Dinner 4 One

The Zygote Diaries Again

2010-05-21T21:50:00.000-04:00

33 years and counting! Right off the bat, the Zygote says, Congratulations Mom and Dad, you guys are amazing!

This year is slightly different though, because this year, for the very first time one of yours has followed your lead and chosen the day after her parent’s wedding anniversary as her day to say, ‘I do!’ It’s more poetic than I could ever write! Generational wedding anniversaries on the 20th, 21st and 22nd of May!

That is a whole lot of love for one week of the year, and a whole lot of phone calls when a family has scattered the globe! But what better reason to laugh and celebrate?! For those who know what it’s like, no doubt it affirms their unions and for those like me who (currently) prefer to be spectators, it’s a five star performance that never gets old…year after year after year!

Congratulations my lil’ Sis, for joining this exclusive club! You and what’s-his-name’s membership is much deserved!

Current time to beat – 33 years.

Godspeed!

Wild Flower

2010-05-09T21:09:00.000-04:00

Wild Flower

5 Stars for One

2010-05-04T00:56:00.002-04:00

Recently I took myself out to a five star dinner. I called in advance to make the reservation and was greeted with the highest degree of pleasantry. I requested a 7pm reservation which the party on the other end of the line promptly agreed to and then they asked how many there would be. I informed them the reservation was for one and suddenly they were sorry ma’am, but they would only be able to seat me at the bar. Unacceptable I said. The only reservation they could offer for one, was at 5pm!! I relented.

Arriving at the restaurant at 5pm a few days later, I told the hostess that I had a reservation for one. She proceeded to lead me to the bar area. Unacceptable I said, so she took me to a small table for two and I sat down. A few minutes later a couple on a bad first date (or seven year anniversary) were seated next to me and moments later, the waiter came to take their order. As he finished with them, I cleared my throat and he came to check on me. I informed him I was ready to order and he looked at me with sheer surprise, asking if I was not waiting for anybody. No, it was just me. I couldn’t believe that after making an advance reservation for one, and the hostess knowing the reservation was for one, that the waiter still expected another! Apologies were made and my order was taken.

Overall, the food was satisfying and the following notes were taken between courses:

Disadvantages to Dining out for One:

Advantages to Dining out for One:

The restaurant will try to seat you at the bar to ‘save’ their tables for larger parties.

You don’t have to share the bread.

The waiter won’t take your order until you ask him because he assumed you were waiting for someone.

The ‘pity’ service is exceptional – by dessert, they are begging YOU to come back, so they can pamper you more!

The pity stares from other patrons – too bad they have nothing else to talk about!

No need to make small talk with an obnoxious date!

The freak-out glare when you get up to use the restroom because they think you are going to dine and dash.

The surprised look on their faces when you leave the best tip they’ve received all night!

398 – 1006 - 070

2010-01-16T11:16:00.001-05:00

Beforeword: Sometimes you just have to dress up for your friends!

I wore a black dress
I wore a white flower
I wore red lips
I wore red nails
And a jet black curly 20’s do.

The lights were bright
The cameras flashed
For a moment in time
I was frozen in time
In red carpet glamour
Inspired by Coco
Along with 20 others
I warmed my friends Condo.

We nibbled on food
We sipped on wine
We were high above the ground
On top of the world
Playing battleship wars
Watching reality shows
And finding out what everybody knows.

I’m sure you’d agree
The best place to be
The 15th of January
Was Kris’ soiree.

Afterword: Friends are more precious than diamonds and all we have to do is pay it forward and bask in the afterglow…

Don’t Come Too Fast!

2009-07-06T21:35:00.003-04:00

Okay so I love my new city! Toronto Rocks, ‘coz in Summer they have free concerts down by the Harbour Front and last night was Femi Kuti, son of the world renowned Fela Kuti. I was out with my great friends F, V and T, and then we ran into other friends C, T and B! And for at least two hours last night we literally became Nigerian. From Lagos specifically! Femi taught us expressions like “reverse back very well” and reminded us of things we can’t possibly miss about the Motherland like lack of electricity and abundance of mosquitoes.

