tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78094702679423906672024-02-07T11:31:28.914-08:00Clueless In StilettosFollow me as I walk through the Globe... Louboutins and Jimmy Choos... Music to my ears!inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-67978832867588961822011-10-08T04:59:00.000-07:002011-10-08T05:42:20.370-07:00www.veniviici.com<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLCWbe7mPNUirVLZKuaMcKldb7VJjlE7d83gS00f80PxmkCfVN_h6gJD7wyZVMB2ozT0DbxHjZ7aBszZv6bLHlB0hOlq_B8hqSewW_OLUtkaFpJD2wlq3T_RXJdKNkILB0lf5f_1Pmnw/s1600/profile+pic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLCWbe7mPNUirVLZKuaMcKldb7VJjlE7d83gS00f80PxmkCfVN_h6gJD7wyZVMB2ozT0DbxHjZ7aBszZv6bLHlB0hOlq_B8hqSewW_OLUtkaFpJD2wlq3T_RXJdKNkILB0lf5f_1Pmnw/s320/profile+pic" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Boss! :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So what is veniviici.com or <a href="http://www.veniviici.com/">www.veniviici.com?</a><br />
In the simplest of words it is an online apparel and accessories store targeted at Emerging African markets. At this stage its just for women, we roll out men very shortly! Did I just say 'we'... oh yeah! We!... I work with Veniviici.<br />
Veniviici is extremely exciting for a plethora of reasons:<br />
1) We sell fab clothes<br />
2) We work directly with all our brands, a lot of them globally renowned and are able to bring these fab clothese and accesories to you at the same price you get them in the UK.<br />
3) We guarantee 100% Brand authenticity and Brand integrity.<br />
4) You can pay with your Nigerian debit cards.<br />
5) We are extremely secure.<br />
6) We carry only the most recent seasons!<br />
7) We deliver within 72 hours<br />
I could go on and on and on and on and on... however I'll leave you to go to our fantastic website,<a href="http://www.veniviici.com/"> www.veniviici.com</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgRbU4i86vdFpEvDwMkPX4GXdEahrymojnXzw-rPwVa9qUjNXiWeriTsJ3d6mONlj08I7at0PaqPtQu9a-WDdKpB7AYWnFRGBj-MIQ-LtexDdbLAqN5Kg7wbvrTKustP3sXNtfX4IZrw/s1600/ade1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhgRbU4i86vdFpEvDwMkPX4GXdEahrymojnXzw-rPwVa9qUjNXiWeriTsJ3d6mONlj08I7at0PaqPtQu9a-WDdKpB7AYWnFRGBj-MIQ-LtexDdbLAqN5Kg7wbvrTKustP3sXNtfX4IZrw/s200/ade1.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ade!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> .... Actually! <i style="color: #990000;">(I am now unofficially taking my CEO hat off! Let's get real jor!)</i> :) Veniviici really is about a bunch of very ambitious, passionate, very perfectly imperfect and fun guys providing a much needed service to Nigeria, with a view to go into Africa. Trust me we're a weirdly cool bunch! :)<br />
<br />
We love clothes and we love authentic clothes! Original O! We have therefore thoroughly sat and thought of how to get these awesome fashion items to you at the best possible prices. Please believe we fought and convinced the brands we work with to ensure that they are not only available on western platforms... aah aah Ki lo de! Must we constantly buy clothes at ridiculous prices?<i style="color: #660000;"> (one of man's major necessities! Haba!why must we buy from 'Iya Risi' who just came back from America? Why?)... How can someone be selling me an 'Atmosphere' Skirt for N6000.00! </i><br />
The one thing we as a team are is real! very real!... Read a bit about us in our <a href="http://www.veniviici.com/style_tool.php">stylebook </a>.<br />
On a more serious note ... guys drop by and wish us the best! I recently read how a 'Bill Gates', 'Steve Jobs' or a 'Mark Zuckerberg' will never emerge from Africa! Lie! I personally don't believe that! The Africa I know and respect constantly provides the best with the least possible resources at its disposal! we are just rarely acknowledged for it!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #b45f06;"><b>Please understand that www.veniviici.com is a statement, a creation of something out of nothing! GBAM! </b><br />
</div>I tell my team constantly:<i style="color: #990000;">'We have everything we need to succeed</i><i style="color: #990000;"> ' we simply need to work hard to stay the best! I aim to deliver excellence, I suggest you aim at that too! Anything short of that is unacceptable!'</i><br />
<i style="color: #990000;"><br />
</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdoAHe3Nrn6IyZe6E7rg8NyBf1MxsL0flT57ywR5_STT33TAPPVaTO-G6lK7UxKMMlDXaDod24dMRdWR045d31h1IItIhM5cTLDxhh5HNhlP3IqvhR4Kpgs8UhXafapWf9YmUJfYJ6q4/s1600/amosu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdoAHe3Nrn6IyZe6E7rg8NyBf1MxsL0flT57ywR5_STT33TAPPVaTO-G6lK7UxKMMlDXaDod24dMRdWR045d31h1IItIhM5cTLDxhh5HNhlP3IqvhR4Kpgs8UhXafapWf9YmUJfYJ6q4/s200/amosu.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">01/10/11! With Mr Amosu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our mission is simply this<span style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06;"> </span><b style="background-color: black; color: #b45f06;">' To provide you with the best possible service by remaining the best at what we do. Our core competence, our business! is to provide you with the most beautiful, most trendy, most recent and authentic fashion items conveniently, at the most competitive prices and as quickly as possible!.</b><br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><br />
</div><i><span style="color: #990000;"> Show us some love please , and keep us in your hearts and your prayers! </span>God knows we need them! </i><br />
I am keeping a journal and will keep updating my blog with extracts, so look out! <span style="color: #cc0000;">Please Feedback! on here or email to (feedback@veniviici.com).<span style="color: black;"> Its the only way we'll grow! </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Ade Adeyemi</i></span><br />
<b> (CEO Veniviici) </b><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;">facebook : http://www.facebook.com/VeniViici#!/VeniViici</div><div style="color: #990000;">twitter : https://twitter.com/#!/thisisveniviici</div><br />
<b>Veniviici.com went live 01/10/11 and we have pretty much sold out our go-live stock :) </b><br />
<b>Africa Rocks! THANK YOU GUYS!</b><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-26964106651104437522011-08-02T11:08:00.000-07:002011-08-02T12:24:32.304-07:00Ananda in the Himalayas...A world above worlds!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbigowuIHxpMFN4RSbom6uBLZ7lN3bxDwCkAxvaOEzDNM06hcPfcvJDBfKnCoQY4jETCXAzLi2C2tuEoLWXS4lqrlg2P9rHOX0t9sTUFnszKYCqgMbSttlJOO_hyphenhyphenRSQpoNQwQXHf4eS4/s1600/CIMG0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlbigowuIHxpMFN4RSbom6uBLZ7lN3bxDwCkAxvaOEzDNM06hcPfcvJDBfKnCoQY4jETCXAzLi2C2tuEoLWXS4lqrlg2P9rHOX0t9sTUFnszKYCqgMbSttlJOO_hyphenhyphenRSQpoNQwQXHf4eS4/s200/CIMG0053.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Delhi Airport!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">As I prepared for our descent into Delhi, India, I subconsciously surveyed the British Airways business class cabin that had catered to me the last eight hours.</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><i></i>Breakfast had been fresh fruit, always a favourite. I thought about my onward flight and wondered what India would bear a semblance to. My vivid imagination failed me, I quietly took in my co-passengers in the hope that they would offer a clue! <i>alas!</i> even that did not help, they were an outrageous mix. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">My onward flight was tedious, extremely turbulent, a propeller plane! It was painful!</span></i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I had engaged the flight attendant for all of 10 minutes , question after question poured from my being, in answer, he repeatedly uttered the words… ‘<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">It’s the safest aircraft ma’m';</span></i> every word followed with a vigorous nod. <o:p></o:p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tcFRhf4Go95LE5XIWV_BzzNDyp_KTKrLHvwOv8zs7gGGtHKquJxHep2piU5Dnd960LPDsv4J8qYW7wBqAlZfEgkXI9Qv7P_byk0fMZ1I83Xf4Duuiw0gz538oydTFsXkdCCLhjxlDpM/s1600/CIMG0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tcFRhf4Go95LE5XIWV_BzzNDyp_KTKrLHvwOv8zs7gGGtHKquJxHep2piU5Dnd960LPDsv4J8qYW7wBqAlZfEgkXI9Qv7P_byk0fMZ1I83Xf4Duuiw0gz538oydTFsXkdCCLhjxlDpM/s320/CIMG0058.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">My Driver!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Relief flowed through the very core of me as I sighted my driver, his placard boldly inscribed with precious words <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">‘Ananda welcomes Miss Adeyemi’</span></i>. Once I was firmly tucked into the back seat of the Range Rover. I called my mom, we’d last spoken before I left London, she was always there for me! Always!... <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">I’d probably not be able to accomplish half my life if it wasn’t for her. </span></i><o:p></o:p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnZZf-B9nZE43MnchjEI7isa-eYxWGN0iwOsXXqGP_rKMQI5DZJdQXaZ_ppe4TTd2nhhyphenhyphenH_0srnv-Htck12eSln2V96oZ2ZawOr0iMRmzibG9gXN9uU5_FDKb_jojQHmiLmR_hqv14_s/s1600/CIMG0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnZZf-B9nZE43MnchjEI7isa-eYxWGN0iwOsXXqGP_rKMQI5DZJdQXaZ_ppe4TTd2nhhyphenhyphenH_0srnv-Htck12eSln2V96oZ2ZawOr0iMRmzibG9gXN9uU5_FDKb_jojQHmiLmR_hqv14_s/s320/CIMG0068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">Dehr Duran! India!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">As she ended our conversation she said <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">‘God has written that today you would be in India’,</span></i> I laughed for her words were cast in resilience, as though she’d just had a conversation with God himself and he had assured her that this was the case.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wouldn’t have been surprised, <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">India was never the plan, I had planned to be in Barbados today with another however that didn’t happen... thankfully! </span></i>I had indeed flirted with the idea of not taking a holiday. However my going away had never been dependent on anyone and besides I could afford to go … so I looked to Google for wellbeing holidays and she so graciously coughed up Ananda in the Himalayans <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">(www.anandaspa.com)</span></i>!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">(In my head Google is a she, perfectly carved by fine minds to answer my every question).</span><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">The drive up the mountains left me feeling queasy, sharp bends, potholes and insane curves marked the path, cows cat-walked majestically on the streets, leaving even less space for already crazed drivers, I took picture after picture, parts of india were indeed like my ethnic Nigeria but there was structure. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheAftkookB159A43Nem2_h18kv1HhVtYrdUxIX8I8t2b4P7ch7xyAQzRTlYAO4FjKKUitY2TuRFY1aXVFXgJeI4IraXGAwYZNbESpVsumkq-X2MKJjPB6VCnzCsKHO2WCYQO9bfVKD18/s1600/CIMG0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheAftkookB159A43Nem2_h18kv1HhVtYrdUxIX8I8t2b4P7ch7xyAQzRTlYAO4FjKKUitY2TuRFY1aXVFXgJeI4IraXGAwYZNbESpVsumkq-X2MKJjPB6VCnzCsKHO2WCYQO9bfVKD18/s320/CIMG0074.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">Where Cows are gods! hehe!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Unlike Dehr Duran, Delhi was beautiful, the airport organised and huge. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Rishikesh was different, poor but there were decent roads and projects going on!</span></i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">As we approached the luxurious gates to Ananda, I saw them; <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">beautiful monkeys had come to bid me welcome, they were gorgeous.</span></i> The most beautifully dressed guard I’d ever seen, his hands held to prayer as he greeted <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">‘Namuskar’</span></i>, opened the gates. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We drove in, my bags taken, I was checked in with a mug of fresh ginger and lemon. My schedule for the next seven nights presented to me, s<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">even nights of blissful treatments, a rejuvenation of mind, body and soul. </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">My simple goal was to take stock, rest, pray and seek God’s face as I led my team through the next eight weeks, as we transitioned through to reality. </span></i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Lunch was brown rice and lamb in oyster sauce combined with the best assortment of fresh vegetables I’d ever tasted, my body relished and then abosrbed the freshness presented before it. I had meant to sit for a quick minute, it was quite shocking when I woke up at 1830 with a start.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Damn! I had missed my ayuverdic consultation as well as my Abhyanga massage (I had no clue what it was but it sounded lush).</span><o:p></o:p></i></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjmoJy9LW4yG53sjVgUMcW1YG4mVGRFfKDHjhytjRYla-CMAabcMuzdMa6XoJ2qDw8PZSNrUSJScwjfJWaouPY4XCDrX1pv0EF-OPbkTkRm5TwqNyvayUkRHqnm0m-ZHOe8Fg5nnzOTI/s1600/CIMG0079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSjmoJy9LW4yG53sjVgUMcW1YG4mVGRFfKDHjhytjRYla-CMAabcMuzdMa6XoJ2qDw8PZSNrUSJScwjfJWaouPY4XCDrX1pv0EF-OPbkTkRm5TwqNyvayUkRHqnm0m-ZHOe8Fg5nnzOTI/s320/CIMG0079.JPG" width="125" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My Ananda Whites!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hurried into my slippers and ran to the spa, thankfully in Ananda the white pyjamas were adequate, no frills, no pretences and no extras. It was just peaceful and gorgeous and the most non-judgemental, most calming place I’d ever been to. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Love permeated the atmosphere and everyone here smiled. Thankfully I had taken out my signatory long weave before I came. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">T<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">he gasp that left my lips was unmistakable it was gorgeous! the spa I mean! the doctor was there</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"><i>, he had actually come to check on me until he’d seen my privacy tag hanging outside my door.</i></span> I had to have it on there, for in Ananda someone was constantly knocking to see I was fine, catering to my every whim; <i>spoken or unspoken!</i><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> He explained that he had thought I was ill and had come to check on me until he encountered the sign.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I in turn explained that I was simply tired. </i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">He dutifully rescheduled my consultation for tomorrow morning after my private yoga session and then led me into the capable hands of my masseuse.</span></i><br />
