What’s in a name?

I met a guy the other day- my height, really dark, cute. I was looking very ‘flashdance’ in my off-the-shoulder shirt and peeptoe wedges.

Him: Hey…

Me: hi

Him: You’re very pretty

Me: Umm… thanks

Him: Where are you from?

Me: Nigeria

Him: Nigeria… I like that

Me: How about u?

Him: Me come from Jamaica still

I laughed at the immediate switch in accents

Me: Righttttttt

Him: Whats you’re name?

Me: Overwhelmed… u?

Him: Tangerine.

Me: huh?

Him: Tangerine

Me: Lol… so that’s whats written on your birth certificate is it?

Him: Lol… it is my name… but of course I’ve got other ones as well

Me: Such as?

Him: Kimor

Me: say word

Him: word... my first name is Kimor

Me: Oh

Him: Oh? I take it there’s a story…

Me: lol... not really.. the ex is named Kimor

Him: Lol… you see why I initially told you tangerine?

Me: Lmao… you're silly

In The Mix

My summer is sizzling… and I might end up talking a lot about boys and parties and carnivals and more boys… but I will try my best to intersperse my ‘dating narratives’ with Mummy Sundays, Life in a song posts and other intellectual mumbo- jumbo every once in a while.

The ‘major’ players:

1. Robin: I call him Robin cos he does excellent caricatures… he can imitate voices and sounds like nobody I know. He’s Nigerian (Igbo to be exact), 25, smart, political, 6 ft 2 (he says 3’ cos he cant stand the fact that I’m a little taller than him in certain heels). My sarcasm… he GETS! This guy is really cute (yes… SDC- Sober Daylight Cuteness), lanky with a bit of musculature… and he wears RED! (I think it’s so sexy when a guy wears red). He makes me laugh all the time… I honestly never realized how many dirty Igbo jokes there are… and he’s up on that shit… bloody dirty bastard... lol. I find it incredibly sexy to speak to him in Igbo for some reason… I had a short dinner with him once since I met him two weeks ago… and we talk just about everyday… he’s somewhat cranky when we don’t (he doesn’t admit this of course… but I know he simply adores me… hehe… although he does spend 90% of his free time making up various insults and stupid names for me… the only guy I know who asks me how I can live with being so ugly… lol… he’s one of those people… you either get his sense of humour or you don’t… and I DO… and I give back as good as I get… trust your girl)

He asked me to be his girlfriend last night…

I’ve known him for about two weeks…

I like him as well… but I don’t want to go there just yet… I want to see more of him… I want to know more of the things that make him laugh, make him sad, make him think… I wanna know if I like the way he kisses… and I haven’t even kissed him… actually I haven’t kissed in months and months... gosh I hope I remember how… lmao

I think we're supposed to go and see a movie or something tomorrow (any recommendations?)

I didn’t say no…

But I didn’t say yes…

Plus… there’s another guy I’m kind of beginning to like as well:

2. Will aka Muscle: He’s a cute, 6 ft 1 part-time bouncer/student with a body out of a fitness magazine… abs ripped like a motherfucker, dark chocolate smooth skin and A NECK TATTOO (one of the sexiest things a guy could possibly get in my opinion). I love the way his adams apple bobs when he talks... and he smiles... with his eyes…it’s like do I really make you smile that much? (and this coming from a girl who doesn't like guys who smile too much... so you know its good) He’s something of a metrosexual, weird cos I’ve never really been a great fan of pretty boys… but then again…fuck it… I’m prettier… lol.

I actually first met him a few months ago… a friend of a friend…

‘hi’

‘bye’…

A month or so later…

‘hi, how are you doing’

‘good… you?’

then I met him again with my ‘1’ Naijadyme earlier in the summer I think… we chilled and went semi-shopping… girls did I tell you this guy has a BODY on him?!!! He liked me then… but I wasn’t really giving him much face… I don’t know… I think his timing was just off that day…

I bumped into him on Sunday at a club… looking sexy-as-hell with his black on black and funky faux-hawk and chocolate skinned self. I was not looking ok or cute on Sunday… fuck it… I was looking HOT. I went with a couple of my girls… and our table was constantly being filled with drinks all night(older guys though… wasn’t interested so I acknowledged the drinks with a nod… and sedate smile… 2 persistent guys found a way to slip me their numbers... but I won't call)

I loved muscle’s confidence on Sunday… he didn’t ask me to give him my number… he just gave me his phone, smiled and told me to do my thing… lol… so I did.

