. Anyways, that trip involved Saturday and Sunday services and chilling with the girls as well as binging on jollof rice. 

Korede is getting married. She got me caught up in wedding fever. From cut of diamonds to destination weddings and wedding dress designers, photographers.... That will fill a manuscript so I am not going there. Any further. 

So I left Pittsburgh for Boston with my friend, future roomie, coblogger... all the same person. We - Shola, Mercy and I - went to the liberty hotel in Boston and had fun paying unnecessary money for Voss water. When they said bottled water, we thought they meant aquafina. Babes were not smiling when the bill came. Needless to say, I kept my voss bottle. Don't judge me. I recycle.

Boston gave way to New York. On the way to New York, I saw the 4 storey tall poster saying the Beatles are now on iTunes. There, I have advertised. Where are my Google Adsense cents? Say that fast 3 times. 

I love my New York peeps but WHY, oh WHY do you guys live in New York? This is the one town where people that I would visit more (if I could stand it) reside. I don't even want to think of how long we spent in traffic during OFF PEAK hours. I wanted to see a friend in Long Island but I was told quite frankly that I wasn't loved enough to be driven from Bronx to Long Island. The subway wasn't looking too friendly either. Why do more people keep packing themselves in/to NY? It is full. Please, move to New Jersey. Or Alaska. As a matter of fact, the lady on millionaire matchmaker says everyone should have certain unchangeable criteria in a spouse. One of mine is "willingness to accept that I will NEVER move to New York or anywhere like it". If he dreams of weekends spent hovering around Times Square, then we are definitely not a match made in heaven.

So, besides the grid lock traffic and the fact that I spent more time en route than at the destination, it was fun seeing peeps. We visited a bazaar and bought tees. We also got to try a Nigerian restaurant called "Buka" in brooklyn. I absolutely loved my goat meat pepper soup and I daresay I missed palmwine. We also met some funny characters there. Inspector gadget, Mr bright colors... a few other Nigerian Yale boys... and one or two fresh-off-the-boat peeps who had already learned how to funkify the pronunciation of their names. Further details and I might as well just put a link to the guy's facebook page. He he he.

New York led to Yonkers to hang out with the nicest couple I've met in a while. I liked them so much that I am attending their New Year's party on the 31st. Oh they also have an adorable baby... Oh! I meant to take a picture of him with my phone. (Shola bring your laptop back o, I want the webcam photos). 

Back to Philadelphia. We attended Jerry's birthday shindig. Once more, philadelphia MEN need to step it up. I am slightly racist so I will say/type this: L***rians, please tone it down. Aint nobody kurr that yo' 28 yr old sister went off with a strange man. It is no reason to yell at the DJ to stop the music. Also, picking up hair extensions from the floor and yelling "who weave is that?" isn't funny. Furthermore, when you want to say the police are around, "The cops saside" does convey the message. In a ghetto way.

*gets off green and white painted high horse and adjusts snub-glasses*

Here's another conversation I overheard:
Boy: Why can't you dance with me? I see your boyfriend Frederick is here.
Girl: (takes off shoes, sets them down, sets purse down on friend's thighs, flicks back hair, wags finger in boy's face, puts hand on hip, frowns)* Yo listen. I'm cool with Frederick like I'm cool wichu. If I was fucking Frederick, I aint gotta hide that shit. I'd tweet it, facebook it, it would be errwhere. So don't ever say I be fucking him. Cos I been heard that shit everywhere and it aint funny. Ai?
Boy: (laughs the blissful laugh of the drunk) It's not even that serious.

*All this happened in 5 seconds or less.

I almost thought the girl was gonna stab him. So I might have exaggerated a bit, but you get the idea.

In unrelated news:

- I feel bad for Obama. I don't even follow politics.

- I am going to attempt to start and finish a novel. I have several unfinished ones. 

- I am starting my 2011 resolutions. Now.

- Any time I turn on the tv, there is a commercial for skechers or reebok butt toners. Na Wa o.

