...regarding the thing I said I wouldn't "discuss until I'm safely through the finish line". Well I am safely through the finish line, and I'm happy to say...
I PASSED MY DRIVING TEST!
I PASSED MY DRIVING TEST!
Friday, 30 July 2010
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
"What if..."
Okay, so this blog entry is slightly on the sentimental side of things. This past week I've really been quite pensive, and I've had quite a lot on my mind and I've been really busy. The first thing I won't discuss until I'm safely through the finish line. The second, being that my cousin is getting married on Saturday - so I've been getting my outfit, hair and whatnot sorted. However, the thing that's (unfortunately) been playing on my mind the most is the issue of...boys. My current situation with boys anyway, not them in general. I swore to myself that I would never let a boy consume my thoughts and get me down. I've kept to that for about 3 years now, but recently I haven't been as successful.
This blog entry is solely for the ladies, I'm quite aware that no guy will have any interest in what I am talking about. But hopefully some of the girlies will be able to relate.
Now, I don't know if it's just me (I hope it's not just me!). But whenever I seem to have a good thing going with a guy - that I like - I start looking for potholes in the relationship and start with the "what ifs". Need me to draw you a picture? Okay.
The Picture:
You like Boy 1. He likes you too. Something happens. You never discuss what happened. You suspect Boy 1 just doesn't know what he wants, because he's a boy. So life moves on and you meet Boy 2. You like Boy 2. Boy 2 likes you. Boy 2 is too good to be true. There's a few complications with Boy 2 but you believe you like him so much these complications can be resolved. Boy 2, being a boy, isn't as convinced. But eventually Boy 2 sees sense. However, it's too late, because you've already started comparing Boy 2 to Boy 1, even though you know Boy 2 is probably better for you than Boy 1. But for some reason Boy 1 is who you want now. Or at least you think you want Boy 1. But you also want Boy 2.
Why is this? Why all of a sudden are you interested in Boy 1? You know what, in my case - the extent to which I liked Boy 1 was somewhat emotional. Not to mention how long I had liked him. Wow. Could it be that we are lying to ourselves and never really stopped liking Boy 1? Could it be that I simply put him to the back of my mind? That sounds like it could make sense.
Point of Digression
So like, this blog entry is so, very BAIT. Good thing these guys don't read my blog. Hell, they don't even read. I might change a few things to increase the anonymity of the situation. You won't know what I've changed, because I would've changed whatever needs changing in this blog before you even get to this point. Come to think of it, there's no reason for this digression :/. The entry's still kinda bait though. Anyway.
End of Digression
The main problem is what to do when these feeling do surface. Do we act on them? I'm quite tempted to do so, I'm not gonna lie. However, thanks to close friends and my lovely sister, they told me quickly NOT to act on it. If I do, I will risk losing the good thing that I already kinda have and quite possibly could have, simply because I am curious about something that COULD HAVE happened. Like they say, everything happens for a reason - I just wish I knew what the reason was. And here come the what ifs. You see what I mean? It's self-sabotage. It's almost like I don't want myself to be happy. The Boy 1 situation caused me quite a bit of heartache, if I'm totally honest. Do I really want that for myself again? The answer should be no. But even while I write this blog I'm thinking "What if he feels the same way and we should be together?". It's a vicious cycle.
Get yourself out of it.
That's what I'm gonna try and do. Stick with Boy 2 - better yet stick with yourself, until you're ready to combat all the emotions that the male specimen seem to always set aflame.
This blog entry is solely for the ladies, I'm quite aware that no guy will have any interest in what I am talking about. But hopefully some of the girlies will be able to relate.
Now, I don't know if it's just me (I hope it's not just me!). But whenever I seem to have a good thing going with a guy - that I like - I start looking for potholes in the relationship and start with the "what ifs". Need me to draw you a picture? Okay.
The Picture:
You like Boy 1. He likes you too. Something happens. You never discuss what happened. You suspect Boy 1 just doesn't know what he wants, because he's a boy. So life moves on and you meet Boy 2. You like Boy 2. Boy 2 likes you. Boy 2 is too good to be true. There's a few complications with Boy 2 but you believe you like him so much these complications can be resolved. Boy 2, being a boy, isn't as convinced. But eventually Boy 2 sees sense. However, it's too late, because you've already started comparing Boy 2 to Boy 1, even though you know Boy 2 is probably better for you than Boy 1. But for some reason Boy 1 is who you want now. Or at least you think you want Boy 1. But you also want Boy 2.