Coincidentally, I saw him yesterday shopping around my area… we stopped by starbucks… 2 hours and 3 white chocolate macchiatos later…

I’m feelin him…

He’s liked me for months… is so adorable you have no idea… he wants to have a private picnic this weekend… lol… who does that I ask him? I like different… so it works for me

My phone is having some issues right now(yeah… AGAIN)… but because he wanted to talk to me last night after our ‘mini-date’… he gave me his other cellphone to use… sweet right… (I should be getting a new one today... so I'll be nice and give it back )

The most surprising thing about this is when I called my ‘1’ Naijadyme last night and told her that I was feeling the dude and she said ‘I know’… she knows? Apparently I liked him the last time we chilled but was just being difficult…lol… worreva (sometimes best friends suck ass with their 'truthiness'... lol)

He’s a man… at 21

I told him he’s coming with me to get my eyebrows done today… and unlike most guys… he was down and didn’t complain for shit… lol… I wonder if he’ll let me paint his toenails weeks down the line (just kiddin... I think... lol)

In the meantime, I still have his phone… so if you wanna reach me… holla… 1-800-MUSCLES

*There are a couple of other up-and-coming potentials… but this post is a bit long… so I’ll write that up later *

Where I am

I'm no longer a fan of The Chef
We've been talking since we met howmanyever weeks ago... he really is funny and adorable on the phone
We never really got around to going on that drink date... cos I always had something to do... and after a few 'misses'... he didn't ask as much anymore
We finally decided to go see a movie or play pool or go for dinner... SOMETHING last weekend
He didn't call me at 8pm like he was supposed to... and by 11pm when he DID call... I had already made plans and was getting ready to hit a party...
yeah we rescheduled AGAIN

As luck or 'mis-luck' would have it... I was going shopping with my '5' Ayo on Wednesday afternoon... and we were supposed to go chill with some 'brethren' after so I was looking cute(I'd say sexy but I wouldn't want you to come out of this post thinking 'dang that girl must think she's all that'... )

He had previously told me the restaurant he 'cheffed' at... so on a whim... Ayo and I decided to pass by and say hi... (we'd decided we'd have brunch there if he was the hotness... 'if' being the keyword... cos the hotness at night when you've drank a few smirnoffs can be quite different from 'sober daylight hotness')

I rang him up... and we drove on by...
Ifem ji anyam furu... chaiiii... olisa bi na igwe biko wezugerem ajo ife nandum for the rest of my life... enwerom onu okwu... ay ay ayyyyyyy.... na Darwin kwuru na ndi mmadu si evolve na monkey... odika obere eziokwu no na okwu ahu... ewo meeeeeee

(The Igbo was used above cos I don't know that I know the right words in English to express the dissapointment... the wowority... the 'kponkiousness' of the entire situation)

This boy was NOT fine! I mean I have never really been one for pretty boys... and dated two 'not-so-great-looking-guys-who-were-extremely-nice-and-inwardly- attractive' in my day (lol... I know... how 'unshallow') but one definitely has to draw the line somewhere...
This boy had an unsexy dopey grin on him that showcased all 54 of his incisors... with this 'sauced-up' white apron and hat...
I really couldn't stand his smile it was so apologetic... that sort of said something like 'I know I'm not that cute... but ummm... will you please manage me... please?!?!'
ummm... NO!

He still had that sexy ass height... all 6 ft 3 inches of him... that dark chocolate gorgeous skin... you could just tell he works out(lol... plus he told me) but I couldn't get pass the smile...

I could just tell from it that he'd apologize all the time for things that aren't even his fault...