I also came to the realization that in addition to my fear of darkness, and disappointing my parents et. al, I am also afraid of ending up with a man who settles for me because he couldn't have his Number One. (Oh I love that MI song ft Flavor - and I will fight this ADD. Later). Yeah, that will really suck. I will have him do a lie detector test and swear on everything he holds sacred before the "I Do"s. #serioustalk.

Ada, hmmm, me and you will wear the same trouser if I don't see you when I come back. 

That concludes my early december musings. Now back to Indiana Jones... Or an article for GidiGuy maybe...

Leeza.

Since I turned 25...

Me at 25 yrs and 1day.
I didn't go anywhere.
Long story.

Its past 10pm. I was trying to study elongation factors in RNA translation. Then I found myself opening a microsoft word document blank page. Yes, I do know the saying. Don't write because you want to say something but because you have something to say. However, dear people, its called a blog.  Eminem sings: I don't know what to sing, but imma f**king sing. Same goes for me. I don't know what to write but I want to write so here I am, writing.


It is my roommate's birthday today. He turned 24. He just left to go pick up his girlfriend from the airport. Young lovers, how quaint. My birthday was a few days ago, I indulged myself with a Q-Doba burrito, went to the gym to work it off, watched Supernatural on tv and my laptop simultaneously and chatted with anybody who made the mistake of signing on to skype, yahoo, or gmail as visible. In the following week, nothing spectacular happened in my life.

Wait, I lied. I did do something spectacular. I gave my password to a "stranger". That was not even the strangest part..... Let's rewind.

It started with my upbringing. I was infused with the amebor gene. Fastforward 25 years. I was lying in bed, much like I am now and I decided to go through friends' recent updates. A status message leads to the longest ice breaking session I've ever had with anyone. Honestly, I'd say I feel I know them better than some friends I've had for years. Given that I'm no poet, a few moment-almost appropriate songs come to mind but I'd have to chop them into bits and pieces as well as mix and match in order to get the perfect song. Last I checked, I'm no DJ...


Now for my random ramblings.
I've learned a few things this past week. I am absolutely incapable of studying for a whole week straight. The gym is beginning to not look like an evil place designed to make people feel ugly. I have one more reason to love my blackberry. I also now know how to caption photographs on blogspot. I wish I knew how to add a "banner"(Is that what it's called?). A lot of people thought I was younger than 25 by appearance but older by actions. I am not going to delve into that further. I learned the difference between a "satire" and a "dirge". I have an amazing long term memory. One of these days, I will remember the meaning of "utopia". Let me look it up again. For a certain "twitoaster", @jfancie and @ladyeiu are sisters. 

I'm only writing all this because I wanted to write:


I might have met one of the most amazing people ever and I haven't even met them yet.


Yeah, its Leeza...
...Missing Shawlar. 3 days...

Love is a bleeping drug

A poem I wrote, felt good to write it, since I thought I lost my inner poet. Enjoy

Love is a bleeping drug

Never knew how addictive she was 'til I tasted her

They warned me about her

But I sure had to try her for myself

Just like coke

She was good in the morning

before I lost all I had to her

And then cried myself to sleep at night

Love is a bleeping drug

She restored to health the pain in my lonely heart

But had side effects

“Did you read the fine print?” She said

Never want to get off her high

For all that I enrolled in Lovers Anonymous

Now I have to say the serenity prayer

Because I know she is a feeling I don't want to change

I don't wanna leave but I gotta Go!

I was having a chat with my girlfriend and she has been dating this dude for a couple of months and they are about to have a shock in their relationship. She is moving! far away to a different land and the question is what happens to them. This is beyond long-distance it requires crossing an ocean.

I am quite the sojourner myself and this scenario has happened too many times and it just happens that when I meet him, I am about to move. or I know I am leaving but I still meet him. And then the relationship is still young so I just chuck it. There are usually tiny little things like he didn't call every hour of the day or what does he mean by he is busy? the insecurities magnify by 100% when you don't get to see him so often. Your friends might not be of great help.

So now my girl is worried, she would have no idea what he is up to, she wants to let him go before he does the damage. She likes him (so she says).