Why is this? Why all of a sudden are you interested in Boy 1? You know what, in my case - the extent to which I liked Boy 1 was somewhat emotional. Not to mention how long I had liked him. Wow. Could it be that we are lying to ourselves and never really stopped liking Boy 1? Could it be that I simply put him to the back of my mind? That sounds like it could make sense.
Point of Digression
So like, this blog entry is so, very BAIT. Good thing these guys don't read my blog. Hell, they don't even read. I might change a few things to increase the anonymity of the situation. You won't know what I've changed, because I would've changed whatever needs changing in this blog before you even get to this point. Come to think of it, there's no reason for this digression :/. The entry's still kinda bait though. Anyway.
End of Digression
The main problem is what to do when these feeling do surface. Do we act on them? I'm quite tempted to do so, I'm not gonna lie. However, thanks to close friends and my lovely sister, they told me quickly NOT to act on it. If I do, I will risk losing the good thing that I already kinda have and quite possibly could have, simply because I am curious about something that COULD HAVE happened. Like they say, everything happens for a reason - I just wish I knew what the reason was. And here come the what ifs. You see what I mean? It's self-sabotage. It's almost like I don't want myself to be happy. The Boy 1 situation caused me quite a bit of heartache, if I'm totally honest. Do I really want that for myself again? The answer should be no. But even while I write this blog I'm thinking "What if he feels the same way and we should be together?". It's a vicious cycle.
Get yourself out of it.
That's what I'm gonna try and do. Stick with Boy 2 - better yet stick with yourself, until you're ready to combat all the emotions that the male specimen seem to always set aflame.
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Certain black youth need to have more ambition!
Previous entries in this blog have included me talking about the infamous social networking site Facebook; and BlackBerrys and iPhones. One social networking site I failed to mention however, was Twitter. I don't intend to discuss Twitter right now, as it is not what this blog entry is about. However, this brief introduction is needed in order for me to commence this very important blog topic successfully.
This blog topic appealed to me as I was chillin' around our kitchen table, avin' a butchers on Twitter for BlackBerry a couple nights ago. This one name kept popping up on my timeline. It was Shardinay. So I'm sitting down now, thinking, "who the flamin' hell is Shardinay?" After tweeting that exact same question accompanied by a ":/", I received a reply with a Youtube link. I finished talking to my Mum, hopped upstairs and switched on Matilda.
Point of digression: Matilda is my Macbook. Such a beautiful, pure and virginal piece of technology. It's only right she have a name. End of digression.
So let's not waste any more time. This was the video. However, before you commit yourself to the viewing of this music video, please be reminded that this is at your detriment. I cannot be held responsible for the earaches and/or headaches you may suffer, after viewing this video. This is at your peril.
What the hell. What the actual hell. What the hell.
My initial reaction to this video in fact, were those exact same words. I still can't quite comprehend what Shardinay was thinking when she wrote this song. What she was thinking when she recorded it, or what she thought when they played the track back to her in the studio. What was she thinking when she sang into her hairbrush with just her teddy bears for company as a child? Surely she doesn't think she's the next Beyoncé? If she does, please, someone deliver me, (or her more appropriately!).
I'm not here to rip the girl (did enough of that on Twitter, lol), I just feel Shardinay is the perfect example of a young black woman who needs to have more ambition. When we were 5 years old, and people asked us "What would you like to be when you grow up?", and we replied "I wanna be an astronaut" or, "I wanna be a singer", or "I wanna be a dancer". It was fine. At 5 years old we could just about get our hand-eye co-ordination right (bar that one slow-mo who could NEVER catch the ball in P.E. :|). We were children. We didn't know what we were on about. We didn't know what lawyers, journalists or marketing directors were. If we did, becoming a "singer" would never have been an option from the get-go. What I'm saying is, we're no longer children. We can now make informed decisions on our own and make up our own minds about things. Being 19+, we should now know our strengths, and realise the best way to have a successful career and make money is to follow our strengths.