Overwhelmed: you're so tall eh?
The Chef: i'm sorryyyy

Overwhelmed: I'm hungry
The Chef: oh baby... I'm sorry

Overwhelmed: I suppose I should've left the door open so you could come in when I was upstairs
The Chef: oh... I'm sorry

Overwhelmed: you really can be an idiot sometimes...
The Chef: I'm sooo sorry

yeah... that kind!

A lot of my boyfriends in the past have been 'apologetic'... I was almost always right... I was always just a little smarter... could get away with just about anything...
I'm not really down with that shit anymore... slightly dumbing myself down to not appear as 'intellectual'... not being able to use the 'big words' that I want to other than with certain friends and in class... I've had this in so many relationships that I almost don't know anything else... but I realize there is more...

I should be able to discuss the literary delight that is sarcasm... as well as how sexy my leopard print stilletos are...

I AM A SMART AND SLIGHTLY TWISTED GIRL... and I have made my peace with that...

I of course would like someone who celebrates me... but also tells me the truth however harsh it might be...

The Chef was too complimentary... too eager...
'My female coworker said you have a nice ass'(lol... I seem to be getting a lot of compliments from lesbians lately... one day I will write a post about some of the girls who have propositioned me before... I take all of this as a compliment... lol... you know you're 'not-so-bad'... when the ladies love you... although I will say I am strictly '*ickly')

'Oh whelmed you're prettier than I remember'

'You have your belly buttons pierced eh? that's sooo fucking sexy... dang girl'

I really don't need to hear that every two seconds

He's called me nuff times since... I pick up sometimes and we talk... but I'm definitely not gonna date him... I want no... NEED a challenge... mental, spiritual, physical... etc...

He's not hideous or anything... I'm pretty sure even some girls reading this will think I'm nuts if they saw him... but me no interest... him na make it!

Moral of the story: When you're drinking... in the dark... don't believe everything you see... oh and dating ROCKS!!!

Indulgence

United States of Whatever

I was going to title this post ‘The American’ but chose not to for political reasons. Besides, the song (if you could call it that) of that title by Liam Lynch is stupid genius… the lyrics, video, artist is almost too much… I love it! Sad thing Liam became a one-hit wonder though… but then again however does one top such a masterpiece?! Make a song called Pirates of the Punani?! I guess not.

I met Exposition about 3 weeks on my way to my ‘volunteer job’. I was wearing light brown curls, slightly baggy skinny jeans (go figure), a big tote and simple cami. The only ‘comma’ was my feet. See the night before I had gone to a reggae party (the one where I met ‘The Chef’) with my friends, but I was already dressed up that night when I realized that my nail polish clashed horribly with my shoes. I was in such a hurry that I only painted the one toe that showed in my peep-toe stilettos.

I had to rush out of my house the next morning… and I was already 30 minutes away when I realized that:

MY BIG TOE ON EACH FOOT WAS PAINTED BLACK AND THE REST OF MY TOE NAILS WERE HOT PINK… AND I WAS WEARING FLIP-FLOPS!!!

Fashion police in Oshodi market… I looked like a cross between a hood- rat and a Japanese hippie.

I don’t know if Exposition noticed this or not… but he still asked me for my number… and if he could take me for lunch later that afternoon

I couldn’t… and wouldn’t (make people for no start to dey give me ‘university donations’ think say I dey do ‘Canada Rag Day’)

He calls me a couple of times each day… I pick up when I feel like it

The thing about Exposition is that it often feels like a history lesson talking to him… one day he’s on about the underground railroad and Harriet Tubman… and the next day it’s a discussion about Jamaican single mothers on welfare. I suppose it is somewhat interesting to debate on issues I learnt in my 2004 (and only) history course.

Speaking of 2004 and history lessons…

Sometime in that year, an ex-friend had dated a guy (Dave) whose great passion was discussing World War 1(swear to God). She had zero interest in politics and/ or history… and whenever we were together… would always tell me to make sense of what the ‘educated fool’ was saying. Luckily, at the time I had an African tutorial assistant who had picked up on my Nigerian last name and decided to make me class pet/ sound board. I basically had to know the work or risk the look he gave me on the third day of class when he asked me who Adolf Hitler was and I replied ‘a bad man’. In retrospect, perhaps it wasn’t such a good thing that I discussed history with Dave cos a few weeks after, he told my ex-friend that he liked me as well and wondered if we could have a 3-some! She never picked his calls after that… the bloody asshole!

