Monthly Archives: January 2015


If you don’t have Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr or simply live under a rock, you may not have taken any notice of the movement, captioned by the hashtag #BelieveInYourSlay. The first time I saw it, I was inwardly annoyed. I thought “great, another venue for people to flaunt their good looks and squash my self-esteem even more.” If you look at what the hashtag involves, sure, you’ll be greeted by some selfies from both men and women but as I started to fully understand what was going on, it dawned on me that it’s not about the selfies and the tweets, it’s about the message behind the selfies. The message that preaches of the slayage.

Before we continue, everyone has to be brought up to speed: do we all know what slay means? There are 3 definitions that I personally agree with:

  1. Slay (verb) – to annihilate an individual with one’s fabulosity.
  2. Slay (verb, informal) – greatly impress or amuse someone 1.
  3. Slay (verb) – to kick ass, to dominate something 2.

Look at yourself, think long and hard, look at the definitions, think again then ask yourself: are you slaying? Are you believing in your slay?

The ability to harness one’s slayage doesn’t just happen, not to me. Before you can slay, you have to have self-confidence, self-belief and self-worth. You have to see yourself as the best thing since sliced bread because you are. Whether you realise it or not, the world is a different place because you exist. You are someone’s child, first of all. You are someone’s brother/sister, friend, confidante, boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife, mother/father, soulmate, potential soulmate. Without you, someone/something may not exist, I hope you realise this. Our very presences are chain reactions within themselves. So firstly, understand that you are worth the slay.

Now, you have to believe in yourself in order to slay. I had my first driving lesson last week Wednesday, if you didn’t already know since I’ve been screaming it from the virtual rooftops. All day, I had been buzzing with excitement and feeling totally pumped and ready to join this oh so cool cult of drivers. 4 o’clock struck, I saw my instructor waiting outside my house and I almost felt like I was going to have an anxiety attack. I mean, I thought I knew a bit about cars beforehand, I knew there was a brake and an accelerator and a steering wheel, but just seeing that car waiting for me eroded everything I thought I knew for a few moments. My instructor rode us to a quiet side road, told me to sit in the driver’s seat (which was nerve-wracking in itself), gave me the cockpit drill and told me to drive. And guys, I drove. I drove for about 40 minutes, I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t stall (even though I don’t think you can stall automatic cars but whatever), I didn’t give anyone whiplash, it was a moderate success. If I didn’t snap out of it and believe that I could slay the hell out of that lesson, I would probably be riding the bus for the rest of my life.

Last but certainly not least, you have to approach the slay with confidence. From mid-October 2013 to early February 2014, I didn’t take one selfie. I don’t care what anyone says, selfies are displays of self-love but it demands confidence in the bucketloads. You have to look at yourself with pride and say “damn, don’t I look amazeballs? I should bless someone with a picture of myself just because.” That is what it is. It’s not a matter of cockiness because that is narcissism and ain’t nobody got time for that. But, you have to see yourself as beautiful which I wasn’t feeling in that time period. Hey, it happens. You have to overcome in order to grow. I’m still growing and forever overcoming but now I do it with love for myself, first and foremost.

The slay depends on no one else but yourself, never leave something as immense as your slayage to be determined by the way others perceive you. Let your slay apply to every nook and cranny of your existence: that exam, that problem, that girl you want to ask out, that guy you want to talk to, that bully who you want to show who’s boss, the future that seems so bleak, the past that seems to have a tight grip on you, everything. Slay it all. This isn’t a matter of metaphorical thirst, this is all about loving yourself. When you love yourself, your light shines brighter. You become a beacon, a force to be reckoned with. Who doesn’t want to kick ass?

If it helps, don’t see it as a movement, see it as an improvement on yourself. Before you know, we’ll all be believing in our slays and boom, the world is a better place already.

Kudos to the curators of this incredibly necessary slogan, @heauxjabi, @PeachesLenoir, @SnatchedXO and (which is live from 31/01/2015). Look what these ladies have started!

Believe, guys. Believe in your damn slay.

Song of the Week: Childish Gambino – The Palisades (Feat. Christian Rich) This is the song I want to fall in love to despite the fact the chorus literally says “love don’t really happen”, oh well.

Quote of the Week

"It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop." - Confucius

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” – Confucius

Georgina ❤

References because I’m scared shitless by plagiarism, welp:

1. (Accessed 10:28pm 21/01/2015)

2. (Accessed 10:20pm 21/01/2015)

Sex Sends You To Hospital Somehow

It’s been a rather chilled week and since it consisted of me writing notes; finding, watching and obsessing over this show called Sex Sent Me To The ER; my aunt bringing forth new life into the world, I figured I should talk about two of the three.