Shardinay, singing is not your strength. Surely there's something else you enjoy doing, and that you are actually good at? I understand you enjoy singing and you are still your "no.1 fan", despite all the negative feedback, but I truly believe you are wasting a true talent that you possess in order to live a lie. Maybe you can write? Actually, wait. I lied. The lyrics in this tune are abysmal. I mean lyrics such as, "Oh Boy, I'm a bee with a sting, wait, let me sing" and "Oh Boy, I'm feeling kinda weak, wait, let me speak". Why are you feeling weak? Did you forget to have breakfast or something? You can't just make them kinda throwaway statements. Are you for real? Babe. You're currently residing on Cloud 9. Please join us back on the ground. It's nice down here.
As I said before, this blog is not to rip Shardinay (although it may seem so). I'm just concerned. I mean, all these 'artists' appearing on Channel AKA, do they really believe that music is their calling? These times, I know a good percentage of them got at least 5 A*-C grades in their GCSEs. You have the brains. It's not over for you yet. Try maths. You got an A in that. You could actually become quite a successful Investment Banker. Or try a language. You got a good grade in that. I mean, you could become a professional translator. It's not only celebrities that are successful. The richest man in the world is the CEO of a telecommunications company. The richest woman in the world is the daughter of the Wal-Mart founder, Sam Walton. Okay, yeah, she was born into wealth, so maybe that's not the best example. But look at Oprah Winfrey, she's extremely successful. Last time I checked, she wasn't a singer.
What I'm saying is, don't turn a blind eye to your real talents because they don't seem as exciting as another. Stick with your real talents, and nurture them. Don't try and make new ones. You'll just end up looking a fool. I'm not saying you must limit yourselves. That would be silly. The sky is the limit. In fact, the sky isn't even the limit - there's been footprints on the moon. But it'll be so much easier to get to the moon if you work with what you've got.
This blog topic appealed to me as I was chillin' around our kitchen table, avin' a butchers on Twitter for BlackBerry a couple nights ago. This one name kept popping up on my timeline. It was Shardinay. So I'm sitting down now, thinking, "who the flamin' hell is Shardinay?" After tweeting that exact same question accompanied by a ":/", I received a reply with a Youtube link. I finished talking to my Mum, hopped upstairs and switched on Matilda.
Point of digression: Matilda is my Macbook. Such a beautiful, pure and virginal piece of technology. It's only right she have a name. End of digression.
So let's not waste any more time. This was the video. However, before you commit yourself to the viewing of this music video, please be reminded that this is at your detriment. I cannot be held responsible for the earaches and/or headaches you may suffer, after viewing this video. This is at your peril.
What the hell. What the actual hell. What the hell.
My initial reaction to this video in fact, were those exact same words. I still can't quite comprehend what Shardinay was thinking when she wrote this song. What she was thinking when she recorded it, or what she thought when they played the track back to her in the studio. What was she thinking when she sang into her hairbrush with just her teddy bears for company as a child? Surely she doesn't think she's the next Beyoncé? If she does, please, someone deliver me, (or her more appropriately!).
I'm not here to rip the girl (did enough of that on Twitter, lol), I just feel Shardinay is the perfect example of a young black woman who needs to have more ambition. When we were 5 years old, and people asked us "What would you like to be when you grow up?", and we replied "I wanna be an astronaut" or, "I wanna be a singer", or "I wanna be a dancer". It was fine. At 5 years old we could just about get our hand-eye co-ordination right (bar that one slow-mo who could NEVER catch the ball in P.E. :|). We were children. We didn't know what we were on about. We didn't know what lawyers, journalists or marketing directors were. If we did, becoming a "singer" would never have been an option from the get-go. What I'm saying is, we're no longer children. We can now make informed decisions on our own and make up our own minds about things. Being 19+, we should now know our strengths, and realise the best way to have a successful career and make money is to follow our strengths.
Shardinay, singing is not your strength. Surely there's something else you enjoy doing, and that you are actually good at? I understand you enjoy singing and you are still your "no.1 fan", despite all the negative feedback, but I truly believe you are wasting a true talent that you possess in order to live a lie. Maybe you can write? Actually, wait. I lied. The lyrics in this tune are abysmal. I mean lyrics such as, "Oh Boy, I'm a bee with a sting, wait, let me sing" and "Oh Boy, I'm feeling kinda weak, wait, let me speak". Why are you feeling weak? Did you forget to have breakfast or something? You can't just make them kinda throwaway statements. Are you for real? Babe. You're currently residing on Cloud 9. Please join us back on the ground. It's nice down here.
