Serving Self, Country and other short stories

I got a job! Well to be honest its not a real job the pay won’t keep me in shell-toes and ACGs for another decade, its not going to last for long, I suspect I would be standing for most of the time and there would be no fine women to gawk at. At least I would be serving my country and I would have enough doe at the end of it to fix my P.C (long story short- hard disk crashed followed stupid internet advice froze it and dropped it onto a “not so hard surface”- hard disk cracked). What hath this job I speaketh of? Well I’m going to be an enumerator (or a something else-erator) during the upcoming census. I just couldn’t resist the call of Brodà Bode (or who’s the naija equivalent of uncle Sam?) to stand up and be counted or in my case to stand up and count. So if you see me in your neck of the woods be nice and remember census people are people like you, just a bit broker.

With that out of the way I’ll just have to figure out ways to keep myself occupied before and after that event. I am getting tired of being my mums voice activated robot/remote control/how do I look in this-erator.

I caught myself playing that what do I want to be when I grow up game again. This certainly wouldn’t have been cool 5 years ago and it most definitely isn’t now. I mean it’s a little too late to enroll in superhero school. While we’re on the subject 2 days ago while running some errands I bought a comic (www.pandoracomics.com - support naija). So? If I had given myself the usual its for “the artistic value, look at the detail, check out the foreshortening on that panel…blah, blah” yarns I wouldn’t feel this *&%$d but the truth is my mind just went “Oooh! Comics. Half-naked supermodels! Flying people in spandex! Buy it!” At my age I should be able to realistically justify all my inner childs needs. As if the guilt wasn’t enough the attendants face kept going from the comic book to my 3-week-old beard in an aren’t-you-too-old-for-this manner. So right now I’m convinced that I’m going through a quarter life crisis. Which doesn’t explain my new Indian film fetish.

Bollywood is the ish! There’s just something so inspiring about a girl going into a sing and dance routine after just being raped 2 scenes ago, it just makes you wonder what you’re so down about when she’s battling aginst the pressures of their caste system, poverty, evil bearded uncles and still has time for synchronized dancing. And it’s rather interesting to watch backup dancers materialize out of nowhere. Lets not forget the whole Pakistani nuclear weapon propaganda that’s so beautifully woven into the plot of EVERY movie. Its escapist cinema at it’s finest and if you haven’t seen an Indian film since Burning train (I get misty-eyed just saying the name…sniff) you’re missing out on something beautiful. I’ve actually started to show withdrawal symptoms now since I haven’t been able to lay my hands on any since I moved back home. Although I talked to my local bootlegger and he told me he’ll keep an eye out. Expect a review soon.

In the mean time I’m keeping myself entertained with real life drama (not big brother Nigeria). Keep this to yourself right! THE (already married) DRIVER IS KPANSHING THE HOUSE GIRL! I know, I know. My life really is that boring. Its just the only thing I’ve found out recently just thought I’d share plus it I think it explains why she’s doesn’t cook for me. I’ve had microwaved noodles for lunch these past 2 weeks and I’m talking indomie (plus the occasional sardine) not some fancy stuff that was made to be microwaved. I know I should get all lord and master on her ass but there’s this unspoken rule of my kind that’s says the easiest way to get poisoned is to get someone that doesn’t want to cook for you to do it. It shouldn’t have been that shocking walking in on them considering that Muri (the driver) has the largest GIF phone porn collection this side of the equator (I kid you not) but judging by the pictures I would have guessed that his taste tended more towards silicon-enhanced blondes and Alsatians than bald prepubescent looking Calabar girls.

Yesterday was my man Momz’s birthday and in typical me style I forgot. We’re (heterosexual) guys here its not like he was expecting a gift, card or anything (a couple beers wouldn’t have hurt). All he wanted was just a lousy phone call, which I accidentally made last year guided by the stars, which seem to have deserted me of recent. Being that he isn’t a woman (or a man with sensitive skin) he calls me:

Toometoblog- hey momz wetin dey?

Momz-you just dey wake up

Toometoblog- at all. I just tire small.

Momz- (getting to the point) you know say today na my birthday?

Toometoblog- for real (at this point I’m like “why did you admit to not remembering?”. so I spend the next twenty seconds counting from the 7^th which was the last real date I thought I remembered so I can at least sound as if I knew the date).

Momz- yep

Toometoblog- for real (I say for real a lot, for real) today is the 14^th!

Momz- no today is the 13^th?

Toometoblog- For real the 13^th (from this point on I’m screwed and all my lame jokes about how I think he should spend the day don’t connect)

I have a serious problem with birthdays and phone numbers. I don’t even know my old man’s birthday (although that isn’t my fault cause he doesn’t know it either or maybe it just changes from year to year).

Was watching the news when I discovered that my dream job has been taken “Virgin (the old man calls it Faa-jin) Nigeria trains 58 crew staff and attendants etc.” wouldn’t that be the ish flying around the world, dressed in the dodgiest green since dog vomit, scrapping human vomit off seats, looking out for taliban brethren disguised as Santa while increasing your own probability of kpefing in a plane crash. I think I’ll pass on that. Oh but the free food! Why do people complain about airplane food in movies and sitcoms? Personally I think it’s the ish! (this coming from someone who thinks ostrich meatballs are the ish).

I am currently listening to Lupe Fiasco- kick push (for the 62^nd time-WMP can tell) and getting high off whatever the neighbors are smoking. Goodnight!