<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YrD7EzNMwfB-wftYgszdux2iceSmzUeKnjxw_PK030ExJLKNes-lsrcNA2vUsN-NCEb0AYXe_buN8pZ0Khyu2rZhriwypP6BXV6IascvDMi6jAQucy4imAVL6vzQgFlTpHv5P_0AFdw/s1600/abyhanga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YrD7EzNMwfB-wftYgszdux2iceSmzUeKnjxw_PK030ExJLKNes-lsrcNA2vUsN-NCEb0AYXe_buN8pZ0Khyu2rZhriwypP6BXV6IascvDMi6jAQucy4imAVL6vzQgFlTpHv5P_0AFdw/s200/abyhanga.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">An Abyhanga Massage! </span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">The Abhyanga massage started with a prayer and then a head and shoulder massage as I sat upright my feet in a foot bath laid with soft smooth pebbles.</span></i> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;"><i>It was administered by two of them. The ladies worked in sync. This was like no massage I’d ever had. The oils were warm, you could feel healing emanate as they coated my tired skin! It wan’t until they laid me on my stomach I understood why I needed two of these magical women. </i></span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">One on the right the other on the left they massaged every tired bone, every tendon, every nerve, every sinew! This was no posh city massage... </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZjRl90ILHT0Zcdrgzb3JLlnNtgsGlFfxYnYoZH4JK3S5TpXdYXql5jH3SWqzDytVEXxPdlMWYCigd2M7_L9U_rNwSXmD0KUFNxzviu2G0kCyOakTC1h1XsXlR2xLLcPZIjtSIo4tfPs/s1600/CIMG0081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZjRl90ILHT0Zcdrgzb3JLlnNtgsGlFfxYnYoZH4JK3S5TpXdYXql5jH3SWqzDytVEXxPdlMWYCigd2M7_L9U_rNwSXmD0KUFNxzviu2G0kCyOakTC1h1XsXlR2xLLcPZIjtSIo4tfPs/s200/CIMG0081.JPG" width="197" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Dinner!</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Ananda was after all; a glamorous , boutique ashram. I smiled as the revelation met my mind. I had really wanted to visit an ashram and thought I wouldn't find one. This was perfect for me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">These women had the hands of angels, they prayerfully tortured tiredness and aching out of me, they were truly blessed!… </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">an hour , a steam and a shower later, dinner was pan-sneered chicken on the bone ,and fresh vegetables.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">A satisfied smile lit my face as I remembered instructions I was given not to leave my balcony doors open as the monkeys sometimes climbed in, in search of food. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The view from my room was unbelievably breath-taking, it rested right on the valley, the Himalayas looming ahead…<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;"> ‘</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999;">Only the fool says in his heart that there is no God!’ The hand of God was unmistakable here...</span><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: maroon;">At some stage during the day I asked what Namuskar meant as it was constantly said to me… my replier explained that it translated to:<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b45f06;">The god in me bows to the god in you</span></i></b><span style="color: maroon;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m trying so hard to get enough work done so that I’m in bed early enough and can get to morning yoga at 0700, the amphitheatre looked gorgeous as my golf cart drove past it earlier on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Namuskar...</span></i><o:p></o:p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hlWV-fMOIjnYWYus2vzhVe7GAjeyN3OnuvmqbVg0s4qGP_HeuMf8Gqrwbn84Ttp4NV1WD2YXhfvfFAWjIxpbYsOy1a4OlyW-kHZ6ZOaywtivcpEgF5zilmlfgEh_0odz-hg_9xroV2w/s1600/CIMG0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hlWV-fMOIjnYWYus2vzhVe7GAjeyN3OnuvmqbVg0s4qGP_HeuMf8Gqrwbn84Ttp4NV1WD2YXhfvfFAWjIxpbYsOy1a4OlyW-kHZ6ZOaywtivcpEgF5zilmlfgEh_0odz-hg_9xroV2w/s320/CIMG0087.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I don't make beds and I declined house-keeping's<br />
evening service...haba! </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;"><br />
</span></i></div></div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com7India20.399712190173389 78.8854400000000175.8774836901733885 64.242512500000018 34.921940690173386 93.528367500000016tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-21899340498574485812011-07-08T06:20:00.000-07:002011-07-08T12:18:46.510-07:00Berlin!!!... CEO Duties... an SATC experience!!!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JKwJVBOBZOYwW3BAlLE-yEC8ONs23ur_03TdJKEaGXLHnQwmM7-dQ5J35IpQdY8b3G8aNxYqniypvDmaAaEkYQXrApEfH8W_Ft-6COvEhanMBTJls8qbUK4fYGkVkQjIOOMTwtnXHmw/s1600/Louis_Vuitton_Alma_MM_Butterboom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JKwJVBOBZOYwW3BAlLE-yEC8ONs23ur_03TdJKEaGXLHnQwmM7-dQ5J35IpQdY8b3G8aNxYqniypvDmaAaEkYQXrApEfH8W_Ft-6COvEhanMBTJls8qbUK4fYGkVkQjIOOMTwtnXHmw/s200/Louis_Vuitton_Alma_MM_Butterboom.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The almighty Alma! Appreciate!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i style="color: #ea9999;">'God has a sense of Humour...' #Just Saying...</i><br />
<div style="color: #999999;">I'd spent the whole day negotiating terms with suppliers, planning, directing and advising my team... no one had been kind enough to warn me of the tumultuous yet stimulating life an MD/CEO lived. It was painful!... I sat at my desk, as I slowly ensured that my tasks for the day were definitely completed, after all I was still an employee... one with an extremely demanding job!</div><span style="color: #999999;">Emotionally spent and clearly drained, I subconsciously or maybe even consciously glanced at the Gucci timepiece that dominated my left wrist. </span><i><span style="color: #e69138;">Oh wow! it was 18:39, where had my day gone?</span> <span style="color: #e69138;">My ride to Frankfurt airport was due to arrive in just over twenty minutes. </span></i><br />
<i style="color: #999999;"> </i><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">The last two e mails I sent were done in a rush, a quick glance over and the hope that they satisfied the intended recipients was about all I could muster before I grabbed my laptop bag and Amarante Louis Vuitton Alma MM</span> <i style="color: #660000;">(I had to! blush!! it is gorgeous, a work of art!hehe! in Vernis leather!)</i> <span style="color: #999999;">and rode the elevator 16 floors down to reception. </span></span></span><br />
<div style="color: #999999;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #999999;">I dutifully handed my black Jasper Conran wheelie to my driver and got in the car. A staggering breath of air escaped me as I took the back seat, a clear sigh of relief. I had an hour to myself but before I laid my head to rest there was a call I needed to return... <i>(that tale...is for another day :)).</i></div><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">A very accurate 60 minutes later, I walked into Frankfurt airport, wheelie in hand, dropped my bags off with the smiley ground staff at the Lufthansa desk and headed to my gate... a quick detour at </span><i style="color: #f6b26b;">Meyer Feinkost, perhaps a tall glass of German Riesling would calm this inaudible, escalating churn my stomach had engaged in...</i> <span style="color: #999999;"><i>You see, I am a bit of a 'nervous-flyer',</i><i style="color: #ea9999;">(don't ask!)</i> <i>I don't enjoy flying at all, weird I know! for someone who flies pretty much every week.</i></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjRYBrNNaQhU4QZiyTbSXb0iXdOVWECJS-PwZrn4etSO4RhIdPhcpdMeOwT7s3IVq_88sUZsv7jmxlFGTFekP44IthTrAgFpAMCFB6yY_WWDZg1Ftw2MRy0LRkHHkLaKSjnlGn2T4aPw/s1600/Frankfurt-airport-shooting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjRYBrNNaQhU4QZiyTbSXb0iXdOVWECJS-PwZrn4etSO4RhIdPhcpdMeOwT7s3IVq_88sUZsv7jmxlFGTFekP44IthTrAgFpAMCFB6yY_WWDZg1Ftw2MRy0LRkHHkLaKSjnlGn2T4aPw/s320/Frankfurt-airport-shooting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Frankfurt Airport!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="color: #cccccc;">A few announcements, changed gates and small conversations later, I was firmly tucked into the signatory Grey Lufthansa seats. As a 'nervous-flyer', I am mandated to advise airline staff, check weather conditions <i>et all</i>, they in turn are mandated to monitor me throughout the flight, give advance warning of heavy clouds, weird sounds and pretty much as much information as they possibly can of any potential issues. </span><i><span style="color: #f4cccc;">God forbid full blown hysterics on a flight... I have had that before, not pretty at all!</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #999999;">I patiently waited for the plane to fill, not quite ten minutes later a tall, dark haired metro-sexual took the aisle seat beside me, only issue was he had a Lufthansa badge peaking every so slightly from under his shirt.</div><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="color: #999999;">The observer in me very quickly picked up on that;</span> <i><span style="color: #cc0000;">the naij woman in me whispered</span></i> <i style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #38761d;">'Ehn Ehn o, who is this one now, abeg!' </span>Gosh! sometimes I wish she'd just shut up and behave! haha!...</i> <span style="color: #cccccc;">he looked too butch to be an air host and too young and too pretty to be a pilot or engineer so really! only other option was a secret agent... </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I rarely assume so I asked; </span><i style="color: #38761d;">'hi! going home?'</i>... <span style="color: #999999;">we talked all the way to our destination, turns out he </span><i style="color: #999999;">WAS INDEED</i> <span style="color: #999999;">a pilot, a first officer, cute as hell and awesomely gay!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="color: #999999;">Josef or Joe was </span><i><span style="color: #990000;">tres-fantastique,</span></i> <span style="color: #999999;">he explained every sound, jerk and movement and kept assuring me that everything was fine. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">We talked about my business, he talked about his even cuter boyfriend</span> <i><span style="color: #38761d;">(ooh! saw a picture, that dude was pretty hatttt!)</span>, <span style="color: #38761d;">how he'd just flown in from Shanghai that morning and only flew 4 times a month, I was green with envy,<span style="color: #990000;"> pilots had the best work/life balance ever, no doubt!</span></span>... </i><span style="color: #999999;">he offered to model for me, I looked him over, </span><i style="color: #990000;"><span style="color: #990000;">n</span>iceee! could definitely use you, I quietly thought! </i></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2-xvcRXKxbgY87JRXQVkaDQwESuS4TgKuY4iyugwVEgidyN7xCbNRrmR6WfjbnjP-cfIeA6bjAbg_apfWRxn1i7BlhQcifASzUNGm7teb4e8ImML-BPjHKsP82K6sgJeV-XhJP1in_k/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2-xvcRXKxbgY87JRXQVkaDQwESuS4TgKuY4iyugwVEgidyN7xCbNRrmR6WfjbnjP-cfIeA6bjAbg_apfWRxn1i7BlhQcifASzUNGm7teb4e8ImML-BPjHKsP82K6sgJeV-XhJP1in_k/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Joe and Ade in my iPad Photo booth! Forgive us it was midnight! </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="color: #999999;">It was such an awesome flight, </span><i style="color: #cc0000;">I hugged heaven, God ALWAYS had me covered! what a treat! my babysitter was an actual pilot! my spirit cried out victoriously in sweet sweet joy! </i><span style="color: #cccccc;">... We disembarked a few minutes short of midnight, I walked out of Tegel airport, said my </span><i style="color: #cccccc;">'Tschuses'</i><span style="color: #cccccc;"> to Josef after exchanging e mail addresses, the familiar Euphoric feel of being in a Big city hit me, it smelt and felt like New York.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">Josef had sarcastically retorted </span><i style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: #999999;">'</span>Yeah Ade! New York in the 80s</i>'... <span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">when I'd told him I'd heard Berlin was a huge, retro city, my gorgeously huge eyes had lit up as I'd followed my statement with</span> </span><i style="color: #cc0000;">'like New York?' (uh huh you say! well! that's what I could relate with:), I luv'd the Big apple! lol!).</i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJF7fbaS77-X2uYkVJd3vCyWKNunSs4pEaK650DC0pSD3Y2Y-BHxnRUhilM1Fk2f68kgB64NnhV7CezExBLq1jth3TJOLOxx0d_9cOFVtG5Y6qrJzYJJnk9Uyuci6W0GzLCS640-zx5ow/s1600/taxi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJF7fbaS77-X2uYkVJd3vCyWKNunSs4pEaK650DC0pSD3Y2Y-BHxnRUhilM1Fk2f68kgB64NnhV7CezExBLq1jth3TJOLOxx0d_9cOFVtG5Y6qrJzYJJnk9Uyuci6W0GzLCS640-zx5ow/s200/taxi.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>crazy taxi queue</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">My smile froze as I saw the taxi queue...</span> <i style="color: #f6b26b;">Berlin indeed did not sleep</i><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">.<span style="color: #cccccc;">.. an hour and a half later, finally at my hotel and tucked into the lush queen-sized bed, I put the phone down and smiled...</span></span> <i style="color: #e69138;">I was already firmly in love with Berlin... She made me smile...</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><i style="color: #cc0000;"> Gosh! I'm such a big city girl... truly cosmopolitan... </i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2b2dn4PM9m7N1PhtLW9vZPDOMIUX0o872X_LaSxQGNoIfFlb-y43QAMR_e_Cu6nyM4l40WkRsZ82nS0fS1NJUmlCcMcL6RWcuFBSDbkygJ9OL7qDVWDh3UgKlFEun5uTRvBlpIGdiu0/s1600/day2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2b2dn4PM9m7N1PhtLW9vZPDOMIUX0o872X_LaSxQGNoIfFlb-y43QAMR_e_Cu6nyM4l40WkRsZ82nS0fS1NJUmlCcMcL6RWcuFBSDbkygJ9OL7qDVWDh3UgKlFEun5uTRvBlpIGdiu0/s320/day2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Definitely cosmopolitan!The morning after! :)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><i>I shall tell all about the Bread n Butter trade-show I attended on behalf of veniviici... :), awesome SATC moments and a conversation I had with my direct reports after the trade show. But! Now! I am extremely aware that I have just one more sleep in this fabulous city and I need need need to go into town... </i></div><span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #999999;">TSCHUS!! :) </span><br />