As I said before, this blog is not to rip Shardinay (although it may seem so). I'm just concerned. I mean, all these 'artists' appearing on Channel AKA, do they really believe that music is their calling? These times, I know a good percentage of them got at least 5 A*-C grades in their GCSEs. You have the brains. It's not over for you yet. Try maths. You got an A in that. You could actually become quite a successful Investment Banker. Or try a language. You got a good grade in that. I mean, you could become a professional translator. It's not only celebrities that are successful. The richest man in the world is the CEO of a telecommunications company. The richest woman in the world is the daughter of the Wal-Mart founder, Sam Walton. Okay, yeah, she was born into wealth, so maybe that's not the best example. But look at Oprah Winfrey, she's extremely successful. Last time I checked, she wasn't a singer.
What I'm saying is, don't turn a blind eye to your real talents because they don't seem as exciting as another. Stick with your real talents, and nurture them. Don't try and make new ones. You'll just end up looking a fool. I'm not saying you must limit yourselves. That would be silly. The sky is the limit. In fact, the sky isn't even the limit - there's been footprints on the moon. But it'll be so much easier to get to the moon if you work with what you've got.
Friday, 16 July 2010
I'd much rather prefer "a quiet night in by the fireside"...
So it occurred to me last week as I was queuing up at the old "inc club" at the O2 that this life is no longer for me. Not life in general, because that would be suicide. I mean this so-called "raving" lifestyle that so many people my age are on. My dear friend Nicole (gotta love 'er), text me about two weeks prior to the event saying "Lydz there's one rave called Takeover happening at the O2, let's go", or something along those lines. My initial answer was "No." Just a straight up "No." Just, "No.". I really wasn't in the mood for shaking a leg, but when she text back saying "We're all going, Chloe's coming too", I changed my mind. Before we go any further, Chloe is not my lesbian crush okay. She's one of my closest friends from secondary school and prior to the "Takeover", I hadn't seen her since New Years, so I couldn't decline the invitation could I? So slightly swayed, however, still rather reluctant, I text back saying "Okay. I'll go". And that was that.
So the day arrived, and still feeling a little reluctant I decided to drag on the first thing I could find.
Point of digression: I lied. I didn't drag on the first thing I could find. To complicate things and piss me off even more 'Elite Entertainment' decided to call Takeover the "all white affair". I mean, really? Be serious. Nevertheless, I bought a nice white top from ASOS.com. Whilst writing this blog entry I tried to get a picture of the top to show you guys but the link failed me. So you'll just have to envision "a nice white top". I wore it with jeggings and some gladiator heels. End of digression.
So my mum dropped me to my friend's house, we then went to meet Chloe and then we made our way to the station to catch the tube to North Greenwich. Usually at this point the excitement would have kicked in; but I felt nothing. We got off the tube, tapped out and made our way into the O2. When we got there, the queue was abysmal. What's worse, why did my friends and I look like we were the oldest there? This was an 18+ event. I'm just 19, I should not be looking like Nana Alberta. And I have a baby face. While queuing I thought you know what? I'm so over this. The young bucks were just expressing more excitement than what was acceptable for this event really. I thought to myself "Nah Lydz, allow them", but then I thought "No, I was never like this.". It was so obvious that for the majority in that queue and venue, this would have been their first rave and night out. The evidence being that one girl was wearing a birthday badge labelled '18!', which terribly clashed with her already terrible ensemble. Ick.
We finally got in, deposited our jackets in the cloakroom and headed for the bar. You know what I ordered. Disaronno and Cranberry. Had to get some drink down me because it was gonna be a long night. As I sipped on my drink, the DJ started spinning Trey Songz's "Say Aah", I danced a lil and started to enjoy myself a bit more - but we soon went to find a seat.
And that's where I stayed.
