Monthly Archives: February 2015

Guide to Survival for a 21st Century Pre-Adult

In no particular order, of course.

1.Open Your Mouth: if you don’t say what you want or say what’s on your mind, no one will hear you. There is no such thing as mind-reading and people can be surprisingly oblivious to body language. Speak. You have a mouth, use it. It will get you places, I can guarantee it.

2. The Second Law of Motion: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Think about it. (It’s actually the Third Law, as Arch-Lancer Udofa graciously pointed out.)

3. Believe in your slay, obviously.

4. Heart & Mind: understand that it is perfectly okay to care about someone and not be attached to them. Be it a friend, an ex, an estranged family member: it’s fine. You’re not abnormal. It happens. It’s just healthier to be apart from some people but they will always have a special place in your heart. Just keep it in there.

5. Expand Your Horizon: it really irritates me and I’m pretty sure it irritates you when people think life exists in the 4 walls they’ve created for themselves. Don’t be those people: watch the news despite how disheartening it is most of the time; listen to a different genre of music once in a while (hint: listen to my damn songs of the week, jeez); read a book; watch a documentary; go to a museum; put down your phone and appreciate the world we’ve been blessed to live in. Notice, appreciate and consciously decide to acquire more to appreciate.

6. Here’s a bucket-load of Responsibility: so you’re probably 18 or just about there. There are people at this age who are married, who have kids, who don’t live off the Bank of Mum & Dad. I’m not one of those people, my parents are my lifeline but don’t think excuses are going to get you anywhere: plan yourself; don’t say dumb shit like “I woke up late” if you get to class late and wonder why the lecturer gets pissed at you; prioritise if having a decent life matters to you; budget (to my peeps living alone, I honestly salute you all). Have fun moderately, work moderately and life will be a breeze.

7. Chill, don’t be so quick to react. Wisdom is not achieved by smacking someone in the face or verbally assaulting someone who rubs you up the wrong way. Take a deep breath, contemplate and see whether it’s worth it. And if it is, tear the bitch to shreds, you savage.

8. Talk: it’s almost like the first point but it’s different, of course. Don’t allow your emotional products to accumulate. It’s like reacting marble chips with sulphuric acid, you’ll get carbon dioxide and if you use a stopper during this reaction, you will eventually get a glass shard in your eye: it will explode. Avoid exploding, talk about it to someone or something (i.e. a journal, a blog, a wall if you’re into that kind of thing). Everyone needs someone, it can’t be helped. We are human after all.

9. Don’t be an asshole: I think this is just as basic as saying please and thank you. Don’t be rude; don’t abandon people who have helped you get to where you are: I accept you outgrow people but don’t just discard them, it’s wrong. Be the person you would like to be friends with.

10. If you want something, go and get it: having your hand held does not apply for us anymore. You are the pilot of your own life, there is no one else to blame but you if an opportunity passes you by. Do it.

11. It’s okay to not be a trendsetter, not all of us can be trailblazers. Don’t think you’re any less significant because you like to be a trend-follower every now and again. Just don’t become the trends. Be you in the midst of it all.

12. Moisturise: no one wants to see your ashy self. Vaseline, befriend it, slather your lips in it.

Yes, I’m serious, Kanye. Ashy has never been in style. NEVER.

Congratulations, you’re now well on your way and adulthood is within your reach. Keep your head high, focus on what’s ahead of you and voila, you’re in there.

Rant of the Week (yes, I’m ranting, at last): So, is everyone aware of this whole Kylie Jenner and Tyga debacle that everyone seems to have an opinion about? Well, here’s mine: mind your business. Nowadays, people get way too emotionally invested in matters that have absolutely nothing to do with them. I’ve seen tweets of people saying Tyga should be arrested or he’s abusing her or this or that, blah. It shouldn’t concern you, are you Kylie’s mouthpiece? Even if she is dating him: a) It would be perfectly legal in the UK (legal age is 16, there were talks of them lowering it to 14, mind you) so think about it, why is it legal here and not in the US? b) I don’t blame her, maybe he treats her right, a lot of fuckboys exist in the 16-18 age bracket, didn’t you know?