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</i></div><i style="color: #6fa8dc;">*'Tschus - Bye (German)</i>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com7Berlin, Germany52.5234051 13.41139989999999252.325788599999996 12.936413899999993 52.7210216 13.886385899999992tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-78732089826020733132011-07-01T13:31:00.000-07:002011-07-01T13:43:21.494-07:00Would y'all have me back????<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #660000;"><i>There are a few things in life as uncomfortable as a colposcopy… </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"> I have no idea why I started with that, I have no fancy stories stripped around that enigmatic phrase, no tall tales… anti-climax eh? sorry! I’ve simply thought about writing for a while and for the weirdest of reasons that phrase had firmly etched itsself at the forefront of my mind...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: red;"> There are a few things in life as uncomfortable as a colposcopy…</span> </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"> The crappy part about not writing for a minute is that it gets harder to pen precious words to paper! It also means that I’ve had to find alternative ways to express this extremely fiery passion I so naturally carry… so I guess I am writing this year… but before I begin to pour out tales, adventures, diatribes, harangues, smart sayings. There are friends in blogsville I need to apologise to… </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #b45f06;"><b>*Hangs head shamefully</b>*</div><div class="MsoNormal">My preciouses… I’m ever so sorry for going so MIA…YN, Tnotes and every one else, I've missed you!!!! </div><div class="MsoNormal">There's so much to write, but so little time. A year ago I was broken, hurting and learning to find me, working, having fab adventures and absolutely loving London as I discovered nooks and crannies of the ever so elusive city that had housed me for the last twelve years... </div><div class="MsoNormal">Its virtually a year and I’m still finding me, still live in London, still love London but work in Germany, I’m a CEO, an employee, busy as hell, completely secure in who and whose I am, not yet been made an honest women of and yes! yes! met a coupla silly dudes! yeah! LOL! I def have to write about silly and sillier! :) … I’m constantly traveling, constantly busy, constantly learning , constantly growing. I just got in from Edinburgh and been in at least five different cities in the last ten days, made some awesome friends and have such a healthy love for life! ... my cleaner goes on holiday tonight, need one desperately (for tomorrow) so if you can help that will be awesome!<span style="color: #660000;"> <span style="color: black;">my one rule</span> <i>'you can't work full-time and clean your house yourself' - Ade says :)</i></span><i>…</i>so lets see how much time I find to write… Power yoga is sooooo unbelievably awesome and so's tweeting; my handle <i><span style="color: orange;">@skizzzzles </span></i>and please don't expect quality tweets! :) #I'mACreativePerson! Quantity trumps all...<br />
SO... xoxo or <i><b><span style="color: #f1c232;">'love and tiara kisses' (Most Beautiful Girl Nigeria 2010 - thought it was classic! hehe!)</span></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiaVb8qUE2jfeJfLL1JQs3OKk-pCj2ew4Lt6RP-idlyQINCP1P1bUH38qu-fi6LZwJg-kTmknbrNTkhj_A7mMbA1CZhVPDgfMpKTSC5yKifMa_nfGoVOmp96Uv50e_0gcQcO1r0cp2pc/s1600/IMG_0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiaVb8qUE2jfeJfLL1JQs3OKk-pCj2ew4Lt6RP-idlyQINCP1P1bUH38qu-fi6LZwJg-kTmknbrNTkhj_A7mMbA1CZhVPDgfMpKTSC5yKifMa_nfGoVOmp96Uv50e_0gcQcO1r0cp2pc/s320/IMG_0010.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-family: Wingdings;"></span> </div></div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-36983866190092384952011-01-06T06:00:00.001-08:002011-01-06T06:00:20.168-08:00Would I write this year or not?...<em>It really is a million-dollar question... hmmm ... maybe , maybe not...! we'll see...</em>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-23534676063906986102010-10-07T04:48:00.000-07:002010-10-13T11:27:57.671-07:00A shopaholic's moan...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fHEYfTSvUSLby_PGu8e70czEX5YgRjTtWP0oTRZgU_Dq7FxnA0SWAkLVpAXo86rn-eezUJm9HQBQAe4VObOLWg1aVhsEXQ3fVAcyONf2Q5kv9C9HybFm8P5iLq5oT3aYvfWx0UcqkKA/s1600/online-shopper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fHEYfTSvUSLby_PGu8e70czEX5YgRjTtWP0oTRZgU_Dq7FxnA0SWAkLVpAXo86rn-eezUJm9HQBQAe4VObOLWg1aVhsEXQ3fVAcyONf2Q5kv9C9HybFm8P5iLq5oT3aYvfWx0UcqkKA/s200/online-shopper.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>And so I log onto the intranet at work and the words <i>‘obsessive about customer service’</i> bounce off the red and white Vodafone page, my subconscious clearly processing my various shopping experiences. This of course is no surprise to me, all I’ve thought about the last twenty-four hours is customer service and how in the UK we know very little about it or perhaps a mere nothing,… <i>is that a fair comment?</i> <br />
As an extremely busy individual, most of my shopping is done over the internet. The one factor that consistently drives me to return to a site or an actual physical store is the experience. Stay with me, I will tie in my fabulous, not so fabulous and down right exasperating experiences and outings into my tale at some point. <br />
<br />
I unashamedly admit that I do a fair amount of shopping on<i> Asos</i> and not just because the t.v ads are so fabulous, the ‘user experience and engagement’ is phenomenal! Asos is simply every <i>‘busy, shopaholic, aspiring fashionista’s</i> ‘dream. <br />
For one, I have a ‘saved items’ list, where I can achieve the <i>‘very underrated grandeur of window shopping’</i> , now not only can I <i>gloat lasciviously</i> and <i>salivate</i> over stunning clothes, I can save them and buy them when I eventually choose to. <br />
In the history of <i>‘online shopping’ </i>never has there been a more efficient search engine;<i> 'every filter' </i>in the book adorns the plain white sides of asos.com., this effectively means <i>if I want a size 10, black , asymmetric, short dress that was designed by ‘Alexander Wang’ all I need to do is click, click and click and then it not only shows me the dress but how to complete the look , as it drops precious hints on which celeb recently wore it and what they looked like, how they accessorised and that’s only the start of the experience. </i><br />
Once I move into the ‘<i>check out’</i> area, I'm so kindly asked which of my 3<i> registered addresses</i> do I want my purchase billed and shipped to... and yes most times, I get my stuff delivered to work but billed to my home, so this is <i>'tres - useful'.</i> As my credit card details are held on file, Asos simply asks me to enter my CVC <i>(card verification code)</i> and then a few minutes later; yours truly receives a really cool e mail telling me what I’ve ordered and a day or so later I’m notified when my items are dispatched. No issues with entering my addresses, no issues with returns… <i>aah yes! <span style="color: #990000;">They also send a returns slip with all deliveries so returns are extremely easy</span></i><span style="color: black;">. </span><span style="color: #e06666;">The sizes are almost ‘bang-on’ <i>which translates to; </i>in all my ‘Asos’ years, I’ve only sent ONE item back and the funds were back on my card in… <i>wait for it… 3 days</i>!... <i>Mac made wait 14 days!</i> I’m Asos VIP <i>(pathetic eh? *sigh*)</i>so I get to hear about the sales a day before and I get vouchers all the time… It may all be done in a bid to attract me to keep spending with them ... but guess what? it works! I actually feel special when I’m spending my <i>'hard-earned mulah'</i> with these guys… <i>is Asos American???</i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnQq1nMr14Gx2FGTGgKZBPfeLzt-kRocdH10kCpKT2A-Bex5Za0Eabn0yFM99DPX-AGjhd2nmDXn40QwDrJDSLzbwxOxnQDQb7nu2y9WpTH6etEFRUaWNj7xCUyWwMmM4njFv0O64QV8/s1600/asos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnQq1nMr14Gx2FGTGgKZBPfeLzt-kRocdH10kCpKT2A-Bex5Za0Eabn0yFM99DPX-AGjhd2nmDXn40QwDrJDSLzbwxOxnQDQb7nu2y9WpTH6etEFRUaWNj7xCUyWwMmM4njFv0O64QV8/s400/asos.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Argos are almost as perfect… yup trust me… Little woods … horrendous… Amazon… hmmm! This one was perfect until I signed up for the now-so-dreaded <i>‘one click’</i> ordering, so now I have no idea which of my cards is being charged. Now that is annoying because I am a planner, <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">‘plan my money’ to the ‘minute-est’ detail is what I do; Gosh, I mean how else am I going to keep spending astronomically… huh?</span></i><br />
And of course I get 13 different deliveries; all separate when I put a big order through<i>… aarrrgghh!!!</i> But, I did get a bottle of<i> ‘Davidoff Game</i>’ for free…<i> and we love perfume!</i> … So <i>‘not so brilliant’ </i>experience but cool gifts!.. by the way, if you’re a student; Amazon is almost impossible to live without...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJomvehxpSGxYpdk9gF_hbzJ_Bf1T260ai3XQDpR-HQj0RLOfpKdrE3vxvJEP_CgN-qsNtlWBBSfIChkYy3tjVpCCShth9TCcwwbMsw_foFn93W7vnv1p0H-zMlcn1DfXp7YE-abxq7S8/s1600/tiffany.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" ex="true" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJomvehxpSGxYpdk9gF_hbzJ_Bf1T260ai3XQDpR-HQj0RLOfpKdrE3vxvJEP_CgN-qsNtlWBBSfIChkYy3tjVpCCShth9TCcwwbMsw_foFn93W7vnv1p0H-zMlcn1DfXp7YE-abxq7S8/s400/tiffany.bmp" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>fabulous Audrey Hepburn having breakfast right in front of Tiffanys'... and no Tiffanys' not a restaurant, its a jewelry store...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>My worst internet shopping experience however, happened to be Tiffany’s, which hurt so bad. C'mon, Audrey Hepburn's <i>'Breakfast at Tiffanys'</i> is only my best movie of all time, not to mention that I think she might have transferred the sentiments gained from <i>'eating an all butter croissant while peering through glass shields at exotic, perfectly carved jewelry right through to me'</i> … they have diamonds on there worth millions of pounds and the experience was crap???… Horrendous! Unfortunately buying jewelry at 3:00 am after a fab dinner at Nobu didn't directly transcend to a memorable <i>'breakfast at tiffanys'</i> moment. Granted, my transaction was only slightly above £700, but for God’s sake, the entire experience of buying jewelry should be <b><span style="color: #ffe599;">pleasantly unforgettable</span></b>;<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;"> 'to be remembered - permanently ebbed in my memory', but no, not this one! </span></i>First the address had to match word for word exactly what <i>‘crap database’</i> tiffanys' owned, I didn’t have to create an account, I didn’t have to sign in… <i>blah blah blech!</i> and then it kept taking forever and then I almost gave up… and then it worked… <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">4</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">5 very slow, very arduous minutes later</span></i>. The jewelry was intensely orgasmic and that’s why I stuck it out…<i> and of course I’m a shopaholic</i>… Gucci.com was just lame, nothing! Just lame and bland. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZC9pw8UOP5DDAXiDUAWJNRA8qrMNxYoUSDVKmfX8ABWI_VQokQzWQduMPt7iNTqDON7ju0LL0rPt-BZkmICRDsg3bUjum40AYdwsIRZD346Ce5fwqrKbO92Km3XAmU6Y5ocD3ZwX7r0/s1600/Gucci.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZC9pw8UOP5DDAXiDUAWJNRA8qrMNxYoUSDVKmfX8ABWI_VQokQzWQduMPt7iNTqDON7ju0LL0rPt-BZkmICRDsg3bUjum40AYdwsIRZD346Ce5fwqrKbO92Km3XAmU6Y5ocD3ZwX7r0/s200/Gucci.gif" width="190" /></a></div>Net-a-porter, the outnet, cocosa... <i>all cool but my faves are still Asos and then Tobi</i><i>‘safety’</i>… and oh how could I forget e bay. One word ... <i>safety!</i> I feel safe when I shop with e-bay. It’s clear that’s the one thing they ensure their users feel, how ironically pleasant as the idea of a million buyers and sellers definitely gave me <i>an initial sense of uneasiness</i>, a virtual market place that prioritises the interests of its audience <i><span style="color: #990000;">( for there's always an audience... right? ask Inua Ellams')</span></i>… Tesco.com, its okay but they WILL forget half your shopping and the ‘Soho Theatre’… <i>hmm! </i>They won’t tell you about the latecomers’ policy so if you’re 10 minutes late, you won’t see the show, the Lyceum, however will let you leave tickets for one of your <i>‘late’</i> friends at the box office. Humming Bird’ as much as I love the cakes, 12 GBP is a ridiculous delivery charge never mind they can only guarantee a delivery time of 12- 5 pm… <i>and the list goes on…</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR76lT4vY2C_UUxaYBHMotyd_lioqdnQt3JViIjFazzKbvz0e5YKXq2agY3q_SYGL4lh2OPdXz76yyxuEpCeS26HT1LrjLJhG-cVWb_l5qceZ0845h8bdwXnFq4k2MEPD13xjChu0J2Fk/s1600/HARRODS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR76lT4vY2C_UUxaYBHMotyd_lioqdnQt3JViIjFazzKbvz0e5YKXq2agY3q_SYGL4lh2OPdXz76yyxuEpCeS26HT1LrjLJhG-cVWb_l5qceZ0845h8bdwXnFq4k2MEPD13xjChu0J2Fk/s320/HARRODS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">Physical locations, now that’s a whole different story… Gucci, annoyingly stuck up and I very rarely pull the race card, but these guys are plain silly… Louis Vuitton… to die for. Jimmy Choo – fab, fab service… Someday when I begin to afford names like ‘Bottega Veneta’, you know the ones that are impossible to pronounce, I shall let y’all know.</span></i><br />
Humming Bird… now the store was so different to the site… <i>fantastic!</i> They actually let us in after they’d closed their doors, now that’s service! Hakassan and Umu … <i>great interiors, not great service.</i> Umu … <i>pretty, arty, very decorated food</i>, Hakassan ; <i>the food tastes better and the portions are bigger :)</i>. Nobu; crap interior, it looked like an expensive version of Wagamama; plain decor, fantastic food however, thw Wagyu beef was fantastic and sushi to die for and of course we spotted a few celebs… <i>what’s not to pay for?</i>... Finally Apple,<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #e69138;"> my all time favourite, Brilliant Hardware, Brilliant software; Brilliant customer service sans the iPhone 4 of course</span></i>… I must warn you though if your product stops working, check and check again as they aren’t quick to do a swap, however they would offer to repair or change the parts, that's how sure they are of the quality of their products; <i>once again! sans the iPhone 4</i>… <i>does it get any better?…</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh436DMq3nNxeGPuWmtaQX4r64Hbkpndu7jrS8fuJWYFqbLHLtdhs8mwPQJG0vZEJfhU6DBhr3ibnVoN20dPUjClAoio24y26FMN13CZ8Y5exMbkleP-Wby9Y7uwyy8s0PpBPdj1mT1sMI/s1600/apple-logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh436DMq3nNxeGPuWmtaQX4r64Hbkpndu7jrS8fuJWYFqbLHLtdhs8mwPQJG0vZEJfhU6DBhr3ibnVoN20dPUjClAoio24y26FMN13CZ8Y5exMbkleP-Wby9Y7uwyy8s0PpBPdj1mT1sMI/s320/apple-logo.jpg" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Pure Genius...</i></b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>... so last night after work, I very briefly stopped at the Vodafone store in Paddington. For some insane reason, my brand new dongle wasn't working. I handed it to the gentle man at the counter and the the following conversation occurred;<br />
<i>him: are you sure there's credit on it?</i><br />
<i>me: I've never used it </i><br />
<i>him: well you would need to bring your laptop in </i><br />
<i>me: uhhhhh! I can't do that... its a 17" MacBook Pro, its too heavy... can you please check the sim's working? I keep getting a sim error. </i><br />
<i>him: you have to bring your laptop in, I can't do anything about until I see it...</i> <br />
<br />