Firstly, this show is real so all the cases are real, the patients are real, doctors are legit, their sexual adventures going awfully wrong are insanely real. I couldn’t bring myself to not share some of the funniest ones with you because, that would be so selfish of me.

1. This couple were in to fantasies and they had this thing called Slutty Saturdays where they’d get down and dirty. So, the guy bought his girl a giant gummy bear and she was like “you know what would be so hot? If we melt it and you can eat it off me.” At this point, I’m already laughing my lungs out because anybody could have seen where this was going! Her man melts it, it’s steaming hot, starts drizzling it on her and she’s like “okay, this is hot” and he’s all like “yeah, yeah, hot” but then Auntie Gummy Bear starts saying “no, no, it’s super hot” and you know what he says? He says “it is super hot and the fact that it’s super hot is making me super hot”. I was crying by now. Long story short, she ended up with 3rd degree burns.

2. A 440 pound guy (199kg) met a girl who loved him regardless of his size and she took it upon herself to pop his cherry. He was on top, she was on the bottom. As he was riding her into the sunlight, his thrust game was a tad too strong and boom, he sent her head through a wall. An actual wall. She had a concussion.

3. A teenage couple were making up after a little lover’s spat. The girl wanted to make it up to him so she wanted to bless with him with a little… ahem. In the heat of the moment, they heard footsteps, her popsie was about to come in. She managed to dislodge her jaw so her mouth was wide open, like an o, until the doctor had to slot it back into place. Her boyfriend jumped out of the window before the dad killed him and dislocated his shoulder.

One more because it’s my favourite scenario so far

This man arrived in the emergency room, butt-naked with a broken arm, broken leg, cracked ribs, the lot. He was reluctant to give his next of kin a.k.a. his wife but the trusty nurse found her number and the wife arrived. The husband insisted that he hurt himself by falling out of the window while he was cleaning the windows. The police then came in and asked him a few questions and before you knew it, the wife started beating this man up, full-on punching him and whacking him with her handbag. The poor guy went into cardiac arrest right there. The doctor was like “dude, what have you taken so I can help you and this heart attack” and the patient had to come clean about everything: he had called a prostitute over, they snorted a load of cocaine, he wanted to write her a cheque (who writes cheques?!), she wasn’t having it so she chucked him out the window. The doctor ended up giving him aspirin for a heart attack. Aspirin, guys.

But if outrageous sex won’t land some of you in hospital, having a baby will.



It’s a beautiful thing, in all honesty. Pregnancy is just one of those phenomenons of life that I truly cannot wait to experience. Bringing forth new life, being a mummy, holding a freshly hatched baby, it’s just too amazing to comprehend. But, all in due time, of course. I’m always talking about babies but seeing my newest cousin was just something else. He was 2 days old, a little sack of flesh and blood, confusion and disorientation, completely dependent and utterly mesmerising.


He fell asleep in my arms and I almost took him home. I just want a baby, ok?

The moral of this post: have safe sex, guys. Or no sex at all, whatever floats your boat. If not, you’re going to end up on a gurney, rushed into the Accident & Emergency department of your hospital with the oddest injuries, not being able to look anyone in the eye. Or, if that doesn’t sound bad enough, you could be the one ejecting a human being from your other end or be the one having the life squeezed out of your hand as you wonder why you didn’t pull out or better yet, wear a condom. As my cousin once said, “wrap it before you tap it!”

Song of the Week – Mascara by Jazmine Sullivan

Quote of the Week


Sorry guys, I forgot to take a quote from my Inspiration Pot (old age). So take some of C.S. Lewis's wisdom for the week. You're welcome.

Georgina ❤

P.S pray that it snows soon. Seriously.

I Am Royally Fed Up

On Thursday, I was sitting in my lecture hall around 15 minutes early. I’m just going to put this out there, I particularly hate this hall because it’s shit. The seats are super low so if you have long legs, you’re basically doomed to suffer pins and needles for an hour. Everyone has like 13 inches of space to work within. There’s minimal space between the rows so if you’ve got long hair, it’s going to be in my work space. If you have bad breath, I am going to smell it and wish to die. If you’re talking about something obnoxious, I will hear it and mentally judge you. There are 2 huge pillars strategically placed right where the lecture’s podium thing is so if you’re one of those students who actually likes to see who is teaching you, you either have to sit on the edge of a row or break your neck trying. It’s just SHIT. PRMB3009, the room number of my educational torment.

