Ngozi's Blog

Good morning peoples!!

Don’t know about you guys but I feel insulted. In fact, I feel highly insulted. Oscar Pistol-rius had a week (ONE WHOLE WEEK!!!) to come up with a story or explanation and between himself, his lawyer and his family and friends, this is the best they could come up with??!!

It’s like the husband whose wife catches him in bed with his secretary. Wifey is devastated, she storms out of the house and goes to stay with her mother. After a week, she finally comes home and demands an explanation and despite having one week to come up with something almost-believable, the husband goes ahead with the old “she slipped and fell on the D” excuse.

Hey Pistol-rius! How about;

Story 1. “We were into S&M… she was always the dominatrix. She was so mean! She would make me take my prosthetics off then order me to get on my knees. How much lower can I go??!! That night, I just got sick of it and I couldn’t take it anymore. So I shot her.” With that, he could get off with man-slaughter. Or

Story 2. He could plead temporary insanity… or

Story 3. He should’ve turned the room upside down; smashed the tv, broke lamps, upturned tables. Then, he woulda shot himself in the foot blade and stuck to the intruder/armed-robbery story.

So you see how, in a space of thirty minutes, I was able to come up with three incredible yet almost-believable stories? I even added a bit of reverse-psychology in the first one. Imagine if I had a week!

I know I shouldn’t be joking about this but I have very little sympathy for situations like this. And to think Reeva, his now dead girlfriend, was going to stand in front of hundreds of girls in a school the following day to give a talk on domestic violence. I don’t believe the violence started that day… it had probably been going on for a long while. I can imagine how many times he must’ve threatened to go all Gillette on her face. So what exactly was she gonna tell the girls in the school?

The weekend before this shooting, I got a call from a friend at home. Long story short, she was crying because she had no shit left in her. And she had no shit left in her because her boyfriend of two years had beaten the shit out of her after she told him she was going to visit a friend. She complained of pains in her stomach and lower back where he kicked her and she said one of her eyes was swollen shut.

“WTF!!!” said I. “HOW DARE HE LIFT A FINGER AGAINST YOU? IS HE MAD?” I was in a blind rage and I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do from here since she’s so far away. During the shit-beating, he told her that he would kill her and nobody would be able to save her and the worst that would happen is a few years in jail. And it wasn’t the first time. You can imagine my shock when she said, “My sister, na today? Is it because I’m not telling you the other ones?” However, she vowed that it was the final straw and promised to never go near him again.

That night, I was so worried I hardly slept. Very early the next morning, I called her and guess what? OJ Simpson-Pistorius wanna-be himself answered the phone. I hung up and called back later and she explained how sorry he was. She said she gave him a stern warning and threatened to leave him the next time it happens, so he’s on good behaviour now cos he’s so scared of losing her.

A stern warning, I thought. What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t all those dead girls think of that genius idea?

I wanted to ask her for the phone number of her next of kin, a copy of her last will and testament and her ATM pin but I decided it might be too forward of me. And I know she’s not going to tell me if it ever happens again, and quite frankly I really don’t wanna hear if it does. It’s something I will never understand… and I don’t even want to try.

Lord knows I could go on and on but I’ll end here. And it’s becoming irritating ending my posts with RIP.

RIP Reeva…

 

Good morning people…

I refused to say anything about Goldie’s death because I knew that my friends would see through the BS. While she was alive, during the BBA show, I was an unrepentant Goldie-basher. In the three months that she was there, the only positive thing I said about her was that the wall paper in her room was a nice colour.

I didn’t even know who she was before she entered the house. Of all people, it was my MUM who told me about Goldie. I was irritated by everything from her propellers false lashes to the way she chewed food. Then she fell in love, and watching her and Prezzo made me want to slit my wrists AND overdose on Vitamin C. However, by the time she was on her way out of the house, my respect for her had grown immensely. I’ll tell you why…

You see, I’ve loved that kind of love where you’re so obsessed with the person that you forget your middle name. When he’s happy, you are happy and everything is right with the world. But when he’s mad or sad you feel like your life is over. I compared her in-love Goldie to my in-love Ngozi and I realized that ‘in-love Ngozi’ probably wouldn’t have had the kind of self-respect and discipline she displayed. She remembered her middle name and made sure their love started and ended in the kitchen. I think most of the women who hated her did so because they recognized a bit of themselves in her.