Personally I think the degree of like is the key. and then living your life worry free is also important. As long as he is a decent being no need worrying and thinking he is a dog and if he does stray, you'll have ammo to take him out. sometimes its ourselves we have to worry about. Don't be the female dog dear! Good luck!

My very brief but much desired trip to Nigeria.

(The picture is that of me and my youngest sibling. He is a darling). I recently returned from a visit to Nigeria. While I was on the plane for the interminable flight, I wrote down things I'd like to blog about on the back of my boarding pass. I would literally close my eyes to sleep, remember something I wished I could tweet, reach for my pen and write it down like a tweet-starved addict. It was painful. I couldn't risk keeping it in my head for fear of forgetting. That said, here is a sketch of my thoughts during my vacation.

First leg of the journey was a 14 hour flight from new york to dubai. That was not so bad. I saw 6 movies back to back and dozed for an hour or two. Next thing I knew, we were in dubai. During the connection, I met a lady with a baby. We bonded. :).  While wandering around looking for our terminal, we came to an area where there were people sleeping in lounge chairs. One glance at them told me we had reached the right terminal.

During the 7 hour connection, I wandered around, gisted with my new friend, window shopped, took unnecessary trips to the bathroom and of course, charged my phone. While charging my phone, I met a Mr X. Mr X started out by asking me if I was flying business class or economy. I replied economy and he proceeded to tell me how a pretty girl should not fly economy and quite frankly, I agreed with him. I then asked what class he was flying and it turned out he was flying economy too. I zoned out on his explanation. I did zone back in when he was talking about his custom made toshiba phone while insulting my blackberry. it turns out he also had 2 other cell phones.. or maybe 3? I don't know. I quickly bbmed my friend about him as he was talking and she said only yoruba men behaved like that. I defended yoruba men and said he had to be igbo. She said to ask him if he was igbo. I did. I was wrong. he was yoruba. Smh.

Leg 2 of the journey began. It was an 8 hour flight to Lagos. As per I hadn't flown to Nigeria in 7 years so I knew my itinerary probably up to the minute. I was thus surprised when Mr X argued that Dubai to Lagos was a 6 hour flight. After I proved that it was 8 hours, he proceeded to tell me the last time he flew to Nigeria first class, it took him 6 hours. I guess I didn't realize first class arrived 2 hours prior to economy class. 0_0.

While on the plane, I happened to sit next to Mr X. He moved from his seat to be closer to me - how nice of him. He introduced him self and insisted I called him Mister Hisfirstname. I was shocked. I asked him why and he told me it was a sign of respect given that he was more than 3 years older than me. I told him I had no need to call his name and I was just going to sleep the whole flight. Mr X was not pleased and promised me 50 dollars if I would call him Mr X. So I said fine Mr X. Till today, I haven't seen my 50 dollars. In retrospect, I should have asked to see the cash first.


During the flight, I tried to sleep but Mr X kept waking me up to tell me intimate details about his life. I'll keep the details to myself. If you want to know....take a pill for ameborism :) I did manage to get some sleep. The final straw was when Mr X insisted I opened the window because he wanted to "see the plane's latitude". I still don't know what that means. When I refused to open the window, he told me I wasn't respectful enough to be wife material (wtf) and then said I should open the window. I opened it. I closed it. I went back to sleep. The journey ended.

Now on to disjointed thoughts and tweet worthy sentences.
My suitcase was literally the last to come out of the carousel thingy.

Nigerian women do need to stay away from lace fronts until they can do it right.

A 3 legged bus, I was told, is called a keke na pepe or something like that.

Once again, naija women stay away from the lace fronts.

You can't make up in a car. I tried. I almost lost my eye.

Things I took for granted before I left Nigeria: okin, yogurt (fan yogo), gala, indomie, choco milo.

Things I took for granted before I left yankee: everything else.

Someone was telling me a story and said, "I highlighted from the bus". Only Nigerians. I love my people.

Children are so easy to please. I allowed my siblings play with my camera and they were enthralled. I watched carefully sha. If they had dropped it, na cry be that. For me and them.

