*insert self inspired title here*

I’m muttering to myself about the fact that I have a big INf quiz on Monday, a biology assignment due on the same day, a Maths test that week, and another ICP test the following week. Yet, by 7:00pm, I’m gonna dust my ass, get up, attend a fashion show and party till I drop. Oh and for effect I’m listening to Shayne Ward’s “waiting in the wings”. Great song by the way. It’s on repeat and my hands are moving over this steady technological plane of alphabets and numbers…my keyboard. Damn, I really know how to veer of a set writing course


This was initially supposed to be a piece about a perfect world. One where I didn’t feel things ten times the way a normal human should, my excessive ability to over think anything, mostly minor stuff. One where I don’t just wake up with crazy mood swings, paranoid thoughts of betrayal, friendship, and selfish chiding of myself. Gosh, I really am a handful aren’t I? Crap, I really hate the green button word gives you when it feels your grammar isn’t “on point”, speaking computerifically of course, but then mine’s set on American English. Such lazy people spelling and grammar wise. I’m veering off again. Oh well, I’ll just rename this to random part 2

Oh right now it’s “we cry” by The Script that’s playing. Awesome awesome awesome times infinity band if I say so..or type so myself. (doffing hat) yes sire.

I feel great, this is awesome. Not since the beginning of this year have I sat down and written pure unthought-of existential bullshit on paper..or more appropriately, a word processing software.

Kesha’s “we r who we r” is playing now. See what I typed initially about American English.. *sigh* I have to be the biggest Nigerian fan of excellent spoken and written English. I have like a minor language OCD when it comes to bad spelling and short form English. Hate is an understatement for my feelings about the bullshit. Oh and yeah, my friend Vivian is modeling in a fashion show. She’s probably never going to see this, but whatever. Good luck girl. Don’t trip.

Okay I’ve had it..I’m changing this song..and yes you can say it, I’m one hell of a FAST typist  *doffs hat again*

Okay now it’s Justin Timberlake’s “cry me a river”. Before I veer of course, I’ll type, I had a much needed convo with my eternal bestfriend, Tolu Mokuolu. She always knows how to make me feel just a little bit better. Oh and she reminded me of some eternal life lessons

• Always be yourself, that’s the best version of you there’s ever gonna be…because as long as I try to fit into someone idea of who they want me to be, I’ll never really be happy and will eternally remain confused.

• Stop being so damn uptight

• I am not a nerd…as I have so graciously claimed, but then again, I care excessively about school work. I love turning in those assignments and test papers and although I’m not the most avid listener in class, I kinda am an instructor’s pet…most of the time..geek alert anyone?

All right before this turns into a too long post..I’m off trying to post this on blogspot, if the wifi in this shit hole of a location allows me too. I’m leaving you listening to Usher’s “what’s a man to do”…aloha goodbye 

You know you love me

Xoxo…rudEgIrL

mivu:)

2:46 am, 20th February, 2011


I cried, and talked, and hugged and cried some more. Okay, you get the idea. Damn. I never thought I of all people would do that. Turns out I’m human after all. Just your unaverage, run-of-the-mill, cares-too-much and later does-not-give-the-slightest-flying-fuck and reverts back to phase one kinda girl, but enough about me. This piece is about someone else.

I cried in front of her. She listened, people, LISTENED to me. She hugged me, and as cheesy as it might sound…to me, I hugged back. I LOVE this girl. She’s not Tolu, but I’ll be dammed if she’s not the best thing/person that happened to me in this heathole of a state. Alright, I’ll type her name…its Vivian Mary Jane Ibegbule…mivu child 

She’s skinny, but has a good figure, in a white-girl-who-has-a-nice-shape-kinda-way. I’ll admit it, she has nice brown eyes. She doesn’t have a spaded nose like me…and she’s got pimples which she hates, but she’s still a damn looker. She loves Pringles and hates domestic work, particularly laundry. She’s sitting across from me watching whateveritis or bbm-ing or I don’t know, but the point is she’s awesome. She likes to call what I would refer to as “sappy crappy guitar riddled shit” her kinda music, but occasionally we agree on some songs, particularly the ones of “The Script”..awesome band btw..check em out. She also likes chicken and Indomie, Hilarie Burton (see?? I spelt it well) and spaghetti bolognaise.

The point is, this girl listened to me. For the first time in my life, it actually feels okay to just let it all out and talk….I think the reason I’ve been talking so much in my life was because I never had the chance to say what I really wanted to say. Okay, I better post this before she goes to bed…got church tomorrow and I’m really looking forward to downing her in water if she doesn’t respond to my gentle wake up taps. Guess what I’m tryna say is….Mivu, you’re the best…you’re one in a million, seriously…..I mean it….

I mean it babe, I really mean it

Thx for being there

Xoxo

rUdEgIrL

A pre-valentine's package

Two weeks in a Virginia jail, for my lover for my lover


20,000 dollar bills, for my lover for my lover

Everybody thinks, I’m the fool

But they don’t get, any love from you

Everyday, I’m psycho analyzed, for my lover for my lover

Things we don’t do for love

Climb the mountains if I have to, risk my heart so I could have you

Now listening to Tracy Chapman’s “for my lover”. Essentially, she makes so much sacrifice for her man, and everyone thinks she’s the big fool, but in retrospect, they’re the fools, because they don’t know how it feels to get loved by him. She goes on to say what people WONT instead of actually DO for love. Basically, that’s what we have today. Everyone not wanting to look like “the fool”, “catching the grenade”, “taking the bullet”, or what not. In the words of fictional character, Olive Penderghast,

“Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80’s movies?

