Was going through my mail and look what I found, a forward someone sent me...

A look at the lighter side of the news & life Wednesday, 02 May 2001
Secondary School Love Letter

I was riffling through my old things the other weekend: Secondary
school note books, undergraduate files and somewhere in my notebook for
PhiChemBi (pronounced FI-KEM-BA): Physics, Chemistry, Biology), I came
across a true relic from the past: a love letter I'd written to the first
girl I was supposed to have loved.

The letter in question is not an ordinary letter. It was the first letter
I'd ever written to any girl. It was also written in a particular style.
As secondary school students, we had our own way of doing things.
Being newly introduced to the mysteries of science and agriculture,
invariably felt that a love letter was a good means of showing off our
skills.
Every love letter was scrutinised by one's circle of peers. For the writing
of this particular letter, I had no fewer than 10 advisers. The letter kept
going back and forth with each person, adding his own line.

Our objective was simple: that the girl to whom is was addressed should fall
head over heels in love. We had high hopes that the letter sould do the
trick. You probably also once wrote such a letter.

Here, this is the beginning of my first love letter: an emotional
disconnection from reality, a question mark??? As follows:


At school, July 10, 1978

My dearest, sweetest, fondest, fantastic, extra-ordinary, paragon of beauty
a.k.a Lizzy.

I hope this letter meets you in a fabulous state of metabolism, if so
doxology. My principal aim of writing this letter to you is to gravitate
your mind towards a matter of global and universal importance, which has
been troubling my soul.

The matter is so important. Even as I am writing, my adrenalin is 100 per
cent on the Richter scale, my temperature is rising, the windvane of
my mind is pointing North, South and East at the same time; the mirror in my
eyes has only your divine image. Indeed when I sleep, you are the one in my
medulla oblongata, and I dream about you. I went out to sea in my dream, and
I saw you: surrounded by H20 and you in your majesty rose from the abdomen
of the sea like Yemoja, the avatar of beauty.

Oh, Lord be with us! We are thy servants!!!

As you can see, I am in a serious dilemma. And I want you to take my matter
seriously. At this junction, what our Lord said on this matter is germane.
He says we should ask, and we shall be given, we should seek and we will
find, and that we should knock, and it will be opened unto
us. I am this 10th day of the seventh month in the year of our Lord, one
thousand, nine hundred and seven eight, asking, seeking and knocking at your
door. My prayer is that thou should open so that thy servant can enter. I
want to wake up in the morning and see only your face.

I want you to be the only sugar in my tea, the only fly in my ointment, the
butter on my bread, the grey matter of my system, the oxygen in my head, the
planet of my universe, the wall clock of my room. The conveyor
belt of my soul. I pray that you realise the gargantuan nature of my
predicament. If you refuse, my life will be like tea without sugar, like a
snail without shell, a Xmas goat without a horn; in fact I'll become an
orphan. What is life if I can't wake up in the morning and behold your face?
You model of pulchritude, patiently created by God on a Sunday morning
before he went on a deserved holiday.

Please Lizzy, let me be your Romeo. Make me the Adam to your Eve.
Shakespeare said it all: if music be the food of love, play on. I want to
emphasise, universally and responsibly, that you are love itself. You are
the metaphor, oxymoron, thesis, antithesis, irony, gerund, conjunction and
the adverb of love.

At this juncture, let me also say that geography of your body is a permanent
allelluia. Not from your body, ammonia, urea and iodine- you are too
beautiful for that, what I see in your body is milk and honey.

At this juncture, brevity is the soul of wit. A stitch in time saves nine.
Procrastination is the thief of time. An opportunity once lost can never be
regained. Make hay while the sun shines. All that glitters is not gold. The
journey of a thousand years begins with a step. What God has put together
let no man put asunder. To be a man is not an easy task even if God's time
is the best. But time waits for no one. A man without love is like a fish
out of water.

I know you are a sagacious girl. If you like the veracity of what I am
saying, please fill the attached form and let me have it pronto. The mark at
the bottom of this page is a kiss from me to you.

I remain, Your beloved, faithful, loyal, One and only admirer.

You know this is a day almost every blogger is going to blog!
I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11. I will not blog about 9-11.

Today I went blog hopping. It's not as easy as it sounds to bloghop around till you get back to where you started. There are a lot of dead ends. Some people out there just don't like linking to other blogs. Then sometimes you get stuck because certain bloggers only links to certain types of blogs and you end up in a loop.
I started off with Bubblebutt of course, found some interesting reads at Escribitionist. From her daily reads, I went to Que Sera Sera from where I saw the text obscured and exited to listen missy. Then it was off to Closet which I thought would be more interesting than it was. Which took me to true porn clerk stories. That was interesting. I kinda got stuck there so I'll have to continue this later.