Now you see, I work for VF groups and somehow I couldn't quite match our values;<i><b><span style="color: #660000;"> 'speed, simplicity and trust'</span></b></i> to my experience with this dude. I was on the receiving end of a trail of dirty looks and sarcastic comments. <i><span style="color: #990000;">W</span><span style="color: #990000;">hat better time really was there to pick up some blank test Sims for my UE team from this unassuming gentleman?...</span></i> So I pulled out my VF badge <i>(very snide look of course, I was pulling rank) </i>and the dude staggered... literally! What ensued was the <i>'rebirth of a new employee'</i> he was the kindest soul on earth, dirty looks disappeared and now I had two of them serving me... <i><span style="color: #990000;">*sigh!*</span></i> ... no one explains it better than Randy Glasbergen...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3yFRbSfUbCgk6gqrWH8d1p4FsZkTz5VsYqYppE1YPa6nNkluunLCnla6SP60gyKO8EsOHk0Q-5RkfnTJg8nKvSiAzm2kcvPMpjqoMTmi-vz2fsK6SUxtr6teWDaI_0uIe1q7Iqac4r0/s1600/Bad%20Customer%20Service%20Cartoon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3yFRbSfUbCgk6gqrWH8d1p4FsZkTz5VsYqYppE1YPa6nNkluunLCnla6SP60gyKO8EsOHk0Q-5RkfnTJg8nKvSiAzm2kcvPMpjqoMTmi-vz2fsK6SUxtr6teWDaI_0uIe1q7Iqac4r0/s320/Bad%2520Customer%2520Service%2520Cartoon.png" width="320" /></a></div>29 (look and act 24), 34DD and playful, black-British, 5ft 6in, speak with an <i>'american twang'</i>...<span style="color: #990000;"><i>should that matter when I walk into a store? shouldn't the fact that I'm a customer or a client be more than enough of a reason for somewhat civil treatment?...</i> </span><b><span style="color: #ffd966;">Last night I was a VF client not an employee... an extremely disappointed client... </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictrMPABSyYSImdbDKuHi-7XHaM6TOi1hSaEPw0NAznzPfof38AO4QEw4C7Tad_aJ5nqtXBK15_CFJtprhBZ1DxRisP2WfNF_Wuoh7AAm1rXFaYrV5xYTbhaf65KdRiQ6HXb6CFpwB4tQ/s1600/hutch_dog_vodafone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" ex="true" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictrMPABSyYSImdbDKuHi-7XHaM6TOi1hSaEPw0NAznzPfof38AO4QEw4C7Tad_aJ5nqtXBK15_CFJtprhBZ1DxRisP2WfNF_Wuoh7AAm1rXFaYrV5xYTbhaf65KdRiQ6HXb6CFpwB4tQ/s320/hutch_dog_vodafone.jpg" width="320" /></i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I guess the answer to the hutch dog's question is... no! they'll paint themselves red... </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-34080319285866737252010-09-23T05:54:00.000-07:002010-09-23T08:02:36.463-07:00The Hak, UMU, a problem with anger and all my friends are superheroes!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0G6QJlWOGPtRvZPHEYMivlIRCuJt0xY7D6c0oP-U0Z02GdbYjFpcHXwHV6yENyG1yYrclitnCdKYSA0ETYFdCQ48dza7lp9zjV9AU2KraJC6_lwXnNcIeElAgQruOCnnPE5HeKFr50o/s1600/sick.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0G6QJlWOGPtRvZPHEYMivlIRCuJt0xY7D6c0oP-U0Z02GdbYjFpcHXwHV6yENyG1yYrclitnCdKYSA0ETYFdCQ48dza7lp9zjV9AU2KraJC6_lwXnNcIeElAgQruOCnnPE5HeKFr50o/s200/sick.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>The last few weeks have seen me uninspired to write, If only it had <em>stopped at a simple lack of inspiration to write</em> …. I had somehow spiralled into this zone of mere existence, innate imperfection and twists of silence. It was a quietness of being and of spirit physically transpired into a <em>‘near-fortnight’</em> of no writing. <br />
Gosh! I reviled feeling so tired and I outrageously detested falling ill. It was awful. Oh I forget that this is not another one of my conversations to me.<em> I apologise, I’ll now explain…</em><br />
<br />
Failing to recognise that the<em> ‘painful tiredness’</em> I had so strongly experienced was my body’s manner of advising me it was aimed for a crash. I pushed myself harder than ever. As usual, I had my head stuck in my own little world and ignored the tumultuous warnings. We therefore did have pizza and wine the next day with James, Andy and E and I fell asleep at about 22:00 <em>while everyone was still there! (horror!)... </em>Another clue, maybe!<br />
Fast forward to Thursday; bag bought, a decision not to Salsa, Zumba cancelled and no desire to see a museum, gallery, have dinner, write or meet anyone for drinks. <em>I lie!</em> I did meet Akua for dinner to discuss the <em>‘Re-launch Rihane’</em> campaign… but my point is! Imagine my shock when I couldn’t move on Thursday morning… I was ill, horrendously ill, in bed for four very long days… arrgghhh! <em>The tears came more out of frustration, the aggravation that my racing brain hadn’t recognised my body was not working and was still caught in a flamboyant song and dance, I <strike>wanted </strike>needed to do something other than lie down but Alas! I couldn’t.</em><br />
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<em>Monday morning;</em> my girl Tee was in town! Woohoo! <em>Now let me tell you a bit about Tee… Ambitious, fascinating, hyper and an aspiring powerbroker, 28 , her own business and a constant inspiration to me, she’s all tough but with a very keen softness (particularly when it comes to her man). She’s fantastic, in a nutshell and an SATC girl! Bliss! The much required 'Woman'...</em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKuFulR5uU5CjhGHgVXIQ0WrRLYiiBaz8j-ArW2GJAkUxSA-H3sWUdvAzx1-VSLo87w8zw5nbvwESAfbFgU9aScSUs3Rb5kmTTYj1SG_hd8Ka89ObMqDqEnw9AJ0eytrnPApffqXiBNo/s1600/power+woman.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJKuFulR5uU5CjhGHgVXIQ0WrRLYiiBaz8j-ArW2GJAkUxSA-H3sWUdvAzx1-VSLo87w8zw5nbvwESAfbFgU9aScSUs3Rb5kmTTYj1SG_hd8Ka89ObMqDqEnw9AJ0eytrnPApffqXiBNo/s320/power+woman.bmp" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5InkBcco1l1pFk3xJczVqcZnsj0kgU-0RSw4IitVMgAQ3-50g_X41m70yGY3R_ZOoooYmWqExp9fgN8LCcJyycfQ9SLj6y5zuhu8W4rd85gD-XcfwPFCfCP53MnkNJQtrnqC6a08NwU/s1600/GS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5InkBcco1l1pFk3xJczVqcZnsj0kgU-0RSw4IitVMgAQ3-50g_X41m70yGY3R_ZOoooYmWqExp9fgN8LCcJyycfQ9SLj6y5zuhu8W4rd85gD-XcfwPFCfCP53MnkNJQtrnqC6a08NwU/s200/GS.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>We met up in Sheldon Square right outside the glass building where I ‘lived’… <em>sorry I mean worked!</em> and did what the quintessential ‘city’ worker in London does, took a black cab to Selfridges, we had dinner reservations at Hakkasan but first! I was a crazy woman on a mission, the<em> ‘silly’</em> person in Gucci had surreptitiously <em>( it was a conspiracy, it was :))</em> left a <em>'bloody'</em> security tag on my £700 hand bag, just right there by the inner zip. Luckily I had noticed it as I was leaving home that morning, cursed slightly and then spent another ten minutes legging it back to my flat to retrieve the receipt. Now! The only reason I went back for the receipt was so I could show it in case I tripped off the security alarms as I walked into Selfridges… and before you ask! <em>Yes! I did expect Gucci to remember me and my ‘meagre’ purchase until</em> I got to the store of course and ‘the Italian’ looked me over; nose upturned like I was an inexperienced ‘petty thief’, so I lied to him; I advised I didn’t have my receipt and asked him to get a manager and then I, <em>‘the African Woman’</em> temporarily <em>cast off class and decorum</em> and went ape-shit on him <em>(Gosh! My anger issues are my one biggest growing concern; I’m an angry bitch, Eureka!) and Mrs Obama would have been disappointed... but!!!!!</em><br />
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Fast forward again! I finally brought out my receipt, threw it at him, got the tag removed and then Tee bought a couple of ‘very hot’ shift dresses <em>(she’s also an annoying size 8 and stunning)</em> and I a really cool ‘military coat’ <em>(this season, I’m obsessed with all things military... Again! :)).</em> <br />
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Dinner with my ladies; Tee and O was extraordinary, the food at the <em>‘Hak’</em> gorgeous as usual, and the half-hour wait for the cab annoying. I am a bit of princess and the idea of waiting around, half an hour after dinner was just too much, especially after the very cute <em>‘coat-check guy’</em> had charmingly slid me into my coat <em>(as they do).</em> Apparently O had asked earlier, <em>‘should I call my regular cabbie?’</em> and I had absentmindedly agreed to her calling a cab from North London… *sigh*! So Wait<em> (the verb)</em> we did! Of course I moaned (<em>oogling hot coat check guy at the same time, what! I have developed my multitasking)</em>, <em>the whole time…</em> <br />
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Tuesday! I now successfully felt like four trucks instead of the initial eight had run me over. I needed to shop…<em> I did say I’m unlucky in love and obsessed with labels, actually obsessed with love too.</em> So after the hilarious work lunch at the Waterway<em> (it was Bryce’s birthday)</em> with some really cool, really nice ;) visual designers, <em>(they were extremely kind to talk about SATC, sex, Gucci and London Fashion week amidst new technologies for my benefit of course, I was in absolute ‘dumb chic mode’- tits and no intellect! Hey I was ill! ), </em>a missed team meeting <em>(my work sins were piling! Damn!),</em> I added a CK scarf, head warmer, an LBD and CK grey shift dress to my wardrobe <em>(considerable damage to the debit card, ouch! But beautiful clothes),</em> skipped dinner<em> (appetite was still crap plus I’d had ‘rubbery char grilled squid’ and 2 coronas for lunch that now felt like molten POP in my stomach,)</em> and watched SATC <em>(the one where they’re in LA –<span style="color: #990000;"> sex in another city</span>)</em> till I fell sleep at 19:30, dreamt of the ‘humming bird’ cupcakes I’d ordered for Thursday, slept through till morning and was still late to work even though I was working from home <em>(don’t ask!).</em> <br />
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Wednesday started with me dealing with <em>'safeguard login issues'</em>, the <em>‘dish washer repair’</em> man (<em>I got angry again because he wouldn’t guarantee me a weekend appointment! Damn anger issues!)</em> And then barrels of laughs and silliness as amazing company made dinner at UMU a calming change. Tee had arranged for us to do the <em>'evening -sup'</em> with her hugely funny publisher, astute business man and ‘certified foodie’ friend. UMU was fantastic as O and I got acquainted with Tee’s friend <em>(it definitely made up for not getting a table at Nobu). </em>To me he was Big Dee! BD had a love and knowledge of food and business that was extremely gratifying, not to speak of a wisdom that dug depths… The Wagyu beef, varieties of sushi, exaggerated bursts of artistic spreads and the drinks <em>(Gosh my drink must have been spelt <span style="color: #990000;">‘hamakito whayiyaka’</span> it sure tasted like it threw a punch, I've probably just cursed some more) O’s was much verbally easier on the palette, <span style="color: #990000;">‘a</span> <span style="color: #990000;">Haketo or a Hajito’</span> (basically it was a mojito with sake, fantastic!)</em> but BD’s, ‘<em>matter of fact’</em> way of speaking and <em>‘larger than life’</em> attitude stole the evening. A little after midnight, I sank into a deep, deep sleep… <br />
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<em>I woke up this morning to Tee, already awake and doing business, Gosh! Her energy… It’s unreal!</em><br />
Tonight TD, my number 1 mentor is finally in town, yaay!! And its dinner at the <em>‘Mango Tree’</em> or <em>‘Thai Thai’</em>, with a couple of his friends <em>and i'm bringing Tee of course!,</em> Yup! That’s TD for you, all angles covered (<em>interestingly enough he introduced me to the 'Hak')</em>. I head to Pall Mall, the institute of Directors to meet with them at 6… *note to self*, ensure Tee has directions… <br />
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I’m writing again, yaay! <em>(Forgive the rustiness please)</em> It must have been <a href="http://rashelleworkman.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #660000;">Rashelle’s</span></a> e mail, the smell of London again eagerly reminding me of my one true love, the artistic candour in which the food at UMU was displayed or Andrew Kaufman’s;<em> ‘all my friends are superheros’ </em>or maybe all of the above or maybe just the fact that I’m still expecting 18 fabulous cupcakes; Bryce’s belated birthday pressie or maybe just that I am getting better… as I lay my proverbial pen to rest, I can’t help but think life is fantastic, I love London again and the world is perfect sans my anger issues… Damn! I sent my ex an angry text last night <u>again!</u> <em>(ok! Maybe a few… tee hee… Gosh! I am angry…). 'Now! Where are the damn Humming Bird Cakes, 11-17:00??? Aaaarrgghhh! Ottolenghi is nearer!'… </em><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="color: #990000;">Guest Blogger, my lady, miss Kiki next... I am extremely excited , she's fantastic ...</span></em> </div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-54114199124078558162010-09-10T08:09:00.000-07:002010-09-10T08:37:38.754-07:00SATC keeps me focused...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrAWaJA5ykZpr1j6GDVfL4TLeNTuxH4t26eV61TL0kcgqmZJU-iyk4sjvvhw5-bqmU4fbL5LvyNt_aq7PCpDJ3KKxo861_ye6NITc9hZTO5xVvrROoam-8iAsAJNO9YLkqk2iyYvXRvs/s1600/tiredness.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrAWaJA5ykZpr1j6GDVfL4TLeNTuxH4t26eV61TL0kcgqmZJU-iyk4sjvvhw5-bqmU4fbL5LvyNt_aq7PCpDJ3KKxo861_ye6NITc9hZTO5xVvrROoam-8iAsAJNO9YLkqk2iyYvXRvs/s200/tiredness.png" width="200" /></a></div>I winced in pain from being so tired this morning; I cried <em>(actual tears). Gosh!</em> I felt my body aggressively plead for me to stay in. Ignoring <em>(I’m a contractor!);</em> I unwillingly embarked upon what eventually turned out to be an hour’s and a half '<em>prep of perfection' </em>for work; <em>London didn't need to know I was tired. Yesterday was so bad! I actually fell asleep at my desk! Good God!... </em><br />
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I gently reflected on the past week. My thoughts grazing steadily on the hazy, week-long attempt at settling into my new apartment, a huge make up purchase<em> (hey blame Lancôme… its fab stuff!),</em> a trip to one of my ladies; <em>(the hairdresser), </em>the cup-cake order, I'd placed with <a href="http://vickii-ibakethereforeiam.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #990000;">Vickii</span></a> <em>(anyone who can boast of better cakes than hummingbird and can produce 'a mojito-flavoured cupcake' is a winner with me- hmm! will let you know, I'm expecting they'll be fantastic</em><em>),</em> the beautiful dinner with<em> him</em> and lame stabs at <em>Rodney Yee’s power yoga, (give me some credit for sweating)</em> at the start of the week. <br />
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I got in about 18:30 after a brief stop at Tesco’s’, rearranged my bathroom closets, hung up laundry and tidied the flat. The rationale being I had a cleaner coming in on Sunday morning and needed to ensure things were a certain way so that she’ll keep them that way <em>(My devious plan was to also create more time for her to finish the ironing within the stipulated 3 hrs:))</em>. Friends over on Saturday also meant it had to look reasonably clean; pizza, beer, great conversation and wine feels like the only sane way to claw back from this crazily, insane week and I love entertaining. <br />