Exposition is light-skinned, sorta cute, Black- American (boy it would wear you out to hear the ‘history’ on this one), sometimes humorous, exactly my height and a big lover of African culture (you know those black Americans who would go on yearly trips to South Africa to ‘discover’ themselves, fill their homes with masks and elephant/ giraffe figurines and give their kids names like Kwame, Emeka and Oladimeji).

He works at… I don’t even remember where... cos he was doing a lot of explaining and I was watching re-runs of the Search for the Next PussyCat Doll… and still rooting for Chelsea even though I saw the finale and knew that Asia had already won the competition…

I don’t think I ever asked him how old he was… or perhaps he mentioned it and I forgot…

I realize it sounds like I don’t know very much about him… but I DO!!!

I know that he drives a cute car and has a cute accent

I know what happened with the last girl he was talking to… who it turned out had a boyfriend (said dude had initially claimed to be her brother… lol... don’t ask… long story)

And I know that umm….

Ummm….

Ok to be honestly honest… I don’t know too much about him… perhaps that already says something…

I have a couple of parties to go to this weekend… but if I have a minute, I might actually take him up on his ‘going somewhere’ offer…

Come to think of it… it has been a while since I saw a movie in theatres (2002’s Undercover Brother… lol… I kid I kid) or ate cheesecake (last weekend… lol)

I don’t like him… or not like him…

Time will tell… I suppose.

Barely Legal

He’s Grenadian, brown- skinned, an incredibly talented basketball player at 6 ft 8, and possibly one of the most beautiful guys I ever met… ever!

His name is really unique… but for the purposes of this blog, I’ll call him Achilles.

This guy is abominably sexy… and smart.

We met on Saturday night at a friends place…

He smiled at me… I smiled back.

We talked and talked… the things we’ve done, the things we do... the things we plan to do.

He spends a lot of his spare time playing basketball… and found it incredibly funny when I didn’t know what an MVP was (because I have a feeling my big sisters Soul and Diva might not know either, I’ll share… lol. An MVP is hereby defined as the ‘Most Valuable Player’ on the team… chai my genius na die!)

… we went for a walk…

He’s incredibly playful… I remember he even chased after me at one point trying to grab his car keys from me. It can be a lot of fun acting incredibly childish sometimes… I don’t remember being that free with someone I just met. Achilles was singing offkey and I was rapping… silly but great times.

He kept looking at my face the entire time… I pretended I didn’t notice, but every once in a while I sneaked a glance, and liked what I saw. The facial bone structure of a Versace model, a lanky, athletic frame, oddly artistic fingers(odd because he’s a baller not a painter), legs that went on for days, a gorgeous smile… this husky Grenadian accent that sounded like a cross between a Trini and Kenyan accent… the Hotness!

He put his number in my phone and told me to call him when I got home. I knew I wouldn’t, so I gave him my number.

Achilles: I love your necklace… it suits you

Me: Thanks

Achilles: lol… trying to act all madest(lol… modest) and ting… I know you get bare compliments al de time… the man demz be on you always eh?

Me: lol… I’m not even gonna answer that

Achilles: I’m right eh… make dem no come near cos me interest

Me: … you’re a joker

Achilles: no jokes girl… so it’s cool if I call you tomorrow?

Me: sure

Achilles: I never even ask… how old are you?

Me: 21

Achilles: oh really… you look good for a 21 year old still

Me: lol… is that so? How bout you?

Achilles: 18

Me: huh?!

Achilles: 18... but I’m turning 19 in two months

Me: huh?!?!

?!?!?!?18?!?!?!?!

FUCK!!!

The Chef

I met him at a reggae party a little over two weeks ago. He’s 23, 6 ft 3, dark and cute.

… plus the man could whine…

!!!wHaT!!!

The boy was digging yours truly as he rightly should…

We flirted a little and after making him work for it a bit… I gave him the digits.