I couldn’t believe how much fun we were having!
It was like we were high on something!
Perhaps it was the warm sunny weather,
Perhaps it was the company of awesome friends,
Perhaps it was the fact that the concert was free,
Or perhaps it was the second-hand smoke from the guy-in-the-eighth-spot-of-the-twenty-seventh-row-near-the-third-aisle’s potent spliff! I’m telling you that joint was enough to bring Bob Marley back to life!

It didn’t take me long to realize that we were mainly high on the music. Even though we couldn’t hear or understand most of the words, the beat is a universal language. It transcends not just economic and social boundaries, but also time, moods and feelings.

We ate good greasy food and washed it down with equally high-calorie summer cocktails and then we jived until said calories melted into forgotten pools on the concrete below.

Femi finished the concert with a bang! Literally his song Bang Bang Bang, and a quick lesson on the art of making love – see title.

And we all danced home shouting: Ala la la la! Alo lo lo lo!

And from me to you:

“When you get the chance to sit it out or dance,”

Shake your booty!!

Energy Transferred

2009-06-29T18:20:00.000-04:00

I watched a movie today, which said ‘romantics are addicts.’ Well I’ve quit. Cold Turkey. I refuse to rely on the presence of romance for my happiness! Shoes will suffice! And sunshine, and music, and art, and food, and anything that spontaneously exhilarates me! Anything that ignites a passion in me.

I have many memories of when I thought I was in love, and they evoke that passion…even though it was long ago, and I never could understand why the memories meant so much; because I knew I had changed, and I knew I didn’t want to be back there.

And I realized that as I grow, as I evolve, passion remains a constant, it is merely transferred from one entity to the next.

Once I was passionate about boy bands and sitcoms.

Yesterday I was passionate about yams and real estate.

Today I am passionate about the Grimsby sun on my brown skin and Afro kink.

Tomorrow and beyond, I do not know – the only thing certain is that there will be Passion.

The Zygote Diaries – Trey

2009-05-22T00:11:00.001-04:00

Every time I feel old, I think of how long my parents have been married, and I realize I am not that old! I think to myself, I don’t even know myself as well as my parents know each other, because I have only known myself for about 28 years! The crazy thing is that I can’t imagine knowing anyone for that long! And then living with them, and then making things and building things with them, until you know them better than you knew yourself before they were around!

It’s been a crazy week – with me trying to figure out exactly what it is that appeals to me in the context of a romantic, life-partner type of situation. If you know me, then you know that the energy it takes to fuel this kind of topic in my brain would put the atomic bomb to shame! But after I have taken the roller coaster ride in my head, checked virtual lists and had schizophrenic debates with me, myself and I; and I’ve gone from one extreme to another and back again…about 18 times, as usual, my source grounds me.

They were married 32 years ago today, and as my source, they are the epitome of trust, confidence, certainty and love to me.

And on the ground, I realize that this kind of thing needs energy.

But if there is any doubt about whether you want to put all your energy into it or not…it probably isn’t worth it.

So, the zygote says, Happy Anniversary Baz and Phil, and in the meantime, I will happily continue preparing scrumptious dinners for one!

Para Una por favor!

2009-05-05T19:42:00.001-04:00

I never realized just how Tex-Mexican I am until today.

I woke up with the excitement of celebration. It was like a Mariachi band awakened me from my slumber and followed me around all day reminding me that sometime soon, my tongue would experience the fiery vociferous flavor of jalapeño, flirting with the breezy bashful taste of cilantro in a salsa dance that would make “the stars” on that dancing show drool. I could hardly keep still going about my Tuesday activities, shimmying on the bus, swishing my hips on the train.

Toronto must have thought I was crazy! If only they knew, that no matter where she goes, she takes the craving for fajitas and margaritas on Cinco de Mayo, with her!

The Break-up.

2009-04-26T21:31:00.001-04:00

I decided to break up with the loves of my life. Yes, I meant it to be plural…I have been carrying on several simultaneous affairs over the past ten years. It was a very difficult thing for me to face the reality that these guys really were not adding to my life at all, but more importantly, they were taking away from it. I was spending way too much money and time on them, trying to uphold a lifestyle that was pretty much ruining my health. The crazy thing is that I have always known that they were no good for me, I just wanted to have a little more fun for a little longer. What can I say? I guess I fell for bad guys.