All I’m saying, why should anyone give a damn? No one’s getting hurt, don’t see why you should be bursting a blood vessel over something that has nothing to do with you. I didn’t see myself ever writing about this but I guess I just did. Boom.

Tweet of the Week: 

Song of the Week: Pharrell – Angel (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOlFDd1pfI8)

Have an amazeballs week, guys. Thank you for your continuous support 🙂

Georgina ❤

A Case of the Blues

I know I said I wouldn’t let Valentine’s Day get to me and I know I said I was a very single Pringle who was oh so ready to mingle (that still stands, gentlemen) and even though I am a kickass individual with a titanium outer shell, I’m still a cotton candy flavoured ball of fluff in the middle. I saw one too many flower bouquets and I almost exploded.

So as you all know, I suffer heavily from a bad case of judgetitis and well, I did something pretty shitty on Sunday. My friends and I were leaving the cinema, we had just finished watching Fifty Shades of Grey (a little disappointing but that’s what happens when you try to turn a crappy book into a decent film, it reeks of mediocrity no matter how hard you try. Soundtrack was good though) and I noticed this couple on the escalator heading out. They couldn’t have been much older than me. It was the lady who caught my eye. She was short and stout and she knew she was womanly, you know? She carried her body with pride, she rocked her flesh. She had a buxom like I had never seen before, she had a little blue turban on her head, killer weave underneath and her makeup looked good. In hindsight, she did actually look good. As she was walking away with her date, I just looked at her and I said out loud “if that’s her boyfriend, there’s hope for me then.” One of my girlfriend’s looked at me like I had just sworn at her and I might as well have. I couldn’t stop thinking about that girl and as I was walking home and I concluded that I am a confused little mess.

Absolutely no shade to thin girls but I would rather have thunder thighs than a thigh gap on any day. I admire big women, I admire their courage, their confidence, their ability to stay true to themselves and to their God-given voluptuousness when the world is cramming this seemingly desirable archetype of a body down our throats. Curves are works of art, they are beautiful, defined lines on a woman, lumps and bumps everywhere that carve us out from skin and bone. I’m not a size two and I am proud of that.

So why was I such a bitch on Sunday when I saw that woman?

Because I’m a jealous old cow.

I don’t feel overjoyed seeing couples, everyone knows this. I’m one of those “if I can’t be happy, no one can!” people but for theatrical reasons. I am wanting, okay? “So why don’t you put yourself out there?” you say. Well, I see it as how do you put yourself out there when there isn’t really anything to put yourself out there to? Do you get what I mean?

I think this is just a prolonged case of the blues weighing down on me. Writing is therapeutic for me and it’s even better knowing you are reading this, having an emotional response to this.

I guess, when I saw that lady, I mentally did a comparison as to what she could offer and I could offer and I couldn’t quite understand how she had done it. You know when you see people you know in relationships and you’re just thinking, “hold up, you were more than single 6 months ago, how the f*ck did you move so fast?”

I’ve been seeing it a lot lately and it leaves me utterly flabbergasted. I don’t get it, am I the only one? Is there some club everyone is joining that guarantees you will find a boyfriend?

I guess it’s down to experience. I’ve never been in a relationship with someone I’ve met here in the UK. Born and bred Nigerian boys all the way. I think there’s just something about Nigerian boys who were born and brought up here that literally repels me, maybe its’s the lack of awareness? I feel like there’s an actual brick wall between me and them whenever we try and converse, absolutely nothing is being assimilated. Sigh, the drought is real.

Anyways, about that lady: it was a bitch move on my part and if she ever reads this, I apologise for oogling at you like that. I don’t want your boyfriend (y’all looked cute though), I was just amazed at how you’d found him, that’s all.

Did any of this make sense by the way?

Quote of the Week: “Still finding myself, let alone a soulmate.” – Drake

Song of the Week: Jungle – Drake https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lKH5dMNcq0

Drake’s got me all in my feelings, as you can tell.

Georgina ❤

Valentine’s Day

This is the first time in a long time that I haven’t even thought about giving a shit about Valentine’s Day. I’m not upset about me being a very single Pringle who is oh so ready to mingle (hey fellas), I’m not fussed about what other people are doing or their nauseating public displays of affection; all I’m hyped about are 2 things – I’m finally going to watch Fifty Shades of Grey that weekend AND the fact that I’m going to binge-play Sims for several hours. The simple things make me happy.