I saw people eating fries with forks and knives. They looked at me weird when I ate my suya without a toothpick. *kanye shrug*

Overweight woman says to a bunch of other overweight women: we must put our full weight behind the impeachment proceedings. Yes, I was watching Nigerian hbo and I thought, the actress did not realize the irony behind her statement. That would have been a lot of weight.

I saw super yogo and had to stop to buy. I parked in one lane of the already narrow 2 lane road and caused "go slow". Only in naija.

At this point, I think it is safe to say I have perfected my i-will-die-if-you-do-not-put-

on-the-generator look. As in, I sat in the bathtub sweating all because I went outside to get my siblings ice cream. They need to invent an air conditioned umbrella. Don't get me wrong, its hot in America too but I have no reason to go out when its hot.

I scratched the numbers off my #1000 recharge card. :(  It was painful.

A wicked looking nigerian woman on my left and mean indian on the right wouldn't let me rest my arms on the arm rest during the return to America flight. Nonsense.

If you can afford first class for you and your kids, that is nice but please, fly economy until you have saved enough to fly on private jets. It is only fair. If looks could kill, your kids sitting in first class could die...

I held my pee for 8 hrs. Just saying. My bladder muscles are tip top.

Why are these airlines so stingy with water anyway? I almost had to beg the hostess for extra glasses of water.

Oh and I attended my cousin's beautiful traditional and white weddings!

The End.

XOXO Leeza.

Lagos Boy

I was looking for a means of supporting myself beyond what I obtain for my service to this nation and I thought that writing would be my money maker. ever since I considered writing as a career I have developed writers bloc, I have been having a hard time bringing myself to publish a piece. What I enjoy about blogging is the freedom of what, when and how I write,so here goes another old piece:

In the description TDL: tall dark and handsome, I think the information missing is body mass. Is he skinny, fat, fit or what? So my ideal guy is fit, tall, dark and handsome (most of us right?) in addition to this physique description I am adding "street". This is particularly important in this city called Lagos. This city definitely needs a special breed of dudes. In Lagos, I shove all independence aside, dependence all the way. this is why a guy that is also street smart is needed, if not I might as well be on my own, "I can do bad by myself"-Madea/Tyler perry

While I have some feminist tendencies, I would be foolish to say that women are not inferior in Nigeria. Women can either be pardoned for an offense (...na woman now) or bullied for an offense.
Case in point 1: If i hit an okada rider, a swarm of okada riders would descend upon me and I can nicely come out of the car and absolve myself or stay in the car and call a LAGOS BOY to my rescue
or Case in point 2: I (a woman) am driving at night, gently like a woman is supposed to and I am unsure whether I should stop at a check point because an "abi na police or na thief" situation comes up, my LAGOS BOY would zoom past and not worry about the bullets because it is the waiting that gets you in trouble.

A LAGOS BOY is not all muscle but he is powerful, a player maybe but he knows how to take care of a woman (not particularly money) and of course he has swag, which doesn't necessarily match his looks or the car he drives. In essence, a LAGOS BOY is available, he is a protector from the elements of this environment, he is jealous and he keeps the other dogs away.


This is new territory for me, like i said earlier i have feminist tendencies but I will sit back and let LAG BOY FTDL take over...mmhhh


....Shola

the beginning: a poem

I wrote this awhile ago because "someone" wanted me to dedicate a piece to them, so here it goes:


He wants me to be poetic, but that's not our relationship, it is not short and sweet, and it doesn't rhyme.
What we have is lyrical maybe, better yet a prose.
Because there is only a beginning to this so far
We haven't even gotten to the middle yet
and it is not at the end, at least this I hope


.......Shola

Crackberry - without which it would all be too much.

I wish I woke up in the morning feeling as rich as P. Diddy....

Anyways, let's do this again. I wake up in the morning and first thing I do is grab my phone. That's not because I am addicted to it. Ok, I am lying. However, my phone serves as my alarm and I need to turn it off. :) Besides, I have been phoneless for the last day and a half. I don't know how I am doing it. I have a headache right now. Methinks its a withdrawal symptom. I did just borrow my neighbor's charger to juice up my phone and I am literally watching the battery bar fill up with white blocks. I feel reinvigorated. I am almost afraid to stop watching it for fear that it might cease charging.