I couldn’t bear the thought of repeating my story to each one of them and breaking my heart each time, so I decided to employ the band-aid tactic, and tell them all at once. After considering many different locations for a meeting place, I decided the best location was right here in my apartment. A place which I had shared with each of them to the point that they all felt at home here, but a place which was free of any other distractions that might make the breakup any harder than it already was.

Since none of the guys drive, I told them I would pick them all up after work on a Friday. I really felt like I was in control of the situation. I knew each of their little tactics. I had literally meditated on them the night before, so I wouldn’t be caught off guard if any of the guys tried to appeal to my emotions.

There was Jose, whose very name made me weak in the knees, Johnny, who I had only really had a one night stand with, but whom I constantly flirted with, because that one night was so hot. It would seem like I was only attracted to the guys with names beginning with J, but there was the ultimate gentleman, so cool that he went by the initials C.R. like he was the lead role in an eighties soap opera; and then of course my first love, first heartbreak, first everything was Jack.

The guys were silent as I drove back to my apartment. No doubt they were uncomfortable. Over the years I had been very careful not to mix their schedules up so that for the most part they never ran into each other. It was a complex, but necessary juggling act so I could keep my sanity, and of course, to avoid a major brawl which would certainly have made me, as the instigator, very sick.

I sat them all around my coffee table and laid my heart in front of them. I told them that I had had a wonderful ride this past decade, sharing memories, visiting various cities or just relaxing at home. Jose, the most light-hearted of all sat there with a wry grin, taking in my every word. His sheer zest for life made him confident that someone else would snatch him up in no time. My heart ached as I realized how much I would miss dancing with him.

Johnny was apathetic, barely holding my gaze as I spoke. If it wasn’t for his tall lean structure, we might not have noticed he was present. I shook off the creeping feelings of hurt. It was, after all, just one night. C.R. seemed like he was ready for a change of scene. Always dressed sharp in purple, to define his broad shoulders, he always attracted, with the smoothest sexiness. He had never been rough with me, just super smooth and satisfying. Those qualities I would definitely miss.

As I turned to look at Jack, something caught my eye in the corner. It was Martin. I gave a little yelp. He was looking at me in the most accusing manner, because I hadn’t invited him. For the life of me I didn’t know how he had gotten in. Martin and I had had such a bad falling out many years ago, that I had resorted to calling him by his last name in an effort to place as much distance as possible between us.

I decided to ignore his leer and focus my attention on the one that truly mattered…Jack.

Jack had not moved or spoken since we had come to the apartment. He had been staring at the same invisible spot on my coffee table from the moment I had started talking. I yearned to know what was going through his mind. Jack had been there from the beginning. We had shared everything. He had stood by me and helped me grow from a girl into a woman and I really couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him. Of all the guys, my relationship with Jack had been the most passionate. He had taken me to highs I had never dreamed possible and had brought me to depths that I thought would literally suffocate me. I knew my parameters of strength and weakness because of him.

“Jack,” I choked. “Please say something.”

I felt my heart shatter to pieces as his gaze pierced mine.

He stood up.

His square physique enveloped in a black tee.

Then suddenly, his face crumpled into many different emotions as he bellowed,

“What I want to know is, if this is a break-up party, where the fuck is Hennessy?!”

Project Runway Junkie

2009-04-15T17:17:00.000-04:00

I am a Project Runway Junkie. It doesn’t work for me to watch it each week though, I can’t handle it, so I wait until the season is over and then I sit down, ignore all calls and watch back to back episodes of it. And I won’t stop, until I have watched all twelve or so episodes and my eyes are blood shot and all I have eaten is cereal and yogurt for three days and I have 38 emails to reply and 14 calls to return…okay, so my time is not as coveted by other people as all that, but if it was, I really wouldn’t be accessible!