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My reflections had actually begun their '<em>somewhat immense botherings'</em> yesterday; being so physically tired meant I felt crap mentally. I couldn’t even piece together the minutest of details, <em>my focus was shot!</em> Neck gagged like a <em>‘processing bottleneck’!</em> that was all okay! at least manageable until my confidence levels began to drop. <em>God NO! Now that couldn’t happen, I clearly needed to get back in focus and reallign with the inner me. I was totally misallinged; deharmonised, internal ying-yang virtually gone. </em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ImxOhxFddnbsr-i4SM55oxT6f6nNlrsYuoUHmi3orfNv9Gu_xcDOmRsmQyZm77Whtcj_aa1QFmfuerEyXsoVxbm2GwHx7hJVSvIKcyiEmYf2P4fugz9nEmFtQZ-n19F4PIqY_IekBIc/s1600/yingyang1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ImxOhxFddnbsr-i4SM55oxT6f6nNlrsYuoUHmi3orfNv9Gu_xcDOmRsmQyZm77Whtcj_aa1QFmfuerEyXsoVxbm2GwHx7hJVSvIKcyiEmYf2P4fugz9nEmFtQZ-n19F4PIqY_IekBIc/s200/yingyang1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The much needed <em>‘me-time’</em> began with an intense hour long regeneration to my face, deep pore cleansing, ‘black heads’ being annihilated, invigorating treatments and microdermabrasion <em>(Body Shop vitamin C polisher highly recommended!). Gosh!</em> I love Lancôme! <em>(Body shop is great but it doesn't come close)...</em> at the end of it my skin felt clean. Dinner! We had a no carbs after 20:00 rule; so a couple of frankfurters, some left over steak and <em>SATC 1 (the movie),</em> I settled in comfortably on the living room sofa, duvet wrapped around tightly!. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bJMPVhps0jOZxfbj01uWbDiApvElmJH9MWLvxEdFKb0O9Og6xagcS5XOv_n_Ynf_iNoPvYdjS2QSjtkdvia_C4HRNYl22BbkYqNXxd7XaxCNolvEF1BkHL_2xcCFKGn871HwSMh2PRQ/s1600/lancome+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bJMPVhps0jOZxfbj01uWbDiApvElmJH9MWLvxEdFKb0O9Og6xagcS5XOv_n_Ynf_iNoPvYdjS2QSjtkdvia_C4HRNYl22BbkYqNXxd7XaxCNolvEF1BkHL_2xcCFKGn871HwSMh2PRQ/s320/lancome+face.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was the umpteenth time I was seeing it but it always made me cry. I cried when Carrie and Big decided to get married, I cried when Big left Carrie at the library, I cried when Carrie did the Vogue Bridal shoot, I cried when Louise came into Carrie’s life, I cried when Big proposed, I cried when he took her out of City hall and her friends were waiting, I cried at pretty much every scene; <em>Gosh!</em> When Charlotte found out she was pregnant, when Miranda and Steve fell out and when they got back, when Samantha broke up with Smith because she wanted to focus on the relationship with herself… and then I laughed so hard when Charlotte <em>‘shit’</em> herself and then when Samantha got fat from her new night time hobby. <em>It was fantastic all round- again! </em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jV8Y7_AOdi1Ur59G8SuYOzl7A_FlRPBGTwmy_rtvAmpiKMnuxx_g7RFjLSaSPJhyphenhyphengci5BccKkj4vZs4NZrXFSaTbkqXyh_uHK_7E_eGQ6DKMMhGcb5yWLCpOltcZclFEzQI1e1m5Vf8/s1600/SATC_468x466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="397" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jV8Y7_AOdi1Ur59G8SuYOzl7A_FlRPBGTwmy_rtvAmpiKMnuxx_g7RFjLSaSPJhyphenhyphengci5BccKkj4vZs4NZrXFSaTbkqXyh_uHK_7E_eGQ6DKMMhGcb5yWLCpOltcZclFEzQI1e1m5Vf8/s400/SATC_468x466.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It did make me wonder about me; <em>(I did say I was self-involved:))</em> <em>had I come to London for the 2 Ls’ too?</em> I had already developed a strong love for Labels… <em>hmmm! Love… we’ll see about that one!</em> <br />
I wanted my own girlfriends, you know the group that looks fab constantly, that goes to London Fashion Week every year, looks out for each other, has amazing dinners and lunches, gives each other great celebratory toasts and never kisses and tells… <em>does it really exist?</em><br />
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Tonight however, I’m going to be watching SATC again, this time the series, for as long as my weary eyes can cope, really excited about Saturday and next week; <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt4bBxo-VMoJdCfyajdslqHAUNEpbWHr1tBM2IL2-Hx-A61PCyrlRIVMh7RvjzJNgjjBC-Z69QA1uzAWe9bBqBSH8hC8xkG8RSYpQv_LJ_ww7NZHbj_9GMZD-tz52DcMXsx9PgtpUNHg/s1600/LV+galliera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUt4bBxo-VMoJdCfyajdslqHAUNEpbWHr1tBM2IL2-Hx-A61PCyrlRIVMh7RvjzJNgjjBC-Z69QA1uzAWe9bBqBSH8hC8xkG8RSYpQv_LJ_ww7NZHbj_9GMZD-tz52DcMXsx9PgtpUNHg/s200/LV+galliera.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Monday sees me to Selfridges with George and Angeliki; <em>yaay!</em> for my<em> LV gallieria GM in Damier Azur</em> and some well deserved cuts from the food hall <em>(hey! the meats are hung for 28 days)</em> from the food hall; <em>lush!!!.</em> Tuesday; <em>Zumba,</em> Wednesday; I meet with Akua as we discuss Ivanaa collaborating with the <em>Rhian Benson</em> expose, Thursday, I have got to meet with my darling cousin, Fedmund!, might be able to do some business with him… Friday! Another SATC<em> ‘me –time’</em>… It does keep me focused! :)... <em>Oh and 'Sky' (finally!) and my paintings come in the morning... Fab!!!!!!... Oh and ofcourse, I've got to start reading 'The Carrie Diaries'... Still Physically tired but mentally I'm rejuvenated... well now I have 'a journey' class to head to... have a fantastic w/end people! </em><br />
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<em>A </em><br />
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<em>xxx </em><br />
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<em><span style="color: #ea9999;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">*</span><a href="http://musco-lee.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Musco</span></a> I'm still watching you!</span> he he! </em>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-39565972644509329492010-09-08T08:55:00.000-07:002010-09-08T09:57:14.267-07:00No one gives a monkey's...Gosh! I’ve missed this place… <br />
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As a contractor I really don’t understand strikes. My work life is heavily defined; I miss one day of work and I lose hundreds of pounds, it’s that simple. The London underground’s declared 24hr strike meant that I was going to work from home today; it also meant I could meet with the electrician <em>(dishwasher was tripping sockets up all weekend)</em> and I could catch one of my revered movies while working. Aaah! It also meant I needed the Internet; thankfully my blackberry doubles up as a modem,<em> phenomenal, joke’s on you SKY! Ha! </em><br />
I wish I hadn’t spent half of yesterday running around trying to find a ‘dongle’ or a laptop with a 3G data card in it or trying to convince SKY to sort me out today to no avail, my appointment was Saturday and it was staying Saturday!… <em>Pssshhh!</em><br />
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I really want to blog about the move <em>(I LOVE my apartment btw),</em> <em>Gosh! Lushh!</em> Or about how I smiled smugly all the way to work yesterday until I got to the front of my work building and realised I’d left my ‘laptop’ at home<em> (oh Vodafone IT saved me the shame)</em> , or the myriad of pressure, anxiety and constant worry I’ve been wrapped in over the last few days. I’m definitely not moving anytime soon! <em>this was hard work… </em><br />
Anyways back to ‘working from home’ ; the movie I decided to watch was Chris Gardener’s ‘<em>pursuit of happyness’</em>, I’d seen it once last year and I’m elated but <em>Gardner's</em> thought pattern through the journey was what got me. <br />
Someone said to me yesterday; <em>‘you should be careful what you put on your blog’</em>… I can’t even begin to tell you how sick it made me… <em>No! Not this time, not again! I do not care</em>. All my life I’ve been plagued by someone or the other’s <em>idea of normalcy</em>. This is not a diatribe, although I did consider doing a really strong harangue..., <em>what was the point in feeding it?</em><br />
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I really don’t know about anyone else but at 30, <em>I’ve finally begun to understand and accept myself for whom and what I am. I’m Ade , quirky, cute as hell Ade, eccentric, I like to talk, I am shy sometimes, I’m intrigued by sex, Manolos, Louis Vuitton and jimmy choo, I like to make friends (I love gay men, they're fantastic), I love to love and give and build and encourage, I love the finer things of life, I love God like crazy!, I am sometimes emotionally erratic, I hate one night stands!, I’m straight talking, I will tell you how I feel, I work very hard, I’ve paid my dues, I forget birthdays but I’m a great friend, I'm an engineer, I’ve had some amazing experiences and I’ve been through my ugly, I’m soppy most times but don’t appear it at the first meet, I never listen, I argue, I’m self involved sometimes and selfless at others, I’m pretentious… but I’m me and I love being me… I have no apologies… won't life be sad if I was you or we were all the same person?</em><br />
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I think my friends have finally realised that <em>M.H being obsessed with white chicks is not my idea of conversation (please don’t ask) neither is MJ's glutothaione use or Rihana's bleaching habit... who's it killing? are they bleaching your skin or theirs? Gosh! </em>. I’m too busy trying to manage my own life, I simply haven’t got the time to discuss how or who <em>‘shot the sheriff’</em> or<em> ‘slew the cat’,</em> or who wrote what on FB or twitter or blogger (<em>besides these applications were created to contain the narcissistic nature of man so let people do what they want and trust me I know, I work in User Experience, we talk twitter, fb and whatever other narcissistic applications exist pretty much all day!)</em>.<em> I only refrain from keeping people with more than 2,000 friends on my FB because they tend to dominate my feed :(</em> … <em>I already have a filter problem and I loathe people adding my pretty girlfriends on FB when they have no clue who they are, damn sexual predators!… </em><br />
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I love writing and I’m good at it, the last thing I want to do is to begin to see this as stressful. <em>(I write for me and will definitely go insane if I don’t get my thoughts out) </em>Gosh! I live alone…<br />
So for all my silent readers; if you somewhat have a preconceived idea of what a <em>Nigerian</em> woman should be or even worse you thought you knew me; <em>we clearly have an issue, so my advise is don’t read my blog!</em>. <em>I’m a PS3 playing 291/2 year old lady, who very desperately wants Carrie Bradshaw’s life and my own BIG… therefore</em> you, will read about fab events and my adventures… <em>that is my idea of life, liberty and my personal pursuit of happiness. At this age I want to have enabling conversations, not hear 'someone is talking about me', I don't care really. The only gossip I'm interested in is gossip about a guy I like and btw its my responsibility to find out about him (he might be an axe murderer or an absolute dick head)... If less than a third of my life is enough to make some silly person talk smack, then I do not care... I'm not taking responsibility for it... I love writing, why do we feel the need to 'dirty' everything!!! </em><br />
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<em>I guess it did evolve into a diatribe, sorry:(…</em> this was somehow supposed to tie in with the declaration of Independence and Jefferson’s statement on the pursuit of happiness, but I think I'm too angry!… <em>I didn’t quite make that happen, right? *sigh*. I guess the thing to note is the ability I possess to wave my hands in the air as crazily as I want stops at your freedom to not get slapped!... </em><br />
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<em>Had a fantastic evening with him last night, dinner and really cool conversation… Ade might just be swooning! Oh and some amazing white wine… can’t think what it was called now!</em><br />
<em>*he makes me weak at the knees and spoils me like crazy… hmmm!...</em> next week... <em>shopping with G and A at Selfridges and then Zumba... can't wait... I spent 45 mins underground today, bloody met line... sorry I'll be less uncouth tomorrow... or next week! </em>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-22150784476609709682010-08-29T16:19:00.000-07:002010-08-30T03:47:25.604-07:00The Gherkin, Serendipity and idle chat...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiLMPMGZ132vhhZqvjaCJLTd0QBOBA943J__2uYLb23eX_V3LnDUmoU6sMYGEjcquv8UWNzxUIxEOjVMzwDmfnTlX1J_H5I9I9HriGdW9xG5IResVScpqCsM5Nw0CmNNyIvmSphap-TQ/s1600/the_ritz_london03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiLMPMGZ132vhhZqvjaCJLTd0QBOBA943J__2uYLb23eX_V3LnDUmoU6sMYGEjcquv8UWNzxUIxEOjVMzwDmfnTlX1J_H5I9I9HriGdW9xG5IResVScpqCsM5Nw0CmNNyIvmSphap-TQ/s200/the_ritz_london03.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Ritz</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Hi! Want to do tea at the Ritz?’</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>‘Oh, you haven’t updated your blog!’</i> my twin duly notified like as though the former had anything to do with the latter.<i> ‘pssshhhh!’</i></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was well aware of the fact darling; I had consistently sought out the right moment to fill my slowly emergent blogsphere on my pretty intense week. I hadn’t quite found it just yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">I wish I could tell of how<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d felt like a pretty girl in a white dress and blue satin sashes, how snowflakes had stayed on my nose and my eyelashes or how I’d had a rare, ethereal, natural moment of serendipity on Liverpool street… Oh wait! I did…</span></i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I felt like a <i>‘girl on the run’</i> as I mentally ducked and dived in avoidance of my mathematician train driver’s calls, why were some men so stubborn? <i>‘You are married’. ‘No I don’t want to go for a drink’.</i> It almost felt like my resilient <i>NO </i>was an aphrodisiac to his plight! <i>aarrrgghhh!</i>. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Any ideas guys? Please!, short of begging him to leave me alone, my grand tricks are spent). </i>He had called everyday last week, with each call I wished some more I’d seen his ring before I’d doled out my number… <i>ridiculous! </i></div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the week I’d felt like Angelina Jolie in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Girl Interrupted’, </i>oscillating vigorously between ordering lush furnishings in radiant colours for my new apartment and a hectic work schedule. I was emotionally drained as even the smallest of tasks felt staggering. I did however manage to get forty-five minutes of Salsa in , a trip to the ‘Journey’, a trip to the doctors and an annoyingly childish argument with T.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9IHTDYB1F-u0CRjeCo5xStrFGoWJMGFS0OwaH156jQZBeRTU-Z_5XoPdN-beTu6iW08d52d3G-re8vr0RyzCkerk1dQ_9djj38btINYpy1sLH7StIKq2JpZkRausssyxef1pa09N7B-c/s1600/angelina-jolie-girl-interrupted-_26507255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9IHTDYB1F-u0CRjeCo5xStrFGoWJMGFS0OwaH156jQZBeRTU-Z_5XoPdN-beTu6iW08d52d3G-re8vr0RyzCkerk1dQ_9djj38btINYpy1sLH7StIKq2JpZkRausssyxef1pa09N7B-c/s320/angelina-jolie-girl-interrupted-_26507255.jpg" width="252" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><i>I have a place, a place where I retreat into my own little world, a place where I am never sad or lonely and where I draw strength from, its not one place…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it’s the fantastic Jewish bookstore in Golders Green where you’d find literally any book in the world, it’s the Borders in Brent Cross and the ‘Borders’ on Finchley road, it’s the Library in Grays. Its anywhere where there are lots and lots of books, I get lost in the stories so deep that whatever is bothering me somewhat pales in comparison to the treasures they carry. This time, the Jewish bookstore in Golders Green served as my ‘anti-kryptonite’. I actually felt the stress dissipate through my pores as I got lost in buried nuggets of treasure.