Anyway, she left the house and although I was far from being a fan, I had some respect and the public dissing stopped.

I just wanted to say that before sharing with you something that happened yesterday…

Yesterday evening, I was in my room upstairs and through the window, I was eavesdropping overheard two women in the neighbouring compound having a discussion. I could see them sitting outside their building on tiny stools, those small stools that are perfect for gossiping, and they were talking about Goldie. They talked about her time in the BBA house, her marriage to some other dude, her music and career. The woman doing most of the talking (let’s call her Ode I) apparently got all her info from her husband. The other one, Ode II (or the Real Ode) was soaking up all this info and making the necessary dramatic “Ehen?”, “Youdonminit!” “Haba!” responses.

Now I understand that no one really knows the facts and details about Goldie’s story. And we may never know. But their version was so distorted that I was expecting to hear about a love-child that was conceived in the BBA house, born in an undisclosed location in Lagos and sent to Kenya to be raised by Timon and Pumbaa.

Some parts were hilarious, some parts were disrespectful of the dead, but the part that made me want to tear my mosquito net was when the following ensued:

Ode I: My husband even tell me say im see where dem talk say Goldie dey hide skeleton for im cupboard!

Ode II aka The Real Ode: Talk true! You see dis people?! Abeg tell me why pesin go keep skeleton for inside cupboard? Wetin she wan take am do?

Ode I: All dis celebrity, you think say their success na by ordinary hand? Most of them, juju go dey involve na!

My jaw is still by the window where it dropped.

I’ll end by simply saying Rest in peace Goldie…

Let’s have a wonderful week people 😀

I’ve been in hiding since I chopped off my hair. I still don’t know why I did it. I went out day before yesterday but I had to wear a wig. I couldn’t get into any physical fights or turn my head too quickly for fear that my wig would fall off.

I decided to show you guys what I look like with no hair 🙁 I selected only the best out of 7658762497532987428349 pictures that I took.

Please note that there are Rules And Regulations of Commenting:

1. Each person is allowed one ‘LOL’.

2. Close friends are allowed a ‘LMAO’.

3. Family members are permitted to ‘ROTFLMAO’.

😀

 

I still don’t think I’ll be going anywhere without my wig though 🙁

So it’s Val’s Day again… and you knew I was going to say something right? It’s the same message I preach every Val’s Day.

If ex-bashing was a sport, I would have won many Olympic Gold medals by now. My family, my friends, my pastor, the lady who sells vegetables to me in the market, my pet cat, they all know every evil thing that every ex has ever done to me. I’m a walking Chronicle of all the horrible things that a guy can possibly do to a girl. It used to be so bad that I would bring it up even in the most unrelated situations. Talking to me used to be like this…

Person: Hey, did you hear about what happened on Wall Street today?

Me: Yeah, I heard… it was crazy! Speaking of streets, did I ever mention to you that my ex-ABC used to live on a street? Things between us were really good till blah blah blah…

Or

Person: I’ve got a terrible headache… I think I’m coming down with the flu.

Me: Speaking of things that cause pain, did I ever tell you about the time that my ex-XYZ did blah blah blah…?

Eventually, by the time the vegetable lady stopped selling stuff to me, I realized that I sounded like a broken record. I got tired of playing the victim and decided to just shut up! But, the truth is, we all have a story. We’ve all been victims in one way or another.  And to be honest with you, I’m sick of hearing people’s stories and I’m sure they are sick to death of hearing mine. I’ll tell you why…

Like I said, we all have stories. But I always wonder, if everyone has had his/her heart irreparably broken, then who are these unknown, invisible people doing the actual heart-breaking? Isn’t it the same people? They say things like, “There’s no such thing as true love” and “I don’t believe in love” because of past hurts they experienced. My theory is that it is all bullshit. It is just an excuse to treat people like crap and mess with people’s hearts.