It is such sweet torture to listen to Iman try and articulate instructions, praises, opinions and criticisms to the designers and judges. I know she is multilingual, but somehow when she speaks English, even though she has been married to a British guy for a while now, it sounds like five people from different countries did simultaneous voice over work and all their accents come through! I have so much respect for Iman, who she is, what she has done, and continues to do, as a humanitarian and a fierce African woman, but I seriously burn about 80 calories a minute trying to decipher her words! Maybe if I keep watching, I will soon fit into the little dolls’ dresses the designers make! Well, maybe if I don’t snack while I watch:).

TIDD

2009-03-19T22:00:00.001-04:00

People should not be allowed to drunken dial on their birthday!...or ever! It may be fun when you are doing it, but it is not fun for the recipient, especially if they are not equally intoxicated. It is mighty stressful! The other day my friend, we’ll affectionately call him The Idiot Drunken Dialer aka TIDD, decides to call me at around 3am after a night out celebrating his arrival on planet Earth. The first five minutes of the conversation are much like most of our conversations, but suddenly he throws in a “What would you say if I asked you to be my girlfriend right now?”

Excuse me? Where is all this coming from?! TIDD reassuringly tells me to go ahead and be honest, because he can take it. On my part, I know the answer, but hesitate to give it on the night of his birthday in case it becomes a bad memory for birthdays to come! I am highly stressed. “What brought this on?” I ask. TIDD says he has always felt it, but has never really known how to approach me…apparently half a dozen glass mugs of bubbly, amber liquid did the trick! But for those of you who might be planning on approaching me or most gals, let me tell you, in this situation, THE BEER IS NOT YOUR FRIEND! THE BEER GIVES YOU FALSE ENCOURAGEMENT! THE BEER IS OUT TO MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE A FOOL! If you can’t remember anything else, try your hardest to remember this fact before you scroll down your contact list and make that call!

TIDD challenges me, “Go ahead and tell me I’m like a brother to you,” and then he proceeds to map out the journey of our friendship and all the corners and turns and forks that meant more to him than I ever imagined, including various indicators to show that we were meant to be. I make a mental note never to answer calls at 3am again, take a deep breath and begin my spiel.

I tell TIDD that I love our friendship the way it is and that I wouldn’t like to change it at the risk of messing it up. I tell him too, that my heart is really not available right now, because I am focusing on me, and I choose my words carefully to make sure he understands that it is not him, but it’s me, and I love him so much as a friend!

And the phone is silent.
And I say his name…
TIDD?
…there is no answer.
TIDD is this a joke?
…still no answer.
I hang up the phone and call back…
…straight to his voice mail.

The next day I ask him what happened. His response: “Oh, the sleeping pill I had taken, must have kicked in and I fell asleep.”
And we never talk about it again.

One 4 Cottage Pie

2009-03-12T08:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I amaze myself. Like today, when I made the best cottage pie I have ever tasted! I have never made a cottage pie, but I was desperately craving it, perhaps because I need more potassium, and potatoes are chock full of it. Or perhaps because I had a packet of ground beef I had to use up before the weekend, and didn’t feel like getting my hands dirty rolling it into meatballs. Or maybe because I was nostalgic for all those years I spent in boarding school…nah! Whatever the reason, it was cottage pie tonight, and shame for the rest of the world, because you all missed out!

I didn’t think it would come out right. Or at least I thought the best I could do for a first time was something bland…borderline tasteless. Boy was I wrong! My cottage pie, was accented with rosemary. The garlic mash was infused with mozzarella, the meat bonded with green beans, celery and grated carrots for savory paradise. And everything baked cohesively in a red casserole dish! Ne-yo sang as I cooked, Adele sang as I ate and a sip from a tall sour drink rushed after every bite. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. I knew I was at my happiest. That place where if my life where to end right there, it would end with a smile.

I thought to myself…it would be nice to have someone to share this bliss with …and then I thought, Ah well…more for me!

Déjà vu

2009-02-09T23:26:00.003-05:00

Late last night, my friend and I were chatting about déjà vu. Well, actually, he was chatting, I was just trying to keep the phone balanced on my cheek without using my hands, as I lay in the bed and listened to him – You know when you experience something, and you are like I think I have experienced this before and when I did, I said this, and then that happened. I wonder if the same thing will happen if I say the same thing again. And then you say the same thing, and that same thing that happened, happens again and you are like whoa…this is déjà vu! copywrite Lala.