Tomorrow will be the one year anniversary of the 9-11 bombing. Wow! It's been a year already? Have I been hibernating? Where did the year go? I can't believe a year ago today, I was on my way to New York and then changed my mind. I can't believe a year ago tomorrow, I was being turned away by all forms of transportation going into New York. It's been a year already but it feels like just a month ago.

there's something about the words to these lyrics that just...
I don't know what it is it makes me feel. Does anyone have any idea?

I've never been to me
Hey lady, you lady cursing at your life
You're a discontented mother and a regimented wife
I've no doubt you dream about the things you'll never do
But I wish some one had talked to me like I wanna talk of you…

Ooh I've been to georgia and california and, anywhere I could run
I took the hand of a preacher man and we made love in the sun
but I ran out of places and friendly faces
Because I had to be free
I've been to paradise
But I've never been to me…

Please lady, please, lady
Don't just walk away
Cause I have this need to tell you why I'm all alone today
I can see so much of me
Still living in your eyes
Won't you share a part of a weary heart
That has lived million lies…..

Oh I've been to niece and the isle of greece
While I've sipped champagne on a yacht
I've moved like harlow in monte carlo
And showed 'em what I've got
I've been undressed by kings
and I've seen some things that woman ain't supposed to see…
I've been to paradise,
But I've never been to me….

Hey, you know what paraddise is? it's a lie
A fantasy we create about people and places as we'd like them to be
But you know what truth is?
It's that little baby you're holding
It's that man you fought with this morning
The same one you're going to make love with tonight
That's truth, that's love……

Sometimes I've been to crying for unborn children
that might have made me complete
But i…I took the sweet life
I never knew
I'd be bitter from the sweet
I've spent my life exploring the subtle whoring
That costs too much to be free… hey lady…

I've been to paradise…
But I've never been to me…

I've been to paradise
Never been to me
I've been to georgia and california
And anywhere I could run
I've been to paradise never been to me been to neice ans the isle of greece
While I've sipped champange on a yacht
I've been to paradise never been to to me…

Soundtrack : the adventure of priscilla : queen of the desert (1994)
lyrics from yimpan

Monday was a nice day... I don't feel like blogging so I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Just browsing an noticed.... Bubu's ABC's you shouldn't teach your kids, and Faf's blog about problem solving and shitty names . Funny people those two!

Saturday's Baby Shower
As tradition expects... the majority of the guests were fashionable late. Being an hour late we thought we'd be "on time" (I think it's an African thing to be late for an event no matter where in the world you live). Hardly anyone had arrived. The hosts; aunt Ella and aunt Mona had invited us. It was fun. There was food, music, embarrassing questions for the expecting mother (a skinny lady with big tummy). It was nothing like a normal baby shower. There were no silly games, there were no kids allowed during certain parts of the shower.

Bubu had the nerve to ask the mother, "how does one get a boy?" and I won't go into some of the answers some guests gave to help out the blushing mother-to-be. The most obvious question was, "how did it happen?" That's a good question considering the you usually forget that someone had to have sex before a cute little baby come out. There was BQ and her sidekick Bubu. They were the loudest mouths at the shower.

There was also a very informative session where the guests (mothers and non-mothers) gave the expecting mother some advice on what to expect, things to consider, not to consider. I didn't know African mothers went through post partum depression. I guess I never thought about it. Back home in Ghana, I don't think I ever heard it mentioned in so many words. Maybe it's because there usually is a better support system. Just like the expecting mother, you usually have your mother or some other female mother figure to help you out during pregnancy and for the critical months afterwards. Thus the mother faces less stress which makes post partum depression less obvious.. but it does happen especially since midwives know to warn the mother about the symptoms ahead of time.
After that she opened her gifts.. and there were a lot I might add. Then there was edzeban... jollof, wakye, nkontomire froyeh, light soup, fish, chicken, corn, shito, banku, cake... etc.

Africans, especially Ghanaians will look for an excuse to party. After the shower was over, there was a little party and the men were allowed to join in. DJ Chaka (the unofficial African DJ for the city) was there to DJ for us. The expecting mother's husband came by to party with her. I tell you, I've never seen a white man who can move like that. He can shake his booty all the way to the floor. You should have seen Bubu shaking her thing, and Chakaman. Oh Chakaman can really booggy down. Then there was this other pregnant woman at the party. I felt for her baby. She was moving like the soul train dancers. I'm suprised the baby didn't just plop out. We left soon after. If we hadn't, we'd have been there till 2 in the morning for there is "FROM" and no "TILL" for an African event.