But, in the spirit of the season, I’m feeling nostalgic so I want to talk about the 2 times I actually received an actual gift on Valentine’s Day.

I think the first time, I was 14 or so. There was this guy in my class and it was practically an open secret that he had a thing for me but as always, I was in heavy denial. Let’s call him Dave. So, Dave was a sweet guy, actually. It’s always the sweet ones, right? He was tall and he always kept his hair low, socks white and his uniform neat. He had a chip in one of his front teeth but it wasn’t deforming. He had such a scruffy voice, not like a roadman but it was just deeper than what you’d expect if you saw him.

Anyway, Valentine’s Day rolls around, I’m sitting at my desk and he walks towards me with a bag and he says “happy Valentine’s day” and walks off. All his boys were outside, hailing him, as follows.

Can we appreciate Joe Biden losing it for a second?

Can we appreciate Joe Biden losing it for a second?

Then, all my girlfriends surround me and they’re screaming “open it, open it” and we see that he’s only gone and bought me a gazillion things:
A watch (it wasn’t the best watch but it was still a watch!)
2 novels (they were both romance novels, one was a bit more erotic than the other)
A bundle of sweets and chocolates
A card

I had never felt so bad in my life, simply because I didn’t feel like I deserved the gifts at all, I didn’t even like him romantically and he had gone and spent a small fortune on me. I couldn’t give them back either because I think that’s just awful: it’s even worse than not accepting a gift in the first place. So, I thanked him as best as I could but boy, things were awkward between me and him after that day. I haven’t spoken to him since I’d left the school. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. We just weren’t meant to be.

The second occasion, I was 15, methinks.

This time, I was actually in a “relationship”. I don’t even think the situation was worthy enough to be called a relationship, honestly. I mean, we were 15 and we didn’t do what conventional 15-year old boyfriends and girlfriends did at the time (not now, kids are crazy now). We never even kissed in our whole 2 month long “fling”. We used to spend each and every lunch break in this treehouse, trying and seriously failing to make any conversation, I remember hinting so badly for him to freaking kiss me but he never did. We broke up via MSN. I remember him writing the date of when he asked me out and the date of that day like it was a funeral. That day was the 22nd of May, don’t ask me why I remember that. I know he’s reading this, aren’t you glad we didn’t prolong our situationship? It was a hot ass mess from the get-go anyway.

He got me this heart-shaped pillow that I think he doused in his perfume because it was like having him in my room, I could smell him all the damn time. Oh, and a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates which I ate whole-heartedly.

From then until now, I’ve either been single or gotten myself a boyfriend after Valentine’s Day. I think the whole idea of the day is cute but simultaneously stupid. You shouldn’t have to wait for one day of the year to be romantic with your significant other, it should be a routine, don’t you think so? To all the couples who are going to go almost bankrupt in an attempt to impress a bunch of people who don’t know/like you, have fun. To all the sensible couples, please teach these fools. Last but not least, to all the couples who are determined to share every second of you and your boo getting all funky that day, we’re all looking at you like so:

Song of the Week: How Bout Now – Drake https://soundcloud.com/mrbusiness-3/how-about-now-drake

Quote of the Week: It has to be Tweets of the Week this time, I stayed up until 1am on Sunday as the Grammy’s were on and I was screaming with laughter.

Georgina ❤

Uh Oh, University’s Coming

Okay, well, I’m not lying to you, I didn’t have a bloody clue what to blog about this week. This is the continuous battle I face with this blog: I vowed to always write about something no matter how insignificant my life seems at the time but sometimes the insignificance is so prominent, it’s mind-numbingly overwhelming and I literally feel like my brain will turn to mush imminently.

But, as a true writer, the show must go on, painstakingly even. So, I’m going to, hopefully, give you a glimpse at what keeps me awake at night. Enjoy.