It made me realize that I might be right in the midst of this phenomenon, because in five days it will be that day again. The one that I try to ignore and feel indifferent about. Usually I focus on the approach of my birthday which is six days after it, but it is quite a challenge when everything about anything is doused in some shade of pink and red or the other. Most of the time there is so much else going on in my life that I can ignore all the hype…at least until the actual day, which I plan to sleep right through, this year. Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means bitter about the day and everything it supposedly symbolizes, I just think it is over-rated, and I just can’t be bothered.

And yet, I feel like I am watching a train wreck about to happen. Because I feel like I have been cool like this before…many times. I’ve been okay with everyone else losing it and spending ‘shoe money’ on so called ‘expressing their love’ and it’s all good, everyone can do what they want, and I will do me. But somehow, the closer that day comes, the less certain I am, and the more I have to convince myself that I’m cool. And the more I try to convince myself the more it sounds like I am making it up. And the more I make it up, the harder reality bites when I wake up that morning, and there are no flowers…no chocolate covered strawberries, no dinner reservations, not even a last minute ecard sent from the latest smartphone, to tell me something that I already know…that I am precious and lovable.

The tough thing about déjà vu is that you can’t stop the inevitable. It really is like watching a catastrophe about to happen, and this is not just déjà vu for me, it is déjà vu to the 20th or so power, because it’s happened more frequently than I can count! But the good news is, although it has been brutal every single time, I have survived it. Each and every time, “I get by, with a lil’ help from my friends.”

Brace for impact.

P.S. I don't blog in January. It seems like all the inspiration is sucked up by everyone's New Year's resolutions and this year in particular, by that crowd that gathered in the National Mall on the 20th. I'm not hating, I am just being real! Plus, I was really sick for half the month! ;) I missed you all too!

Every Woman Should Cradle her Girls in Red!

2008-12-24T10:37:00.002-05:00

When I first started wearing a bra, I was 11 years old and my mother bought me one black and one white bra. I had matured early compared to my friends and was not too happy about it, especially because it made me feel restricted. Like I couldn't run as fast or jump as high as the other girls because I had breasts. I walked around with my arms crossed in front of me, because I was embarrassed about how big my boobs were getting. It should be mentioned that I was in a developing country and there was not much choice as to color or design of bras. It was either black, white or nude, which wasn't really nude on me, because my skin is brown. I hated my bras. I felt like having breasts was an affliction with no cure, and in my teens I hated every girl with a flat chest.

Of course I could do nothing but succumb to the bra, as my breasts grew, my cup size grew. Despite the mini mountains on my chest, I decided to go to college in a foreign country. I remember seeing a lingerie store with manikins in fancy, bright colored bras in the windows. This was so new to me, because in my country, bras and underwear were practically a taboo topic, there were no lingerie stores or boutiques and you could only purchase bras and panties in the very back of the women's department of big department stores. It was literally a maze to go through and hope you find the lingerie department in some little dark, obscure part of the shop.

I walked into this lingerie store and couldn't believe my eyes. It seemed that lingerie and women's bodies were celebrated here! A sales associate walked up to me with a tape measure in her hands and offered to size me. I had never been sized before and it felt a little awkward. As could be expected, it turned out I had been wearing the wrong size bra all this time. The lady showed me a selection of bras in my size. I was intrigued. There was a pink one and a light blue one, a black lacy one and even a brown one, which is my nude color! But the bra that took my breath away was a red, full coverage one with butterflies embossed in the silk. It looked too beautiful to be underwear! The sales associate noticed my awe, and offered to ring me up. "Oh, no, I could never wear that," I said, emphatically shaking my head. "Why not?" she asked, and all I could think of was, because it is red. "But that is exactly why you should get it," she responded. "Because that bra lit up your face! You are beautiful, and you have beautiful breasts. This is YOUR bra!"