Whose fault is it that when you were sixteen, while your mates were writing JAMB, you fell in love with the neighbourhood hooker? You expected her to leave her budding career in Hookistry to be the mother of your unborn kids and marry you so that you would live happily ever after, with mind-blowing sex all day every day. Sadly, she left you for your friend with deeper pockets and a head that isn’t shaped like a hammer like yours. So you decide to take out revenge on every living creature that has to take a piss sitting down. If it is female, it must pay for the sins of your hooker-ex because “women are all the same”.

It’s not our problem that your ex-boyfriend had a threesome with your room mates while you were out of town. It hurt you, but every other boy shouldn’t have to suffer for it. Just learn from it by never bragging to future roomies about how he’s “hung like horse” and move on. If any misfortune ever comes his way, you can do the honourable thing and laugh heartily over his pain. But don’t hurt someone else because of it.

Personally, I’m over Val’s Day. Last year, I posted a note on Facebook about how the Val’s Day spirit in me was killed. If you’ve got time, you can read it here http://www.facebook.com/notes/ngozi-orji/my-vals-day-tale/10150598035587988. Believe me when I say I am not bitter about it, not anymore. I don’t have a problem with Val’s Day and I certainly do not beef people who feel a need to celebrate it, especially young people. But as usual, people are going to get hurt today, and that’s the part I don’t like.

As for me, I’m home alone with my dildo and the bottle of wine that should’ve been for AFCON. I’ll be celebrating tomorrow cos going out today in the midst of all those couples will make me want to puke :p

Happy Valentine’s Day people… 😀

Are you a young girl or woman looking for a way out of your relationship? Are you fed up with your boyfriend/lover/husband and you don’t love him like you used to? Is your inner hoe begging to be set free… free to hoe about? Or maybe you just miss being single?

Well, you’ve come to the right place…

At Ngor’s Solutionz, we take all the stress away by giving you unhealthy but effective relationship advice. Our methods may seem questionable, but we guarantee you fast results. Most of our surviving clients worldwide are currently enjoying their single status or better relationships. The ho’s have become commercial and turned their businesses into an enterprise.

So, why don’t you follow these steps below to rid yourself of that man TODAY!!!

Step 1. Do not shower, brush your hair, or brush your teeth today.

Step 2. Do as much housework as possible so that you are dripping with sweat and you smell ripe.

Step 3. Cook with lots of fish, garlic and onions and make sure you have pieces of meat and/or fish stuck between your teeth after dinner.

Step 4. By 8:45pm, immediately you hear the ref’s whistle go off for the ManU vs Real match, walk into the living room and stand firmly in front of your man. Ensure that you are obstructing his view of the tv completely.

Step 5. Tell him the 11 dreaded words; “Honey, I think you and I need to have a talk”. Then, using words and expressions that will help show the meat in your teeth from step 3 above, proceed to tell him about your fears concerning the both of you, then demand to know exactly where your relationship is headed.

We at Ngor’s Solutionz guarantee that, dead or alive, you will be out the door in no time and your inner hoe will be free to hoe about!!!

TIPS AND WARNINGS:

– Before carrying out this exercise, make sure there are no sharp items within his reach.

– Be fast on your feet. Quick reflexes will help you successfully dodge any flying objects such as remote controls, slippers, mobile phones etc that will most likely be hurled at you.

– For added effect, and faster results, during your speech about the relationship, cry till snot runs down your nose and chin.

Please leave a comment below. We would love to hear your success stories. If the hospital you end up in doesn’t have internet access, you can send a text describing your personal experience. May the force be with you Good luck!!!

Thank you for choosing Ngor’s Solutionz!!

Warning: If your man is neither a ManU fan or Real fan, and couldn’t care less who wins tonight’s match, the steps may not be as effective. 😀