Joke. I danced to the occasional catchy song, but to be quite honest, I spent most of my night sitting down when I could. I just wasn't up for it. I thought I would never say it, but I think it's getting to the point where I'm beginning to dislike raving. It's too much effort. Not that I dislike getting dolled up, coz I don't. But it's the excited youth with their so-called "skanking" and "daggering". What the actual hell. When the bashment popped off it was literally like you were strolling down the flippin' gaza strip, Kingston, Jamaica. Don't piss me off. From when your passport is green and your name is Olufemi Adedeji. You just don't know init. Not to mention the girls. One girl was so excited she nearly made me spill my drink coz she was skanking so hard with some any Jerome. The way I almost slapped her. Had to keep my composure. Those who know me know I'm quite calm, that's how you know I was really pissed off. Moreover, the exposure of Arse Crevice was overwhelming. I wear short dresses occassionally, the main aim being to show off me pins. However these girls wanted to show arse. No. Like. ACTUAL ARSE. These dresses were so short they were non-existent. You. Look. Like. A. Slag. Simples. Put on some clothes girl. No one wants to see your batty chasm. Get gone.
Seriously, I could not wait to leave. I was secretly praying in my head that there would be beef so it could get locked off. I'm not saying I won't go to the occasional rave, but I'm done with these bait raves. Namely, these FACEBOOK raves. You see everyone and their mum there. I really don't feel like seeing your mum init. Just. Please. I'm not interested. I'd much rather go to a nice bar or a private party, or a 21+. I am so done with 18 and over. In fact, I'm so done I need a new word for it.
Rant over.
So the day arrived, and still feeling a little reluctant I decided to drag on the first thing I could find.
Point of digression: I lied. I didn't drag on the first thing I could find. To complicate things and piss me off even more 'Elite Entertainment' decided to call Takeover the "all white affair". I mean, really? Be serious. Nevertheless, I bought a nice white top from ASOS.com. Whilst writing this blog entry I tried to get a picture of the top to show you guys but the link failed me. So you'll just have to envision "a nice white top". I wore it with jeggings and some gladiator heels. End of digression.
So my mum dropped me to my friend's house, we then went to meet Chloe and then we made our way to the station to catch the tube to North Greenwich. Usually at this point the excitement would have kicked in; but I felt nothing. We got off the tube, tapped out and made our way into the O2. When we got there, the queue was abysmal. What's worse, why did my friends and I look like we were the oldest there? This was an 18+ event. I'm just 19, I should not be looking like Nana Alberta. And I have a baby face. While queuing I thought you know what? I'm so over this. The young bucks were just expressing more excitement than what was acceptable for this event really. I thought to myself "Nah Lydz, allow them", but then I thought "No, I was never like this.". It was so obvious that for the majority in that queue and venue, this would have been their first rave and night out. The evidence being that one girl was wearing a birthday badge labelled '18!', which terribly clashed with her already terrible ensemble. Ick.
We finally got in, deposited our jackets in the cloakroom and headed for the bar. You know what I ordered. Disaronno and Cranberry. Had to get some drink down me because it was gonna be a long night. As I sipped on my drink, the DJ started spinning Trey Songz's "Say Aah", I danced a lil and started to enjoy myself a bit more - but we soon went to find a seat.
And that's where I stayed.
Joke. I danced to the occasional catchy song, but to be quite honest, I spent most of my night sitting down when I could. I just wasn't up for it. I thought I would never say it, but I think it's getting to the point where I'm beginning to dislike raving. It's too much effort. Not that I dislike getting dolled up, coz I don't. But it's the excited youth with their so-called "skanking" and "daggering". What the actual hell. When the bashment popped off it was literally like you were strolling down the flippin' gaza strip, Kingston, Jamaica. Don't piss me off. From when your passport is green and your name is Olufemi Adedeji. You just don't know init. Not to mention the girls. One girl was so excited she nearly made me spill my drink coz she was skanking so hard with some any Jerome. The way I almost slapped her. Had to keep my composure. Those who know me know I'm quite calm, that's how you know I was really pissed off. Moreover, the exposure of Arse Crevice was overwhelming. I wear short dresses occassionally, the main aim being to show off me pins. However these girls wanted to show arse. No. Like. ACTUAL ARSE. These dresses were so short they were non-existent. You. Look. Like. A. Slag. Simples. Put on some clothes girl. No one wants to see your batty chasm. Get gone.