Back to waking up, I turn off my alarm and check my emails. My emails all come to my blackberry so I delete what needs to be deleted and attend to what needs to be attended to. Next, I grab my computer. Facebook is already open of course. A quick glance at my homepage tells me who I need to wish happy birthday. Another quick glance at my blackberry tells me who I need to wish happy birthday that is not on facebook. I compose wall posts and emails as necessary and then it's back to the blackberry for a quick glance at twitter. Gotta love ubertwitter. After attending to my @'s and DMs on twitter, I proceed to hulu.com. Once upon a time, my morning routine included music while I was dressing up but now, I watch a tv show while getting ready. I have music for the road after all so why not?

On the way to work, I am constantly checking my phone to reply or delete emails and facebook notifications as they are received. I don't even consider myself a busy person by normal standards. What will happen if I have kids and some multi millionaire type job? I guess I'd have a personal assistant then. However, I do think I'd like to check my facebook notifications and blackberry emails myself. I check my emails like text messages that my dad's emails now go like this: "Good Morning Ese, are you feeling well today?" and after I reply with a one liner, he gets down to business.

Twitter to facebook to blogspot to emails. I used to have one million email addresses but everything goes to my gmail account now thanks to automatic forwarding. I don't even remember the passwords to some of the numerous email accounts. Its driving me crazy. I want to delete some of these connections to the black hole called the internet but I keep making myself believe that I need each one. I am leaning towards eliminating twitter but how would I vent those random times when a maniac is being maniacal on the street? Or when someone blows smoke in my face on a Pittsburgh sidewalk? As for facebook, God forbid I have no where to post my pictures when I resume my photography habit! Flickster isn't as interesting. My dear dear blogspot. It's like facebook note visible to everyone so I don't really know why I need blogspot. I must admit that I do like to write and given that facebook can import blog spot notes... that kills two birds with one stone. However, I do think I am going to leave twitter. If i feel the need to vent randomly, I will .... er.... hmmm... twitter stays. Shit. As I reinstall ubertwitter again for the 3rd or 4th time, I wonder, how I ever survived 10 years ago.

All I can say is Thank You Crackberry for being the one tool I need to access the one hundred facets I have created in my life.

Have an awesome April.

Leeza!

Tales from the Kitchen - The Metal Spoon vs. The Non-Stick Pot.

Naturally, this post is about food and cooking in general. Before I begin, let me point out that I am not the best cook in the world. However, I am not the worst. When I cook, more often than not, it tastes good. The only problem is the state of my kitchen/pots/pans when I am done cooking and the energy I have to expend to bring order back to the chaos. Hence, I'd be the first to admit that if I ever venture into a kitchen and it somehow emits a force field that keeps me out, I will not be surprised. Here goes....

First things first, I believe I am one of the not so many people out there that can very definitely describe the taste of burned eggs and metal. This one was simple. I placed an egg on the stove to boil and went to my room to quickly tidy up amongst other things. "Quickly" took longer than I expected and by the time I returned to check on my egg, I had to scrape it off the bottom of the pot with a spoon. I ate some of it anyway...out of curiousity. My pot was never the same after that.

I once fried an egg and it came out green. Till today, I don't remember putting curry in it. If I remember correctly, when I closed my eyes and ate the fried egg, it tasted normal. It just looked kinda off. There was no disaster here, just a mystery. Do eggs spoil? Or expire?

We have all seen our grandparents take pots off the stove with bare hands, right? Well, I tried it at home. Let's just say that no matter how coated a pot's handle is now, I will use a napkin. On that note, I tried to use a napkin to rescue a pan of oil that was on fire and the napkin caught fire - not from the pan - but from the stove. Mind you, it was an electric type stove, not exactly a fire burning type. That's a story for later.

Just a few years ago, I wanted to make some oven baked chicken. I bought my chicken, cleaned it up, spiced it and boiled it a little. After this, I placed it in my glass baking pan and put it in the oven. 30 minutes later, the chicken wasn't looking brown enough for me so I increased the oven temperature. About 10 minutes later the chicken looked perfect. I take out the baking pan with my napkins and set it on the counter top. After rescuing my chicken from the pan, I place the pan in the sink and ran a little water just to cool the pan a bit because I like to wash dishes as soon as I am done. Let us just say, I started out that day with 2 glass baking pans and injury free hands. At the end of the day, I was one baking pan short and I had glass cuts on my hands. I did however wolf down the delicious chicken.