I want, John Cusack holding a boom-box outside my window, I wanna ride off on a lawn mower with Patrick Dempsey, I want a boy thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me”

Sure I might come off as slushy, sloppy or whateveritis you people call it nowadays, but deep down inside you..girls..just deep down you know it’s true. You want a person you can love till your heart feels like it cannot contain one more gram of love for someone. You want that one person you can point to and say, “he’s mine with utmost pride, stand tall and trust like no one else. You want that person who can make you laugh, and scold you if no one else can. You want to love and be loved in return…and if I dare say, some guys want that too. Okay I’m done. This is too way too much mushiness for me to handle.

In the spirit of Valentine ’s Day, I say, happy valentine in advance. For those chicks getting limited edition designer what-not’s , I envy you small sha. For the couples who wanna keep it low key and romantic, have the best day ever. For people with friend and family valentines, “keep your loved ones close cuz they don’t live twice”. For single-and-loving-it-chicks out there. Please don’t make yourself miserable and dine out in a couple infested restaurant. Have a girl’s night out. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of cute, hot guys waiting to bond in the spirit of valentine. Spend well, don’t be stingy.

You know you love me

X0x0..rUdEgIrL. 

Dark Valentine

This is my first fictional piece, so go easy on me February 14th 2011.


1:00 am, undisclosed location

Its raining. Cold hard pouring rain. The type of rain that expresses in detail just a fraction of what I feel inside. The tears are right on the edge but they’re not falling, just misting my eyes over and over and over. I’m not numb, I’m not sad. I’m just, still, right on the edge of a precipice, a sharp drop very far off the ground. Its my heart and its right on that edge, one slight shift, and it would crumble and most likely kill me. My phone vibrates beside me, and I see a message from my twin sister, Nadia. It vibrates again and a deep dark rumble permeates the atmosphere and my heart. If this is heartbreak, I’m enduring the worst of it.

I’m laying on my bed, legs sprawled out hand crossed over my chest, almost as if, they’re protecting my heart from more damage than has already been done. My eyes continue their rounds of misting over and drying up. My breaths are slow and very silent, almost non-existent. The only sound is that of the rain and occasional thunderclaps. The only motion made is my phone moving about in response to vibration. There’s the taste of blood on my tongue. His blood, my blood.

…now the tears start flowing…



48 hours earlier…

(deep breath). I can safely say, I’ve never felt more in the right place at the right time..or in my case, enclosed in the right arms of him. Oh God, thinking oh him just makes me think of events of the past hours gone by, and that in turn makes me red, well colorless actually(black people don’t blush outside their stomach lining) and somehow I find myself reaching for him and wanting to do things I would never have dreamt of in a million years. It’s my almost-perfect time. Perfect, but for one minor detail…we’re both hungry…lets get this show on the road again shall we? *giggles*.

2 hours and one plate of Caesar salad and chicken later…

Yeah, you guessed right, I gave it to him last night and it was wonderful. Its funny cuz Valentine’s day was only 48 hours away, but being the delightful package of weirdness I was, I decided to make it three days before valentine’s day. I’m not the most romantic or conventional person so Valentine’s day didn’t mean half of what it meant to other girls. It did mean something though. It meant spending time… whole day with him. I wasn’t the most accessible person and neither was he, so it was a rare gift that we found each other, understood our selves and made us work. I think I’m in love with him. I’m gonna call him and tell him. Yeah, I’ve got quite the idea. I’ll just blurt it out you know, like a cough or a sneeze or one of those things. Yeah, I’m gonna make it as cheesy-free as possible. Oh geez, I feel laughter rising. I’m in love people, I’m IN LOVE!!

24 hours to Valentine’s day…

I’m gonna tell him. God I’m so nervous. Okay babe, calm down. I run straight into his apartment…and I see, oh God I see, I see…

…“deuces” is all I can remember saying…

2 hours and one bag of drip later…

It hits me, it hits me. Oh God, I can’t breathe, I can’t move. I’m checked out of the hospital.

22 hours to Valentine’s day, home seated on carpet…

My playlist includes, Mandy Moore’s “cry”, Keri Hilson’s “toy soldier”, Madonna’s “frozen”, Daughtry’s “home”, Beyonce’s “save the hero”, Sara Bareilles “breathe again” and some guitar and piano stuff. No Taylor Swift though. Just so we’re clear.

He was, with her sprawled across the table, yelling obscenities, calling out that he loved her. She was gorgeous, tall, big boobs and gorgeous hair(fake or real). She was moaning. I stood there, a full four minutes and 4 seconds in which I took a minute to walk towards them and touch him, look into his eyes to see if it was him, the man I just gave my heart too. I can’t cry. I can’t move. I’m like a still outstanding work of art, painted smack in the middle of life at its most joyous and active. There’s a knock

…he’s here…

to be continued...