</i></span> A few unplanned purchases, smiles and take-out Chinese later ensured I fell asleep that night with the singular thought. <i>‘The world truly is my oyster’.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUo57dWTGS16nXfYHwQQ5VVraAmMkZB42WvmM6Gk67wxHzdcMmRV5BwzYNem1RAJ_UYzuymUGimHQHoCxVWWF0rR20PEM4ItCrMw4WNALBuIKZ2eRFRmiw_-s1gUSoiKVAQirz7uI_x8/s1600/bookstore-el-ateneo-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUo57dWTGS16nXfYHwQQ5VVraAmMkZB42WvmM6Gk67wxHzdcMmRV5BwzYNem1RAJ_UYzuymUGimHQHoCxVWWF0rR20PEM4ItCrMw4WNALBuIKZ2eRFRmiw_-s1gUSoiKVAQirz7uI_x8/s320/bookstore-el-ateneo-2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Books...Lush! :)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">‘Drinks at the <a href="http://www.30stmaryaxe.com/">Gherkin</a>’ was the perfect end to my crazy week. I walked through the awesome glass building i worked in and headed to Paddington station. A thankful end to my work week. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Approximately twenty minutes later, I did a swap for the Metropolitan line at <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Baker Street</st1:address></st1:street>; he smiled at me as I sought out my platform, I smiled back. He looked good and well put together but he wasn’t really my type, we swapped pleasantries and numbers <i>(Hey! I’m all about meeting people)</i> and I went on my merry way. He did advise a random route<i>, silly man,</i> so we could talk some more. I politely declined and then smiled.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-jO0R_ai1u9HPwnuBlacngDiYgSJk6vb33VKqVmQ471JteqKtvL2XdZ8QYiWdvY784RMJiCPH9vWC4Z8s58aJGUZYl5pbilpUVYrjzJ5ysjYx3aFIXSQk5DFLWZdId0Bz3GBuY3kfEk/s1600/the+gherkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-jO0R_ai1u9HPwnuBlacngDiYgSJk6vb33VKqVmQ471JteqKtvL2XdZ8QYiWdvY784RMJiCPH9vWC4Z8s58aJGUZYl5pbilpUVYrjzJ5ysjYx3aFIXSQk5DFLWZdId0Bz3GBuY3kfEk/s320/the+gherkin.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Gherkin - 30 St Mary Axe</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>40/30 was everything I thought it would be; excellent conversation, a fantastically strong cheese board accompanied by alluring raw cuts with amazing textures, flavours and styles served as buffers to the cosmopolitan royales, bellinis and sauvignon blanc we so gladly absorbed. The view of the night sky through tinted glass windows was phenomenal.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFpusn_JffrsdMKH3UIF08YMaoEauYWHTDngU-1ugLHBbXhYoj9eWSdsPq3hU1_MDaudAl2DXRg4ypAOjFy-4ckb00dyKXERaoZrB0BAnV5J68f6hHgQQ_yV-vH4P6GZSuNPgponZT0c/s1600/300px-Cheese_platter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFpusn_JffrsdMKH3UIF08YMaoEauYWHTDngU-1ugLHBbXhYoj9eWSdsPq3hU1_MDaudAl2DXRg4ypAOjFy-4ckb00dyKXERaoZrB0BAnV5J68f6hHgQQ_yV-vH4P6GZSuNPgponZT0c/s200/300px-Cheese_platter.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7e4MTH83h8zdVngeRLltKqF9F4r5lqMzPTfExHluitNKtYWmtuELLPrpArwsyGQT-2I6FdBwkon0CLczREe7xpdoELpUHQvvD46MrYkxkJDuHMg4RgwEWrW28tIfJ0pM3CPdYqd9uIk/s1600/gherkin+inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7e4MTH83h8zdVngeRLltKqF9F4r5lqMzPTfExHluitNKtYWmtuELLPrpArwsyGQT-2I6FdBwkon0CLczREe7xpdoELpUHQvvD46MrYkxkJDuHMg4RgwEWrW28tIfJ0pM3CPdYqd9uIk/s200/gherkin+inside.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>the view from inside </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><span style="color: #e06666;">The Gherkin is a tremendously impressive building when viewed from pretty much anywhere in the city, however, upfront it confronts you and possibly almost intimidates you as it stands forty floors high. You won’t understand it till you stand on the fortieth floor and in turn confront the heavens as you look over London. I felt like if I reached out through the tinted glass shield, I’d be able to move the river Thames, Tower Bridge and the ‘House of Lords’ around to exactly where I thought they should be. The Gherkin presented London to me on a board. Oh! the sky line was gorgeously orgasmic.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #e06666;"> </span></i> </div><div class="MsoNormal">A few hours later I said my good nights and hobbled along excitedly to the nearest station, I was floating on air once again. </div><div class="MsoNormal">He walked past me with a strength and a presence so grand, words elude me. He carried an aura so sublime, his gaze held intense; I noticed his very short stare, his eyes beautifully searching. I walked on, but in seconds he had forced me to create a memory so powerfully passionate, I wondered why Leornado di Caprio had had to penetrate four layers of dreams in <i>Inception</i> to initiate a thought. His look was interesting but his carriage had me sold.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I turned around; I needed to see him one more time; he had turned back too. Talking on the backsides of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Liverpool Street</st1:address></st1:street> for a quarter of an hour felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. He engaged me in intelligent conversation with the sweetest of voices; as he entered his number into my blackberry, my lips spontaneously formed the words;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>‘You’re not married or anything?’</i> He raised his left hand in reply to my question…no platinum, gold or silver band<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">… The moment indeed fun… realistically I feel very much like YN and know…as amazing as the moment was, all it will ever be is a moment… as long as its in my now…I almost thought maybe, it was, after all, so natural, so real ,not forced, my oxytocins went into overdrive but this is life, real life... these things don't happen! the streets of London weren't going to regurgitate me a random stranger to fall exceptionally in love with, c'mon! ... right?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">t-notes darling, I move next w/e… don’t expect an update lol…really want to do a video of my move, hehe that should be fun! :) on this note people, have a fantastic bank holiday (Damn! Germany is at work... no rest for the wicked)! In the interim I look forward to dinner at the Ritz with T...</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-39105364092629008352010-08-23T08:59:00.000-07:002010-08-23T09:07:10.074-07:00Hampton Court!, Garden Parties, Ingwavuna... Married Men (Blech)!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgFN4npu-wxZgktbwdFWSkekIETAhcnoG1NNRvOh_veEdOX2v55Hx48Itxj9ukO2chEGeVswVy75q0dyAmwu0MzyilUkHYjj-cO4tljSmzWOSjOlOaxzRPLTRt509s6IQAgrTVWI8Cws/s1600/cheat.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgFN4npu-wxZgktbwdFWSkekIETAhcnoG1NNRvOh_veEdOX2v55Hx48Itxj9ukO2chEGeVswVy75q0dyAmwu0MzyilUkHYjj-cO4tljSmzWOSjOlOaxzRPLTRt509s6IQAgrTVWI8Cws/s200/cheat.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>‘Lord! Deliver me from married men’ was my prayer as I tiredly walked through waterloo station.<br />
<em><span style="color: #990000;">3 hours before</span></em><br />
The garden party at Hampton Court Palace had been fantastic. Manicured lawns and trees cut to show off the luminescent beauty of the palace grounds provided a breath taking view as I walked in with S, It was gorgeous. I had no idea that the incandescent grounds were only the start to a fabulous evening; fresh, fruity white wine flowed through unceasingly alongside exquisite hummingbird cup cakes and home made canapés. <br />
The conversations were delightful as Gaynor and Andy Coppin educated S and I on Ingwavuna and the work they were doing there. The smelly but outstanding mud hut, Tony Redmond and his crew had so cautiously built, reminded me to be grateful for the daily comforts I so easily took for granted. The even more impressive thing was that they were going to sleep in it till morning. I did try to convince Tony that given the howling wind, foxes and <em>'God knows what else'</em> it probably wasn’t a good idea but his mind was made, they were determined to brave it and experience what the citizens of this poverty stricken, bucolic locale lived. <em><span style="color: #990000;">(not sans the alcoholic beverage 'tsk tsk' though, legless by morning was the plan! :))</span></em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSh6bmtdMsfXG630FcMjd24vhBvCi5ziesNPyuR8nh8tLN1i0djinK0MjDhWEg3JDxJdVoFiKurG2aPsdr1O9MUhR53fCqROtZtYmfUDAdomrL4_qdCL-dKYq8UJCoKjvj3Xp1AuMpWY/s1600/east-moleseyhcp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSh6bmtdMsfXG630FcMjd24vhBvCi5ziesNPyuR8nh8tLN1i0djinK0MjDhWEg3JDxJdVoFiKurG2aPsdr1O9MUhR53fCqROtZtYmfUDAdomrL4_qdCL-dKYq8UJCoKjvj3Xp1AuMpWY/s320/east-moleseyhcp.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Silently cursing my extremely aching feet, I politely but sadly declined a tour of the palace grounds. S returned smiling delightfully, clothed with envy I listened as she reported the volume of gardens held within the palace walls, she lamented at the number and variety and duly announced that there were conference rooms and event halls. I smiled as I listened to her tale. Marseille Siddel, the inspiration behind the HUT project, closed the evening with a talk on Ingwavuna. I wiped a tear from my eye as she told horror stories of how these people lived, how the life expectancy was approximately 39 years old and how the funds the charity collected went towards helping the indigenes. I felt slightly ashamed at being educated so vastly on a region in Africa. There was clearly work to be done.<br />
Getting off at Hampton Court Station I said a hearty goodnight to S. I had only walked a few meters when I got a ‘hello’ from a decent looking gentleman. I absorbed his interesting look, his body looked like it had been chiseled by Adonis and Hercules very carefully, I casually returned his ‘Hi’. <br />
His brawny urban accent was crystal clear as he told me of his love for fashion despite studying mathematics; he was intriguing and was also my train driver. It was funny. He showed me pictures of his work and his son and then took his leave to start the train. Through the 35minute journey, he came out a few times to check on me, the attention felt great and it was somewhat exciting being fancied by the hot mathematician driver of my train (<em>hmm! It must have been the wine) </em><br />
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<em>My day had started in a groggy haze at 8:30; the past five days of my working week had left me with no time to rest. *sigh*. My darling cousin; M and I had left Edgware at about 10:00, rode the Northern Line, a few buses (thanks to the Olympics and rail repairs) and then the Over ground to Grays to meet our older cousin; AE. Now AE is the coolest cousin I have; adorable, ultra sweet and overly caring are only a handful of the words that can be used to describe her. She fusses continuously, almost to a fault sometimes, not to mention that it’s always a pleasure meeting with her pleasantness. I had tried to warn M that there was no way they would leave home for the intended party at 14:00, she doubted. AE picked us up and true to my word we made a quick stop at the Asian beauty palace so she could get her eyebrows threaded, it was so quick M and I had at least an hour to get salad ingredients from the grocers, window shop and acquire beautiful hair accessories from the market.:) (I love markets) </em><br />
<em>We eventually got to her house at about 14:30. I was assigned ‘Salad duty’. The joys of family; love, mouthwatering fried rice, chicken, digs, hugs, cousins and intelligent conversation with my’ deep’ uncle took us to well over an hour. I finally escaped and met with S. </em><br />
<em>Another hour later S clad in a sexy, short gown and I in my Grecian jump suit were on the M25 to Hampton Court Palace and our gorgeous Garden party. </em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BhxFvUrfKWGv-2Bp4bsV0VPN5WC68HE-JS_JGfbXaRkXxCQL4C0uEu7YEbzIhp4CkgGyGE5EsTr3MQMVTN-ROn51pd4Z4jiwLOeXrQ8yS7ZNZNAsWMAScuxTzr9ht1vrW4U-FObPa9E/s1600/HamptonCourtPalace+gorunds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BhxFvUrfKWGv-2Bp4bsV0VPN5WC68HE-JS_JGfbXaRkXxCQL4C0uEu7YEbzIhp4CkgGyGE5EsTr3MQMVTN-ROn51pd4Z4jiwLOeXrQ8yS7ZNZNAsWMAScuxTzr9ht1vrW4U-FObPa9E/s320/HamptonCourtPalace+gorunds.jpg" /></a></div>Oh my mathematician train driver, apologies, digress is what I do! :). As I got off, he was waiting on the platform. He asked for my number, damn! I had given it before I saw the platinum band ! My smile turned to ice… <br />
<em>‘Sir, please do not call me, you are married!!Thank you!’</em> I walked away part annoyed, part irate… what is it with married men that makes them want to cheat??? Aaarrggghhh!<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;">*On a lighter note, it turns out my indie ‘coffee guy’ remember him from a few weeks ago? Is a travel writer <em>(how cool is that).</em> I got some really cool tips about how to get on cosmo and vogue’s books today… Once again I’m floating on air…*</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFHFD8j54TyzYUl-ybB32BoUmkvymg4dM0c-e9e2oL5B3YIRvyJmUqMTqL7sOAyNmF9cDjy8OT2P0Qvzo7vLoBYh5IEDfMysOfgUdx5OHR1yxbNgbtfqw-nzsPA6V0UQRjNg3M0pNHkw/s1600/hampton-court-palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDFHFD8j54TyzYUl-ybB32BoUmkvymg4dM0c-e9e2oL5B3YIRvyJmUqMTqL7sOAyNmF9cDjy8OT2P0Qvzo7vLoBYh5IEDfMysOfgUdx5OHR1yxbNgbtfqw-nzsPA6V0UQRjNg3M0pNHkw/s320/hampton-court-palace.jpg" /></a></div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-2406194148030698622010-08-18T08:02:00.000-07:002010-08-18T08:57:31.191-07:00My Dreams are My fears...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The last couple of days have been slightly weird for me, a unique blend of Euphoria overcast by insecurity and fear. My mind constantly takes a deep dive into overdrive, it presents my dreams and the gravity they so clearly bear, it also presents my imperfections <em>*sigh*</em> and then I feel like I’m drowning. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Learning new things is great and refreshing but they come with a huge responsibility and an intense intensity. <em>(LoL! What does that mean? I ask myself). </em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPyOuMOO_VKyvm2AQkiBy9FzNf91eDGNHQdVH5xvDNkXU6o7tauEmO2v2lvyuwgfM9gnG3Qi1NfcUv_X4r7CLw8tYSuAX_GvSGQImkz5ml3juZ8w3UZ3HETyH3yIZHF5wbfbbB5WdPcE/s1600/CandaceBushnell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPyOuMOO_VKyvm2AQkiBy9FzNf91eDGNHQdVH5xvDNkXU6o7tauEmO2v2lvyuwgfM9gnG3Qi1NfcUv_X4r7CLw8tYSuAX_GvSGQImkz5ml3juZ8w3UZ3HETyH3yIZHF5wbfbbB5WdPcE/s200/CandaceBushnell.jpg" width="128" /></a>I move in a few weeks and I wonder what that will mean and the difference it will make to me, <em>I know for certain though it will be added responsibility,</em> it will also be more space and<em> I’ll have my very own design studio… :)</em></div><br />
I have just filled out an application to write freelance for a web site, my hope is that this will lead to me writing for a major magazine<em> (cosmo or vogue),</em> <strong><em>thinking that is really scary</em></strong>… and maybe one day I’ll meet my idol <em>‘Candace Bushnell’</em> just after I’ve sold my writings to channel 4 to make a series …<strong> <em>even scarier.</em> </strong><br />