The “move-out” virus had another jab at me this weekend and I had to do some hunting. You will not believe private halls are charging £9000+ for a room and a bathroom. That’s a whole year of tuition fees. Are the words “money-producing mug” tattooed on my face please? I looked at the halls my university provides and since I’m not about to die of contracting chlamydia and God knows what else from sharing a bathroom with 4 other girls, I’m about that ensuite life. I risk my life on a daily basis having to hover-pee in the toilets on campus already so I think I deserve my own bathroom in my own damn room. Anywho, an ensuite bedroom costs £4500 for a year. I could pinch myself and go for this option but it’s halls of residence. Halls are known for their ear-splittingly loud parties at ungodly hours of the night and their extremely thin walls (believe me, I know this) and their ability to forcing you to share a kitchen with a bunch of utter rodents (most of the time, not all, no offence). Lastly, renting out a room in a 4-bed, 3-bath house will cost around £120 a week for 40 weeks, normally, which works out to £4800. Now, this is doable but unless you know who the other rooms are being rented out to, you could be co-habitating with a serial killer, you just don’t know.

Ideally, I would want to be in halls because halls are where it’s at, it’s where I’ll most likely meet and make some great friends whilst fending for myself in all shapes and forms. I just want to know whether 2nd year students can live separately from 1st years because I don’t think I would have the stamina to keep up with them, I just couldn’t. We’ll see.

It’s all fun and games until you realise how much all this is going to cost. I don’t think there’s any experience in my young adult life that will be half as expensive as going to university. Let’s do the maths, shall we?

MATHS!

Tuition fees: £9000 x 4 = £36,000

Accommodation (let’s just say I live out for all 4 years in halls): £4500 x 4 = £18,000

Living costs (I’m talking food, basic necessities, travel, phone bills, things I would literally cease to exist without. Pretend I’m a social recluse who is totally okay with staying in bed all day, not mingling with fellow Earthlings unless it is mandatory. This figure is deduced by subtracting rent for a year from the highest loan eligibility for students living in London on courses starting September 2014*): £3251 x 4 = £13,004

That is a whooping £67,004 of debt on my shoulders before I even have a job. This isn’t even including overdrafts and other loans, buddies. If this is a dream, please wake me up right now.

The average annual salary for a student from my university 6 months after graduating is £18,000. That means I’d hypothetically have to dedicate around 4 of my annual salaries to pay for this. The government cannot start clawing their money back from me until I’m earning £21,000, is that supposed to make me feel better?!

I don’t know what I’m going to do. Will I even FIND a job, really? 4 years from now, I will still be writing this blog (I just know I will) and I will answer this question.

I’m not trying to scare all you university babies, I’m just being the Grinch who steals your innocence. This is life, it has to be accepted. This is what wanting a higher education in the diaspora is about, it’s about worrying how you’ll be able to afford it, like, ever. You need to realise how much it’s going to cost because sure, freedom sounds like audio sex to your ears but when you’re slapped in the face with a bill that will take 186 years to pay back (if you pay back £30 a month, every month to pay back a £67,004 debt), considering every option isn’t a bad idea.

If you know you’re doing or about to do a course that you know you don’t like, get yourself together. It’s just going to be a domino effect of misery for the rest of your life. Me, I’m liking it so far but I like what it has to offer in the future even better and that is enough to push me through to the finish line where I’ll be handed a degree in one hand and a tracker from the debt collector in the other. Welcome to my nightmares, can you tell that I’m kind of worried? I guess it could be worse. I could be pregnant. And if all else fails, here are my 3 options:

  • becoming a stripper (don’t give me that look, stripping is an art and they earn a LOT of money).
  • marrying a rich man (that sets the feminist movement back a gazillion years but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.)
  • being that voice in the elevators/buses/trains/sat navs etc that tells you what’s going on. (My voice is perfect for it, ask my friends, no joke.)

Chew on this, guys. It’s fibre for your thoughts.

Some links to help you process this:

https://www.gov.uk/student-finance/loans-and-grants*

http://www.savethestudent.org/money/student-money-survey-results.html#2

http://www.nus.org.uk/en/advice/money-and-funding/money-budgeting-/?load=6&top=546

Quote of the Week – “Let go and let God.” – This literally popped up in my head just as I was about to save this and try to sleep. Note to self, Georgina. Don’t PANIC. Just live, get your degree and the rest will be dealt with accordingly. Deep breath.

Song of the Week – Elastic Heart – Sia (yeah yeah, you find the video odd, I find it cool and the song is cool, chill out) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWZGAExj-es

Georgina ❤