Anyway, I was minding my own business, reading American Psycho (which is going amazingly well) and the place started to fill up. These boys sat behind me and were talking, I wasn’t tuned in but then, I felt a tap, an actual tap, properly exerted on my shoulder. Now, unless, the density of air suddenly changed to that of a human finger, I’m not crazy and it was definitely a tap. So I figured, one of them was trying to grab my attention, which was fine by me. I turned around and Dumb, Dumber and Dumbest are staring at me, guilt plastered on their acne-ridden faces. Besides the guilt, I swear you could peel the fear off their faces, it was that tangible. Now, I’m not a scary person, I don’t aim to seem unapproachable so the fact that they looked absolutely petrified startled me.

After a few seconds, waiting for the tapper to say whatever it was they had intended to say, I said “Hello. Did one of you just poke me?” I was all smiles, utterly non-confrontational. I should have said tap, maybe they couldn’t comprehend the word poke.

“Uh, no, I didn’t poke you.” – Chief Dumbo

“No.” – Middle Dumbo, who was looking at me with total apprehension.

One of them just stared at me with a mixture of dread and discomfort. I wish I could sketch, words just aren’t doing justice to how these boys were looking at me.

“Oh, okay.”

I turn back around and oga (pronounced like Olga without the l. In Yoruba, it means boss) Dumbo says “Maybe you’re just paranoid. Paranoid poke.”

It took every iota of the Lord’s divine strength within me to not turn around and verbally dismantle him and his dipshit friends and their puberty-wrecked faces and their shitty haircuts and their obscene fashion sense. I took a deeeeeeep breath and shook my head, put away American Psycho before it gave me any ideas and tried my best to focus on the lecture which was about imaginary numbers. Just when you think you’ve heard it all, imaginary numbers get chucked at you. It was actually really cool: so you know how the square root of -1 doesn’t exist? Well, with imaginary numbers (i), we can assume the square root of -1 is i and the square of i is -1. Apparently, it’s an absolute lifesaver.

This whole week, some of these university students have just been proving how utterly stupid they are (first lesson of the freaking semester, I arrive at the designated room and there’s a swarm of my classmates standing outside the room and a handful of others inside. I ask one of them, why is everyone outside? She told me there was a sign on the door that said Do Not Disturb. When I tell you this sign had been there since we started university, would it be enough to justify why I think some of them are just airheads?) and that really was the icing on the cake. I probably sound so conceited right now. I’m not better than any of them, we’re all paying £9000 a year for the next 3 years to get the same degree. But do you get why I am so frustrated? Doesn’t university require a certain degree of capability? We are not in pre-school, no one is going to come to you and tell you that the sign on the door that has been there for months doesn’t apply to you, or that you shouldn’t talk so freaking loud in a lecture or that you shouldn’t tap people then deny it whilst looking as if you’ve just been confronted by Medusa, for crying out loud. University requires a minimum level of brain activity which, I seriously think, a lot of these people simply fall beneath.

Medusa, for those of you who do not know. She was a monster according to Greek Mythology. Image Source -

Medusa, for those of you who do not know. She was a monster in Greek Mythology.
Image Source –

Going back to last week’s poll question for a second, the question was “Is it weird if I go up to random people (boys, in particular) and just start up a conversation?” and well, 75% of you thought it depended on the scenario but mostly, yes it was weird while the rest of you thought it wasn’t weird at all. Well, now, it’s not even a matter of going up to anyone, it is simply WHO IS THERE TO APPROACH?

I can’t begin to express how it pains me to have to realise that most of the individuals on my campus are simply not doing it for me in any way, shape or form. They just are not. I’m all about synergy, about connecting spiritually first of all and if your spirit doesn’t gel with mine, that’s it. Looking into the faces of those 3 boys just obliviated any budding hope that I had for this year in terms of putting my foot on the ladder of finally meeting a guy who was on my level mentally. I told you, I’m not looking for a boyfriend: I’m looking for a boy friend. That was all I asked for and you know what? Now, I honestly could not care less.

A word to the wise, let any of you nitwits try and tap me and tell me it wasn’t you. I just got my nails done and yes, they are claw-like and I’m reading American Psycho, I’ve said it like a million times. Try me, I absolutely double dare you.