Seriously, I could not wait to leave. I was secretly praying in my head that there would be beef so it could get locked off. I'm not saying I won't go to the occasional rave, but I'm done with these bait raves. Namely, these FACEBOOK raves. You see everyone and their mum there. I really don't feel like seeing your mum init. Just. Please. I'm not interested. I'd much rather go to a nice bar or a private party, or a 21+. I am so done with 18 and over. In fact, I'm so done I need a new word for it.
Rant over.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
In the age of New Technology and Social Networking sites...is romance dead?
I've been having a think about this question for some time now, so I thought it was about time I blogged on it. I'm sure many girls reading this will agree with me when I say the rise in purchases such as the "BlackBerry" mobile phone, and social networking sites such as the infamous "Facebook.com", has resulted in romance slowly, but surely dying. It may seem a little exaggerated, but let me just spell it out for you.
I'll begin with the BlackBerry. Now this is something I can really relate to, since I have one myself. True, the BlackBerry is practical and means one can easily keep in contact with someone, however, the main feature of the BlackBerry (which is BBM), means that there is no longer any need for oral communication. Since when did I become someone who didn't enjoy talking on the phone with a guy that I like into the wee hours of the early morning? As a 16/17 year old, I loved that! Now it's all "ping me" or "bb me", what the hell. I get 1500 minutes every month and I swear there's always bare minutes left over. Why? Coz I'm constantly pinging people. And people are constantly pinging me. You can't catch a break babes. Whenever I get moved to it's no longer "Excuse me miss, what's your name? Can I get your number?". No. It's "Yo sexy, what's your BB?" I mean, WHAT THE HELL. There's even a song about it. Look, check out Poet's Corner on Youtube. Even he talks about how the rise in BlackBerrys is one of the main reasons for break-ups (a little far-fetched I must admit), but if that is the case, it's because it's killing romance. Real talk. It's only recently I've started talking to a guy and it doesn't involve us "pinging" each other. And what smacks it is we both have BlackBerrys. It's a really nice feeling when you actually take the time to talk to someone face-to-face, or over the phone. You learn so much more about them, and about the person they are. It's just so much more romantic. I for one, love romance and the rejection of my BB and it's Personal Identification Number is the the first step towards me embracing it. If we all rejected BBM and went back to the old school, I am almost certain that we'd be more willing to talk to someone and get to know them on a level, rather than dealing with a few Wagwan's and Wuu2's on flippin' BBM. It's gonna quickly fade out and before you know it, you're deleting them as a contact before actually getting to know this person - on a level. I'm just saying.
So next I'm gonna talk about the infamous social networking site that is Facebook. We're all on there, we all have an account and we're all guilty of asking that one person we've just met and got along really well with to "add me on Facebook!". Whatever happened to "Can I get your number?" WHAT THE HELL. I mean. Not that I've never been one to even give out my number, but I know you can understand where I'm flamin' coming from. With social networking sites now being so popular, there's no need to go out and find your future husband/wife, it's all online! Once you click that "Add as Friend" button, within seconds you can know everything about that person (assuming they accept the request). You can find out their DOB, their marital status (giving you the green light to move in), their hobbies and favourite things even who their siblings are. I mean, with Facebook, there is no mystery. All you need to know is simply given to you. What kinda lifestyle is that? Listen, Facebook is KILLING romance. I said it earlier, and I'm gonna say it again. You no longer hear the words, "I like you" from the guy you're interested in, instead, you receive a "poke". Gone are the days when you meet someone randomly and out of the blue. Instead, the random has chosen you at random, and is randomly adding you on Facebook. You can't catch a flamin' break!
I truly believe that such gadgets and websites should be rejected. In a world where everything around us is constantly changing and improving, it's almost as if one's "getting to know him/her" has to be rushed in order to keep up with the speed in which everything else surrounding us is developing. However, I believe it is important to hold on to some tradition - and I believe romance should be one of them. There is no need to rush romance. Romance should be enjoyed as it is such a beautiful thing. As I was talking to my Mum about this matter this evening, she said, "I believe your Dad and I's generation was probably the last to really embrace romance". And it's true. It's sad to think that romance is dying, however, I do believe that romance can be revived. All I'm saying is the BlackBerry and Facebook will not help anyone who is trying to redirect themselves onto the road towards romance - it will only help them to stray.
Real Talk xo
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