I want to love passionately and intensely but I don’t know that I can give that level of love and commitment to anyone ever again, but I want it and desperately too, I think excessive amounts of oxytocin <em>(the cuddly hormone)</em> have invaded my insides. <em>(This month’s Cosmo advised, I was on the way there, but not quite just yet!) </em><br />
I want my corridor in my new apartment adorned with a <em>Banksy</em>, <em>a rococo inspired vintage mirror and an erotic painting… </em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq44Aat-assxLy-raIyK4DI8PVjE3kcvofCRThtqCJsExNgAh_uk6bXJuyazKrf-8HFbNO8LUtvtwr1AMuN1p8ixUKpUy6-wH1pA9GmcPmWYt5YiUrxCRT6G0kom3r25tMw79oLbCWym4/s1600/mykonos-greece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq44Aat-assxLy-raIyK4DI8PVjE3kcvofCRThtqCJsExNgAh_uk6bXJuyazKrf-8HFbNO8LUtvtwr1AMuN1p8ixUKpUy6-wH1pA9GmcPmWYt5YiUrxCRT6G0kom3r25tMw79oLbCWym4/s200/mykonos-greece.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>T<em>he Hamptons, Mykonos, Singapore and Monaco are only a few of the spots on the map I dream about</em>, but, I feel like I would miss moments with my family if I was away every weekend and of course be very broke. :) <br />
I look forward to<a href="http://www.ivanaa-living.com/"> <span style="color: #cc0000;">Ivanaa</span></a> <em>(my Interior Architectural Dream)</em> and being the lead design consultant on ‘Sting’s’ new home and ‘Elton John’s most recent castle parade after they've both walked into our ‘New Bond Street’ office screaming <em>'Ade is fabulous!, what you did with Posh's home is... (at a loss of words!)</em>.. LoL<br />
<em>I tenderly await the brood, a boy and a girl;</em> but slightly nervous that they would somehow hinder the amazing things I long to build and look <em><strong>like their father! Oh NO!</strong></em>. <em>(the irony is I'd want to build it for them, maybe, only if they are nice to me! :))</em> <br />
All of Candace Bushnell’s books are on my Amazon wishlist and I dream of watching <em>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Mary Poppins and Oliver Twist </em>all over again, but I need time to network and socialise <em>*sigh*…</em><br />
Drastic measures have been taken to reduce my circle of influence, I have become more health concious, seized to waste precious moments on the metro as it focuses on the pain in the world, and stopped adding people to my Blackberry as I slowly wean myself off it. I sponsor a little girl In Africa and I write, but there’s a lot more I want to do… <br />
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Lock and key parties are an interesting distraction for me, LoL, one I want to investigate further, after years of pain , I booked an appointment with a top Podiatrist on Harley Street<em>, Jason Hargraves,</em> to finally put my ‘brachymetatarsia’<em> (shock and horror, there's a medical term for it!lol)</em> to rest, now what will 3 months of wearing a cast do to my social life. Dreams of sitting on my balcony typing away on my Mac in the winter , wrapped in a thick, thick duvet and warm, <em>fugly</em> socks, cup of coffee in tow, hunt me, ; <em>‘cheese and wine’ </em>parties and <em>Pimms </em>in the Summer. <em>Writing in Starbucks alongside fellow bloggers, my brand new BMW x5, creating memories with great friends, <span style="color: #cc0000;">my list is endless...</span></em><span style="color: #cc0000;"> <em>*sigh*</em></span><br />
I see my dreams and then I feel like I’m slowly running out of time or wonder if life will once again delve me another cruel hand. These are my fears… and it’s also the reason <em>I am completely overwhelmed by my relentless God.</em> As<em> </em>I learn to number my days, I can’t help but think that growing up is confusing…inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-31069942063806198602010-08-16T07:46:00.000-07:002010-08-16T07:48:47.932-07:00Banksy, Dune, Barbecues and Salsa...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29JtWbLHjPvfzfznQyShAvn1Ppuqu6EfqYDg8i4nEovsSkwbxi11yqkIzxLYHkN5NxnGXc4tLoN6LBQeqcrv2b7JfX36mM_e9m3DaQtALgQv3OdVZNGUa82cavCUoXsadzGP_uGkMeb4/s1600/Barbecue-4x-pxl_smartscale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29JtWbLHjPvfzfznQyShAvn1Ppuqu6EfqYDg8i4nEovsSkwbxi11yqkIzxLYHkN5NxnGXc4tLoN6LBQeqcrv2b7JfX36mM_e9m3DaQtALgQv3OdVZNGUa82cavCUoXsadzGP_uGkMeb4/s200/Barbecue-4x-pxl_smartscale.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I was about to leave Segun’s barbecue when someone, I can’t really remember who, called to tell me my twin had just arrived. Yaaay! I had a ride home. I got teased a little for saying goodbye and coming back but hey what did I care? I had been rescued from the two hour train traverse home. <br />
Gently reflecting on the past week, I made a conscious decision not to fill up my week so much ever again. The week had begun pretty normal, or so it seemed, as Monday gave no clue as to what was to come. My cousins were in town for a short while and one of them was due to go back to Lagos on Thursday. <br />
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Filled with glee, I booked dinner at Floridita, a restaurant reputed to emulate the 1930s style of the legendary El Floridita; it promised an enticing, out-of-this world menu, live band playing while you ate and crazy energy. Even the reservations line had vibrant salsa music when you rang in to book a table; needless to say we cancelled and opted for cheap Chinese in Harrow. My sister had a late meeting and I was gutted. <br />
Salsa took up a part of my never ending week for my class had become <em>everything to die for!</em> My hips had actually found rhythm, they had started to sashay to the sensual Cuban sounds amidst counts of 1,2,3… 5,6,7. <em>Bliss!</em><br />
<br />
I had dinner with T again; he had told me a few days ago that he was really getting to like me. <em>Noooo… please don’t do this!</em> We have an uber-cool relationship and you’re <em><span style="color: red;">married</span>!</em> I told him off sternly. He concluded I had a thing for bad boys and if he was one, I’d have been head over heels for him. I duly advised it wasn’t the case and I just knew I deserved better than to be with a married man, it was that simple. <br />
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Friday evening was the highlight of my week. My cousin and I graced ‘Park Night’ at the Serpentine gallery <em><span style="color: red;">(tea at a cafe along the Serpentine, first, of course!)</span></em> where we listened to a reciprocal talk by Enrique Vila-Matas & Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster. Dominique was an interesting lady who came across as dark, a visual artist, clearly creative. A lot of her work was centred around the apocalypse and the one phrase she constantly vocalised was <em><span style="color: red;">“Tout finit mal”, </span></em>which translates to <span style="color: red;"><em>‘everything ends badly’</em></span>. <br />
The rationale being that everything ends badly otherwise it wouldn’t end. Enrique on the other hand was a gentle, elderly writer, extremely positive and spoke with a lot of depth. He had written about Dominique and some of her exhibitions at the Tate, his tales were of the weather and the times and carried a certain <em><span style="color: red;">‘something’</span></em> that melted my heart. His retort to Dominique’s; <em>“Tout finit mal”, </em>was simply we live in the <span style="color: red;">‘<em>best of the worst'</em></span> so we should be thankful!’ It was most fascinating watching the relationship between them, she; enthralled and magnetised by his presence as she explained how he had guided her through some of her darkest days through his books and he; simply enjoyed the sheer force his writing had on his subject. It almost felt like they were making a kind of love as they spoke of experiences and the shared impact on each other’s lives. I was awed and impressed!… The aisles were filled with art students and 'Enrique' Fans as my cousin and I stood out like sore thumbs…<em> ‘Where did other people of colour go for fun?’</em><br />
<em>The night ended with dinner at Pizza Express. It was a kaleidoscope of beautiful activities and had made me smile, again! …. </em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHOGdv3oHQTqT9zcKrAle8_q1rlrPd2o4S8ObgcGrFzGFQH7W3GkVe3IcdoBZbI2KCt00FS5wH1ydLv9GnauKHNMdldsbI9QTAfy8mUvZ42RSUwf0mYP1pWfyf9NYq0COa8QGRoW74Bc/s1600/fallen-angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHOGdv3oHQTqT9zcKrAle8_q1rlrPd2o4S8ObgcGrFzGFQH7W3GkVe3IcdoBZbI2KCt00FS5wH1ydLv9GnauKHNMdldsbI9QTAfy8mUvZ42RSUwf0mYP1pWfyf9NYq0COa8QGRoW74Bc/s200/fallen-angel.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I made my way to a five hour Salsa workshop on Saturday, after stopping at the Royal mail depot. <em>Aah, I thought</em> as I received my beautiful dune <em>'decoy'</em> sandals and ‘<em><span style="color: red;">Banksy’s’</span></em> fallen angel on Canvas, I smiled. I was so elated; the nightmarish delays on the Northern line couldn’t erase the smug look of joy I was carrying. I loved <em><span style="color: red;">‘Blek Le Rat’</span></em> and a lot of <em>Banksy’s</em> work is rumoured to be inspired by this artist’s work. <br />
I still think every lady should take up Salsa. There’s something about half twirls and being led by a man that activates a smile, it’s synonymous to a single-click button that releases ‘happy feelings’… hmm!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29Dixh8nx2G1G9Nr4YYN9Rm2iD9maMvZte9voSp-PmFBpJi8C37i9ODI6x_qZYy7QZZ0qICIbXsO5r1e66UMNw5yJjoqWvkeqYfTmtKcQ6xyeEIiVJj3PSn32ASidQ8H-N0l-Y58lOIY/s1600/decoy+dune.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29Dixh8nx2G1G9Nr4YYN9Rm2iD9maMvZte9voSp-PmFBpJi8C37i9ODI6x_qZYy7QZZ0qICIbXsO5r1e66UMNw5yJjoqWvkeqYfTmtKcQ6xyeEIiVJj3PSn32ASidQ8H-N0l-Y58lOIY/s200/decoy+dune.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I had my evening all planned till I picked up my blackberry, *sigh*, Tunji had left me a message; it was his leaving do in East London. Well! There goes my quiet evening. I left Salsa an hour earlier and headed home. <em>Effortlessly Chic</em> clearly had nothing to do with the amount of effort that is actually put in, right? An hour and a half later; black Skinny jeans, ‘marl’ vest and matching ‘marl’ heels covered by a black Mac formed my attire for the evening. I walked into the picturesque apartment to a game of <em><span style="color: red;">Whit Alexander and Richard Tait’s Cranium</span></em>. It set the mood off with laughs as we attempted to solve hilarious puzzles. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Seeing old friends, great wine, brilliant food and amazing hosts, I had irresponsibly stayed till 1 a.m. <em></em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUDyYcPO9CS7CnQU8JIVItP3TqjZXtkhQfOsF7bdkIQdtbTzAksznG1FMgczwOC_hMG4hYbZ4dDFsxTW2QhhkY2jUsUdDXK1cZaS3aBOG5luv_VE8Vml83lAbCh8qDIcuq_OrjoZB0Ig/s1600/cranium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUDyYcPO9CS7CnQU8JIVItP3TqjZXtkhQfOsF7bdkIQdtbTzAksznG1FMgczwOC_hMG4hYbZ4dDFsxTW2QhhkY2jUsUdDXK1cZaS3aBOG5luv_VE8Vml83lAbCh8qDIcuq_OrjoZB0Ig/s200/cranium.jpg" width="200" /></a><em>Naughty!</em> Determined not to spend another £40 on a cab, I got Tunji to drop me off in Central London. I set my feet on the strand at 2:00am as I got out of the black Mercedes. ‘I love London’ was the singular thought that combed my mind. My heart raced, pulse quickening with Euphoria as I took in the much <em>organised chaos</em> and <em>silent noise</em> the city reverberated with. I quietly sought out another adventure after all I had my super Mac on, we could brave the threatening howl of the wind! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I sought out a map, it duly advised that I’d find my way North at Bus Stop ‘T’. I had never taken a night bus. bracing myself as the N13 came to a halt, I hesitated lightly. I wish I could word the excitement, fatigue, singing and tales ravers from all nationalities felt and uttered. I was there to people watch. The momentum held from the strand to Golders Green and then to Edgware as the N5 snaked through quieter roads and beautiful houses. I smiled till rosy cheeks pleaded with me to stop. <em>The energy was surreal and I was in a heaven of my own! </em></div>3:14am, I unlocked the door, washed melted make up off my face and fell asleep while watching what was left of ‘The Practice’.<br />
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<em><span style="color: red;">Midday;</span></em> I carefully contemplated attending Segun’s leaving do/barbecue. It was going to be one of the few chances to see him before he left. It was Sunny; there was no excuse to stay indoors. I wanted to see some more old friends and send Segun off!. <br />
Opting for linen pants, a sleeveless, cream empire waist top and slip-ons, I targeted casual and happily made my way to Orpington. <br />
We played and talked, ate and caught up like we’d parted only days before, you’d never have guessed that the majority of us hadn’t seen each other in <em>10 -13 years</em>. It was fun trying to figure out who was who, trying to remember what had shaped each of us and guessing and missing each other’s names as we married them to memories we held. It was great to see everyone doing well as we thanked that one bond that united us, <em>College! </em><br />
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Yomi, Akin, L and I laughed all the way home as stories of the fashion world, politics, Central St. Martins and ‘Ed’ <em>(hmm! To come!),</em> gently ended the night. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was midnight. I was exhausted but glad; I had made new friends, reconnected with old ones, had good food and met an exciting, creative architect who shared my love for all things<em><span style="color: red;"> APPLE (Software&Hardware)</span></em> he had promised to call today. <em><span style="color: red;">It was all completely worth it… </span></em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJEzZ3aC_tbjrPB56WYSCXUrwQ3CZ8SCFvhIPzsu8oDYOnxdTjGaKnA6ig7FFrz5roHsO_26VQgPBCujECTe3j8XmNntAzGWk7akD1sexACMWcB11UBrID3UlBLaUXSFbLYVasm8Ulv4/s1600/serpentine+gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJEzZ3aC_tbjrPB56WYSCXUrwQ3CZ8SCFvhIPzsu8oDYOnxdTjGaKnA6ig7FFrz5roHsO_26VQgPBCujECTe3j8XmNntAzGWk7akD1sexACMWcB11UBrID3UlBLaUXSFbLYVasm8Ulv4/s200/serpentine+gallery.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n2jJo1Ujekm1PKxGvzsqujwSh7MMJd2Fa8yoxY5TSACEUztpV4HvY_7svzHE2K16WYl59t15DbAz-fC2yHpaEq1DneEC4O8HuDGmL06K1KvlYMUqUrCeJRlQbBGNZ1E4-eOZAlQJgYg/s1600/4855840-Public_Buses-London.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_n2jJo1Ujekm1PKxGvzsqujwSh7MMJd2Fa8yoxY5TSACEUztpV4HvY_7svzHE2K16WYl59t15DbAz-fC2yHpaEq1DneEC4O8HuDGmL06K1KvlYMUqUrCeJRlQbBGNZ1E4-eOZAlQJgYg/s200/4855840-Public_Buses-London.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqepBKVv-RCtF3XbltfkqFWh_CC0N7-bFuv2zFMPcBV-ET4alRowVP-UkYna4n5q1Ra-EsWhe3Z0e1LLF2Vbl0-lFpzCGTJnbnzD9GTQYgL5BfHpsmJ7qSljEKoQk5puhoGyRXPv8u84/s1600/the-serpentine-215879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqepBKVv-RCtF3XbltfkqFWh_CC0N7-bFuv2zFMPcBV-ET4alRowVP-UkYna4n5q1Ra-EsWhe3Z0e1LLF2Vbl0-lFpzCGTJnbnzD9GTQYgL5BfHpsmJ7qSljEKoQk5puhoGyRXPv8u84/s200/the-serpentine-215879.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-74872318268057985652010-08-10T08:41:00.000-07:002010-08-11T06:19:30.062-07:00Passionately Nigtmarish...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw7JoIolUB2f9G-OQmRexARx2dfjgd6owo_92o6B8QA66q_u2P3E9r8UafPPkwUMfr9S43NQVVqTXbw55vSH9oP3X0GtW8y90Klf3X9mX-RCl2u27FZgRWgYp3pV7xghzZz1gdjW7EbU/s1600/rain.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXw7JoIolUB2f9G-OQmRexARx2dfjgd6owo_92o6B8QA66q_u2P3E9r8UafPPkwUMfr9S43NQVVqTXbw55vSH9oP3X0GtW8y90Klf3X9mX-RCl2u27FZgRWgYp3pV7xghzZz1gdjW7EbU/s320/rain.bmp" /></a></div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Walking in, I silently responded to the buzz absolutely clueless as to what to expect. Carpeted hallways and grey met my entrance; I followed the numbers through till I found ‘8’.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">My eyes locking on to the familiar ‘rider’ Ralph Lauren polo shirts were characterised by, I leaned forward and accepted a watery hug and a kiss on my cheek. I was directed to come in. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Loud clanking emanated as my heels familiarised themselves with wood flooring laid through out the apartment. I took in calabash-coloured walls and white ceilings; it looked like everything was in order. The chaos must have been in my head. </span></i><br />