How's everyone spending their tax returns? Well, I spent some of mine shopping and I am saving the rest for ...you guessed it, Kitchen repairs! I went over to my neighbor's house and she gave me some ripe plantains that she said she wouldn't have time to fry. I excitedly went home intending to fry them myself. I got home, placed a pan on the stove with some oil and then ran upstairs to change out of my work clothes. I honestly couldn't have been more than 5 minutes. I took off my jacket and my pants and off went the fire alarm. There's a difference between the fire and smoke alarms, trust me. I ran downstairs through the fog of black smoke that was filling the house. My pan of oil was on fire! I used a napkin to grab a hold of the pan and the napkin caught fire too. I think the stove top thing just got way too hot. Maybe oil spilled on it? Who knows? Anyways, the fire department didn't have to come. Black soot settled on everything that wasn't covered. I spent the next few hours scrubbing black soot off surfaces in the kitchen but the worst part is, I mentally kissed my tax returns good bye as I trashed the evil frying pan. Now, I am afraid to use that particular stove top because I believe it is against me. The good part about that night was that I ended up roasting my ripe plantain in the oven and eating it with red oil and imaginary groundnut. *sigh* I miss bo-le and Naija.

Last but not least, I got back from work earlier tonight. I had purchased some rice, tomatoes, pepper and onions from the grocery store and I decided to make enough jollof rice to last me for a while. Given that I eat rice a lot, that is a lot of rice I was thinking. I measured rice into my biggest pot and went upstairs to take a shower. I know what you're thinking...No, I put the heat on very low so it wouldn't burn or over cook. By the time I returned downstairs, the rice was not over cooked. However, it was too much for the pot. I didn't realize this until I added my blended concoctions and the pot threatened to overflow. I transferred some of the rice into an empty pot while trying to stir this pot such that all the ingredients got to the rice at the bottom. No matter how much I stirred, the rice at the bottom still seemed white. Even worse, it began to stick to the bottom of the pot. I stirred even harder and it made no difference. That was when I realized what I had to do. I threw my plastic cooking spoon into the sink and reached for the cooking spoon drawer. I grabbed the gleaming stainless steel cooking spoon and went at the rice with all my might. The rice at the bottom began to give and soon enough, my rice was evenly toned. The rice was also well done at this point and it hadn't turned red-ish. I didn't want to add more tomatoes so I went for the curry. Moral of the story is, man proposes but metal spoon and non stick pot dispose. I ended up with curry rice - it wasn't red. (Don't ask what that means, just come and taste it). My metal spoon is my hero. My non stick pot...well, I don't think it deserves that title anymore. At this point, I must have scraped off all the non stickiness from the bottom. Hmm, maybe that explains the metallic taste of my rice? Nah, just kidding.

Don't be afraid when I enter your kitchen; disasters only occur in mine.
XO
Leeza.

The Fake Nigerian

How many times have you heard this age-old Nigerian story: a person (a Nigerian) goes to a foreign country most likely the United Kingdom or say the United States for a period usually a short time like 3 months - 2  years and poof!!! they speak different. And usually it is the wackest accent possible.

Today, I was sitting by myself reading a book (Somewhere in Lagos) and this fairly handsome Hombre asked to sit next to me in his fake NIGERIAN american accent, emphasis on Nigerian) and we start talking and somehow the conversation goes to "In America..." and I sat there listening  and thinking like 'dude what do you have to tell me about "Hamerica" ' (as I like to call it) but I sat quietly and was nodding . You can trust I was already turned off, I tweeted about him mid-coversation. and then he goes "What School did you go?" and I respond "Washington State University" then I asked "what school did you go?" He goes "Covenant University" and then I smile my evil "hehehe" smile. Then I tweeted "Trust me to break down the fakeness."

The End

Shola