He’s called me almost everyday since… and hOmEbOy iS hIlArIoUs!

I have a mildly sarcastic, somewhat self-deprecating sense of humour with a hearty appreciation for cultural and dirty jokes… and so far he’s been giving as good as he gets.

Funny enough, for the first week or so after I met him, I thought The Chef was Jamaican… and my friends keep asking me what it is with me and the Jamaicans to which I put on an intellectual air and paraphrased a physics law “Opposites attract’.

During the course of our 3-or-so hour conversation last night, I found out he’s actually a Canadian- born Nigerian.

Ahh… so they still make sexiness in 0.3g blocks… someone get me a toothpick!

Speaking of which…

I dated a Jamaican Chef back when I was a teenager with a penchant for mismatched jewelry and t-shirts with witty sayings on ‘em, the former which I still find myself gravitating to despite my best efforts. The Jamaican Chef wore reading glasses, which I found terribly sexy, and was a great dry humper… but then we got caught making out in a sacred part of my house and things were never the same after that.

But I digress…

So I found out that The Chef is really close friends with a dude I know whom I’ll call Benylin (for no other reason than the fact that I have a slight cold right now and Benylin is my drug of choice… not that the said guy is my drug of choice… but I’m sure you get my drift)

I met Benylin on the dancefloor cos he’s a big fan of African music like myself… he’s an alright dancer although his movements always put you in that ‘I-can’t-exactly-figure-out-why-this-doesn’t-look-quite-right’ frame of mind. That aside, he is great fun on the dancefloor especially seeing as I haven’t updated my dance moves in 3 years… earlier in my life, I found 5.5 moves that work and I stick to them be it reggae, techno, makossa, hip-hop or gospel.

A couple of Benylins friends had liked me… but they were all too short and/or razz… the only one that might’ve been ‘iite had long index nails, which were a complete turn-off.

“… ain’t no ‘jabbing’ us now… we’re on the move” hahaha (I never did quite understand the ‘buahahaha’ phrase for laughter. Other than the laughter voice guy at the end of Michael Jackson’s epic movie/ music video 'Thriller' when his eyes turned ‘cat’ and Dr. Evil in Austin Powers, I have never see the expression used in real life… or are people trying to bring it back sort of like those hideous gardening clogs that almost made me lose my movie love for Jack Nicholson when I saw him in a people photo rocking a green pair?)

This part of the post feels like the perfectly appropriate time to introduce a Janis Joplin song… sort of like a pathetic fallacy thing… which oddly enough is the only Shakespearean theme I can still define cos I hated my Grade 12 English Teacher for her potato sack skirts, whiny voice and mostly for giving me a 60% performance participation mark when I chose to recite rather than re-enact a magic trick (but I didn’t wanna mess with that Black ‘baba dibia’ Magic stuff… A+ be damned)

Shakespearean themes aside, The Chef and I are supposed to be going out for drinks tonight (and I’m actually looking forward).

Regardless of the outcome of the entire thing, when I come home, I will try to practice my memory exercises… I really want to remember the last names of my two best friends in Jss2 cos I’m probably going to Nigeria this Christmas for the first time since I left.

I feel a weird urge to pretend this bottle of water is a frothy French fruit concoction, and sign off this post with some ‘culinary speak’… but Bon Apetit is the only one I can think of…

The Chef:

Nigerian sensibility with a Canadian swagger… This might be nice.

I put my foot in it… AGAIN

When I called my best friend Naijadyme’s cellie yesterday, it went straight to voicemail, so I left her a message to call me back as soon as she could. We always goof around with each other, so when I saw her housephone calling me back hours later, I picked up the phone

Overwhelmed Naija Babe: Fool… what do you want?

… SiLeNcE…

Overwhelmed Naija Babe: Naijadyme?!?!

Voice: No it’s not Naijadyme… it’s Naijadyme’s mom…

cLiCk!

I tried to call their housephone back to apologize cos I obviously thought it was my best friend… but no one picked up…

FUCKKKKKKK… I’ve managed to put my foot in it once again!!!