I went to the fitting room and tried the bra on facing the door. I can't believe I am wearing a red bra! I thought, and as I slowly turned to face the mirror, my eyes widened. Not only was this the most comfortable bra I had ever worn, but it was also stunning on me! My two mini mountains didn't seem so foreign anymore, but rather like fabulous red mascots, presenting the beauty of woman. I did cry. Tears of wonder and joy and celebration, because that day, I was liberated. Liberated from feeling like a victim of breasts. Liberated from feeling ashamed and embarrassed by them. Liberated by my red bra!

I think every woman should own a red bra, because no matter what your cup size is, every woman is sexy in a red bra. Woman who wear red bras go beyond strutting, they prance. Red is alluring, it is intriguing and it is vivacious, and coupled with the beauty of breasts, there are few things that can put a bigger smile on your face. A red bra makes you want to shout "I Am Woman!" whether it is under a suit or scrubs, underwired and full coverage, lacy and racy, or shy and sweet. Red bras rock, because they remind women of their innate attractiveness, their glorious sensuality and their vital role in bringing life. Every woman should cradle her girls in red!

Minus 007 degrees Celsius

2008-11-20T22:01:00.002-05:00

The flurries started in the late afternoon and continued through the night.
I woke up this morning, to find the Earth beautifully embraced by a deceiving white blanket.

My first instinct was to whine and complain, but as I stepped into the brisk air on my balcony to digitally record the “Ultimate Hug” I couldn’t help but to gaze in awe.

I was born to see this I thought, this splendor of nature, this dichotomy of a chilly but mesmerizing morning.

Crisp, fresh air diving into my lungs, oxygen coursing through my veins and the sound of a man scraping snow lightly flirting with my ears.

A glorious day!

And then, right there on my balcony,
Right in front of me...

...two pigeons made love.

Best Friends

2008-11-05T19:56:00.004-05:00

I gaze into the glass case, and wonder if it would be rude to shop with my sun glasses on! I ask to try on a three stone emerald cut. Why have one best friend when you can have three right?! I slide it onto my powerful right hand, because I am an independent woman and I am buying it for me! It is the most beautiful ring my right hand has ever been embellished with. But as I flip the tag over to read the price … it swiftly becomes a ring my right hand will likely never again be embellished with!!

I’m about to walk out, when I think, well since I am here, I might as well try rings for my left hand too – just so that it doesn’t feel left out;) And so begins a half hour of trying on round cuts and princess cuts, half carats and one carats, marquis, oval, square, and all the bands to match! It’s so much fun! I’m considering finding a fiancé, to go with my rings! And then I think, well that’s just absurd and decide to go shopping for the more affordable and instantly satisfying, hot dog on the corner.

But as I leave she says, “Miss, your ring” – apparently I have left the one I came in wearing, on the counter by mistake. I rush to get it, and Mr Security leeringly says “Tiffany diamonds tend to do that to you.” And I think to myself…human best friends are so much better to invest in because even when chiseled, polished and sparkling, rocks are not enough to make a girl laugh 'till she cries over a cup of tea.

To all my best friends…right next door and across the seas…I love you much! Sip a virtual tea with me!

Welcome...

2008-10-14T22:52:00.003-04:00

So, yesterday, I woke up with a smile on my face. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the only annoying things in my life were the doves on my balcony.

I set out to clean my cozy bachelorette apartment, and was done inside of 40 minutes. I surfed the internet, sent a few emails and brain stormed my next book, my next career, my next adventure.

But most importantly, I didn't miss anyone.

I was not lonely in my alone-ness.

That afternoon, I took a walk to the local coffee shop for a cappuccino and a comfy chair to read my new book in. The smell of ground Arabica beans dancing in my nostrils and soulful sounds filling my ears, I sat and read. And what a great book it was!

And still I didn't miss anyone.

Later I returned home to cook some sadza (thick corn meal porridge – a staple diet in many countries of the Motherland) and relish to die for. And with a glass of Amarula Cream – also of the Motherland – I enjoyed a fabulous dinner for one!

And I wouldn’t have had it any other way!

This blog was inspired by the words of my yoga instructor somewhere in between eagle pose and downward facing dog, “You must learn to respect yourself. If you cannot respect yourself, how then will you know how to respect others?”

A celebration of the complete Self, is what this is, my friends, and sharing is caring…hence your invitation:)

Thank you for partaking.