Don’t Play With My Food. My Life Depends On It

Treat food like a joke and I will attack you like it's funny.

Treat food like a joke and I will attack you like it’s funny.

It is no secret that I love food. A lot. And I am very unapologetic about it. I live to eat, while most people eat to live. To me, food is more than just edibles that keep the body systems functioning, and eating is an activity that should be accorded its deserved time. You ought to savour the flavours and enjoy it. Chew through the awesomeness of it and appreciate every taste, figure out what ingredient tastes how and how everything blends in together.

Unfortunately, there are acca yakkers that just won’t let you have your meals in peace. The freaking party poopers that rain on your parade with dumb remarks and ugly stares, causing a fuss about anything and everything-where you’re eating, how you’re eating or the quantity/quality of what your eating. Dumb remarks and ugly stares that make you want to pat them on the back.

With a grilling pan.

Nkt.πŸ˜’

Consequently, my patience and the I-will-let-that-slide chorea smiles have run out, so I have made a list of the things you might wanna (not) do when dining with me, or any other true foodie, matter of fact. It is all in good fun, but, in case you catch feelings, well, get diapers and chew on some pepper on your way out.

Shall we?

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Taking Stock: First Third of 2016

I have cockroach memory. Consequently, this post is gonna be very difficult for me to write because I really do not remember with precision much of the events that have happened, and that includes some of the major happenings in my life, regrettably. I thought of keeping a diary; matter of fact, I used to be nun-faithful to one, till my brother got hold of it and read it out to the entire household, using just the right tonal variations, intonations and facial expressions detailing how terrible my first kiss was, first because the (lucky) boy’s mouth had the stench of ten dumpsters combined, it was as if an animal crawled up and died in there. Secondly, by the time we were done kissingΒ he was done licking my face, I felt like an ice cream cone in the hands of a toddler-annoyingly wet(on the face), uncomfortably sticky and feeling just about ready to melt into oblivion. Everybody laughed hard, I smirked the life out of my brother’s head but I swore never to document anything of sentimental value that happened to me since. I digress.

Luckily, unlike me, the internet never forgets, so I might as well document my shit here . That way, when someone asks me something that judging from the look he/she is giving me I ought to obviously remember, I will just refer here. Shall we?

Looking: For BeyoncΓ©’s LEMONADE. I seem to be the only one that is yet to have a listen or a watch. Help me out here guys…I also want to throw shade and act like I know all the inns and outs of Queen Bey’s life when I make comments on every one else’s posts about the entire drama.

Feeling: All over the place. There are times when i have had long streaks of joy and everything was perfect. There are also times when I felt like the Devil had made my life his playground, jumping up and down, kicking me this way and that as he pleased. But most of all i feel grateful to God to be alive. He triumphs over all.

Wondering: Why the butt crack only feels itchy when you are in public. Consequently you start walking like a squirrel just ran up your legs and is tickling your crotch; all because Continue reading