Regarding my song of the week, you guys really shocked me. Majority of you actually “care” even though you don’t listen to the songs but it’s aite. One day, someone will find this blog and their socks will be blown off by the sheer awesomeness that is my musical taste.

Amerie – 1 Thing (THIS WAS A TUNEEEE)

Quote of the Week (brought to you by my Inspiration Pot)

"Push yourself to do something new every so often, even if it seems scary or difficult. You can do anything you put your mind to."

“Push yourself to do something new every so often, even if it seems scary or difficult. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Until next week,

Georgina ❤

New Year, New Me? I Don’t Think So.

Happy New Year, beautiful people!


I’m really beginning to understand the lack of enthusiasm that a lot of adults seem to have when it comes to entering a new year. I transitioned into 2015 in the comfort of my living room, sipping on mimosas with my pops (my mum can’t stand alcohol and my brother is, well, underage). I would rather stay in my house than be surrounded by a bunch of people I probably don’t like, experiencing small bouts of social anxiety. Call me an old soul, I’ll take it.

Anyway, we are officially in 2015, fully grounded into it. Nothing like hopping on to a packed train at 9 a.m. to get you back into the swing of things. My anguish with public transport continues. I’ve been having a tonne of dreams lately though and I’ve been driving pretty well in all of them. Is this a sign?!

New year resolutions and myself are not a thing. We do not agree. I make a habit to not make them as I never keep them. You shouldn’t have to wait for a whole new Earth orbit to begin before you decide to sort yourself out, should you?

I hope some of you have noticed the new layout. Changing it got me thinking about what this blog is actually about. I did some contemplating and I put it down to ethnicity. Read on, it makes sense.

I’ve noticed there are around 3 types of Nigerians that I have been exposed to so far:

1. Nigerians who are only Nigerian because their parents are. Anyway, their blogs/social media outlets are just something else. Totally incomprehensible.

2. Nigerians who are cultured, educated, worldly, aware, who claim their Nigerianness and are not ashamed of it, whilst maintaining a degree of sensibility. Some may have blogs. Some may just sprout a lot of philosophical stuff on twitter. I call them the bourgeoisie Nigerians.

3. Lastly, we have the Nigerians who are Nigerian, proud and LOUD. These are the ones who have YouTube that teach you how to tie gele (pronounced ge-ley) one minute then tell you how to appease your husband in the next. Very versatile.

The elaborate head gear is the gele. The bigger, the better, methinks. Isn't she gorgeous though?

The elaborate head gear is the gele. The bigger, the better, methinks. Isn’t she gorgeous though?

The bourgeoisie Nigerians are cool, I think. Their blogs are all deep and moody and intellectually challenging (ish) and I was wondering if I was preaching the wrong kind of gospel on my own blog. I considered switching my posts from writing about chesticles to intense poetry reflecting the importance of the female body; from writing about wanting a boy friend to shoving the fact that I am a strong independent woman who doesn’t need male counterparts down your throats.

Don’t worry, I am so not doing that. I promised to be real and I feel the need to talk about all kinds of things all the time.  I’m not going to attempt to stick to the status quo (High School Musical was released 9 years ago. NINE.) I’m just going to sprinkle my confetti of quirky sass on all of you, hope you like it.



Back to business. We (yes, you and I) need to address some things.

Guys, I’m upset with most of you. Every week, I post a song of the week and I know how many of you actually listen to them. This not only implies that you guys think my taste in music is shit but it also says you guys think my taste in music is SHIT.

So, let’s take a poll.

The results will be discussed thoroughly next week. You’re all in trouble.

Next on the list, my lovely blessing of a friend gave me an inspiration pot for Christmas.

My little pot of textual gold.

My little pot of textual gold.

As you can see, it is filled with quotes, heart-shatteringly necessary quotes. So, they will become the quote of the week, I’ll take a picture instead.

My mini rants will still exist, maybe not consistently. I’m still pissed off about something almost all the time so they will definitely still be around.

Oh, guys. Quick question. Let’s have another poll because these are fun. I’ll probably talk about it next week.

And, one more thing. I appreciate every single one of you who read this and continue to read this, who give me feedback and make me feel all mushy inside from your lovely words. But, guys, I want this blog to grow and I need your help. Please share this blog. Let other people be aware of my weekly gumdrops of fabulousity. Follow on me twitter and retweet stuff. Share posts that you find utterly thought-provoking. Tell your mums, dads, grandparents. Actually, no don’t do that. Do NOT tell your parents. I beg you. Please and thank you!

Until next week, mes amis,

Georgina ❤