<i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">With a strange determination I pushed away a nagging thought as it attempted to force its way through to the forefront of my mind. I didn’t want to think about why I was here; I simply wanted to be and I was…</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The conversation was timid to start with. The Gallo brothers quickly fixed that, the juice from their Californian vineyards calmed whatever nerves I felt as my body absorbed it. ‘Was this white Grenache or White Zinfandel?’ I pondered lightly, I couldn’t tell for sure. Music, past relationships and beautiful women dominated the conversation, communication that led to me jumping on his bed and laughing excitedly. I felt free. He muttered something about buying cheap beds and then warned that I might break his! </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I ignored, pssh! What did he know about fun? Peeling off my black racer back vest, I exposed exquisitely full, supple mounds covered in velvety, chocolaty skin restrained by black lace intricately twined with white. He reached; I was determined to discard the stirrups too! It wasn’t working. He held out his hand again, this time I let him settle me onto my back. Intense warmth generated as he wrapped his munificent frame around my sensuality, he took in my scent. It felt good… really good! Interrupting my ‘moment’, his stiffening gently nudged as though it had a mind of its own. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Turning me onto my side, he took a dark peak into his mouth, nibbling ever so lightly with outrageously soft lips, a plethora of moans escaped me; he’d somehow managed to find my warmth with his free hand, in the same instance. Unashamedly, he authoritatively guided me to his hardness. The singular act unleashed an Aphrodites so fierce she knew no bounds; for the ‘sexual goddess’ took over the night as though it had been carved for her. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">He was strong yet gentle, he lifted me onto pure wanton desire. My wetness, in turn, engulfed him, forcing him to seek deeper, I moaned again or maybe it was a scream this time, as he led me to take him so much deeper through my maze… I couldn’t! My limits were exhausted. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Maxwell whispered something about this woman’s worth in the background; I was completely consumed in this woman's moment… our bodies entwined in passionate rage.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">His fingers felt amazing and yet unruly as they hungrily penetrated my secret; causing me to flow relentlessly ; he was unwavering in the astuteness of his desire. I remember hearing pellets of rain hit the littered pavements, I remember moments where I’d grabbed his collar forcing him even deeper, moments where my nails had dug into the skin on his back, moments when I’d begged him to stop because I was so sure the sheer force of passion would rip me apart and I remember moments when my lips had tried to echo his name and had failed miserably. The night was our canvas and we had painted a picture so wantonly earthly, it was genius… sexual genius! </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">He wasn’t my best or my worst but he had unarguably relayed his case. </span></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmrjFeeuFqjbSejDI0TnN8I6iAMjyDjjbnvjEXlJi2O4JtohGUkJEx5va7lCd0jxzrtQLLNiN2fTuXdKqzOeA8kvjZtBl0P_Ee_RDnh19O85Q9NZxozITPwy9nERaQo6ySGJbAxv_Hsw/s1600/sensual.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmrjFeeuFqjbSejDI0TnN8I6iAMjyDjjbnvjEXlJi2O4JtohGUkJEx5va7lCd0jxzrtQLLNiN2fTuXdKqzOeA8kvjZtBl0P_Ee_RDnh19O85Q9NZxozITPwy9nERaQo6ySGJbAxv_Hsw/s320/sensual.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Initiating my final climax, he completed the sequence with steady hands and an intense gaze. Further conversation paved the path to sleep as I lay my head on his chest of hair, his fingers carelessly stroking my mane… this time ‘Ave Maria’ penetrated the background!... I thought it was Celine’s version, he’d said it was Charlotte Church! What did I care? He told me how as a child he’d liked to play in the rain, ‘didn’t we all’ I thought. (We were suddenly bogged down with £300 weaves and expensive garments)</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I left in a hurried rush, frazzled, confused not keen to confront the morning … I remember it was 6am, I remember running in the rain and loving it… but something simply wasn’t right! His substance had evaded me... I wanted my picture more intense, exciting and almost divine, I wanted hearts synched and I wanted to unravel secrets through moments of depth, I wanted my picture delicately drenched in quality, I wanted that sensual, giddy feeling that was certain to make my heart skip a beat every time he walked in a room, this wasn't it … this was genius but i didn't want this...</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I heard my name in the distance, ‘Ade’; the distance got closer and then closer… Shit! WTH? My silly brother standing over me, bowl of water in one hand. He read my frown adequately, I was about to jump out of bed and kick him (he was too tall to slap)... <em>‘You’re going to be late for work! Get up!’</em>… <em>Shit! 7:15 Damn!</em> My dreams had confirmed M.H wasn’t really my type… </span><br />
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**my attempt at erotica ... what do you think?inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-81503607499211033382010-08-09T09:46:00.000-07:002010-08-09T16:23:48.457-07:00Filters please...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tUoFik9MQ3Rpw3tVeaJN2brgA24IGcQNmWazTdo6FnXXYCPIxUZnHjHb8dW4HGu-hcYGVu8lEQJRGnvZIe6ilhgUoeXk_NRzRKYu1wE6ZVNZxTaegB7B8Lv9wE4YQOdA5bWRxbDRTrs/s1600/Friday-410284334.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0tUoFik9MQ3Rpw3tVeaJN2brgA24IGcQNmWazTdo6FnXXYCPIxUZnHjHb8dW4HGu-hcYGVu8lEQJRGnvZIe6ilhgUoeXk_NRzRKYu1wE6ZVNZxTaegB7B8Lv9wE4YQOdA5bWRxbDRTrs/s200/Friday-410284334.gif" width="200" /></a></div>… ‘Extremely Drained’ was pretty much the only sane description for what I felt on Saturday morning, literally every passing moment of the day before, Friday, held its own tale! A day of events, almost every second had forced an emotion or a feeling out of the very depths of my soul!<br />
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love being busy… I simply don’t particularly enjoy constantly living in a heightened state of emotion…<br />
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<i>Friday…</i> <br />
If ever I had a skill; it was waking up when my alarm clock went and hitting the snooze button <i>(every 5 minutes to be exact!)</i> till I got up, I’m an expert at this… See my alarm’s set to go off every morning at 5:30… this morning it did! I snoozled <i>(a word I coined)</i> till 7:51, utter confusion set in when I realized I had half an hour to get showered and dressed. (Sheer Panic!)<br />
<i>8:51:</i> sordid tiff with the ‘metro’ <i>(free morning paper for commuters),</i>my damn horoscope had the effrontery to tell me I was slightly cheeky and had reached my limit with the work jokes. I actually went through the day fixated with monitoring every word I spoke … WTH? I was so mad!!!<i> (LoL! had to laugh at this one!)</i> <br />
<i>9:00:</i> met a friend of a friend I had met a really long time ago on the tube. I tapped her lightly;<br />
no response, she was engrossed in her copy of the metro… persisting,I tapped slightly harder, silently praying I didn't have the wrong girl! This time she responded<i>(sigh of Relief!)</i>, we swapped BB pins and numbers <i>(we'll probably never talk till we randomly bump into each other again of course!) </i><br />
<i>12:00:</i> Lunch with J & A, two amazing interns, now this had to be the best part of my day. An hour filled with sarcasm and unbridled wit! Amazing! An Absolute riot! My brain took a short trip into over drive as it thought up equally snarky comments to throw at these two… nothing!<i>(Ecstatic)</i><br />
<i>13:30-16:00:</i> I had made the complex decision to hot desk with a bunch of extremely creative designers! … Wrong move! Gay sarcasm and laughter filled my entire work day! Constant coffee! <i>(drained! happy!)</i><br />
<i>16:30:</i> Met really cute guy at the coffee machine… you do see a pattern here, don’t you? <i>(flustered was the feeling! Hot and bothered!) </i><br />
<i>17:56:</i> Woman <i>(silly… pun intended!)</i> adequately wedged herself between the doors on the Bakerloo line. I cringed! It looked extremely painful. Four very large, very burly men came to her rescue as they ripped the hungry, vicious doors apart. Another sigh of relief, now that scared the bejesus out of me. I honestly thought the drama was over until I heard the even sillier train driver over the intercom, loud and clear;<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2m5ugUxMkM5aC40Fqyj-V72_cafD7-lbYJIduLIW9qJXeN7Es1m4AEnOE6qPOEjus42JkzF__6TjfJicCzOKLSzTENxXTVGWK2ZiTC1oV5g7kkMwKICleTMTPKs6UthrM8-4SlPvXVCs/s1600/Woman's+Purse+Stuck+In+Door++vs+Moving+Subway+Train+[VIDEO].jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2m5ugUxMkM5aC40Fqyj-V72_cafD7-lbYJIduLIW9qJXeN7Es1m4AEnOE6qPOEjus42JkzF__6TjfJicCzOKLSzTENxXTVGWK2ZiTC1oV5g7kkMwKICleTMTPKs6UthrM8-4SlPvXVCs/s200/Woman's+Purse+Stuck+In+Door++vs+Moving+Subway+Train+%5BVIDEO%5D.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<i>“The lady who just wedged herself between the doors, that was an absolute smart thing to do… its not particularly a smart thing to wait for the next train, it was probably easier to get caught between the doors… wasn’t it?”…</i> Damn! What a donut! Poor woman cowered in shame. <i>(I laughed it was hilarious! I did feel sorry for her I actually felt her shame!) </i>Everyone else looked straight on<i>,</i> lips turned up slightly at the corners<i> (highly conservative Brits!)</i> <i>he he! (I laughed some more!)</i> <br />
<br />
<i>18:06:</i> Amazing write up on Chace Crawford <i>(Gossip Girl’s Nate Archibald).</i> I was elated, not sure if my mood was as a result of the unmistakably brilliant writing or at the gorgeous photos of Chace! Yaay! The next few minutes saw me through hot flushes, disgust, anger and ridiculous laughter at, Italian president, Berlusconi and his chauvinistic one-liners, this time, to deputy Nunzia de Girolamo: <i>(source of info - The Evening Standard - evening paper for commuters!)</i><br />
<i>- ‘What splendid earrings, Nunzia’ he said ‘You know they say women with large earrings have a large desire to…</i>’<br />
<br />
Gosh! To think I thought David Cameron’s mis-speak on Iran having nuclear weapons <i>(major foreign policy gaffe)</i> was really bad! I shut the paper firmly, clearly not soon enough, my horoscope had delivered another morbid warning as it advised that I avoid heavy conversation because people around me were ultra-sensitive.... <i>(</i><i>Psshh! Did these people know my family, colleagues or friends?, who were they to make such bold statements!)</i><br />
<br />
<i>18:15:</i> Disembarking at Waterloo, I hesitated for a moment, the gap between the train and platform was huge. Instinctively I tightened my grip on my iPod and jumped <i>(terrified was the emotion that held on to me!; okay! Only slightly!).</i><br />
I found my way out of the station, a messy loop of arrows forced me to walk lopsided and sideways… bad, bad, design! Between wondering who was responsible for the pathetic architecture and why it had been signed off, I typed the words; <i>‘I really want to see you!’</i>. In one breath, I felt; nostalgia, happiness, confusion and distress...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR3d7cOUSmk0lpVjhzqVAy6fYnTxa50mdpuSf5gA5WX36LB8IUStE9vdwC1cEUhq7ycwPqboOBuS9ZO8s88N8AlH3CxcxvCXIM_TD8960wakPzQ-6A4_ncvV-9tPfvw6YdLBpXjaei9s/s1600/WaterlooStation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSR3d7cOUSmk0lpVjhzqVAy6fYnTxa50mdpuSf5gA5WX36LB8IUStE9vdwC1cEUhq7ycwPqboOBuS9ZO8s88N8AlH3CxcxvCXIM_TD8960wakPzQ-6A4_ncvV-9tPfvw6YdLBpXjaei9s/s320/WaterlooStation.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><i>18:30:</i> Business ‘meet’ with Andre; we talked about focus groups, my fears, my concerns, moving forward and next steps. It suddenly hit me… this is really happening; I'm actually building a business <i>(I was excited, elated and nervous!)</i><br />
<i>19:00:</i> Train surfaced at Finchley Road, The familiarity of North London welcomed me!<br />
My phone chirped; <br />
<i>‘What are your plans for tonight?’</i>… (Can't even begin to explain what I felt here... excitement maybe!)<br />
<br />
I made a conscious effort to put a halt to absorbing information over the weekend… I had exceeded my mental capacity to feel, think or process anything other than 'Dynasty'; <i>no more!</i> … I did however, stop briefly to ponder Clay Shirky’s words:<br />
<br />
<i>‘it's not information overload it's a filtering problem’. </i><br />
The rationale behind that statement was; for centuries we've had to deal with drones and drones of information. hence, our problem was not the amount of information, it was simply that we were getting worse at filtering it... <i>hmm! I'm still thinking this one through! Not really sure I agree!.. (I'm currently in contact with the world via twitter, linked-in, facebook and BIS!... sounds like more information to me! hhm... maybe not!) </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvjBkK6pAL43ONro3tvQyUbEhEkGyoXQk3eSOeCDTrHdCRyF91VZqZavGtj9r-6KiJ8RNbSNzIZ7Nv-p1UsEAvYy2Os8WN9MQVdVbPtprR6S0eKqdDreeu2_a6UlUH4xm-7AD84q7U54/s1600/chace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvjBkK6pAL43ONro3tvQyUbEhEkGyoXQk3eSOeCDTrHdCRyF91VZqZavGtj9r-6KiJ8RNbSNzIZ7Nv-p1UsEAvYy2Os8WN9MQVdVbPtprR6S0eKqdDreeu2_a6UlUH4xm-7AD84q7U54/s320/chace.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<i>10:00 am Monday morning</i>: Bought a copy of <i>Rodney Yee's; Power Yoga Total Body</i> and and made a conscious effort to filter, filter, filter… <br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #990000;"><b>Quick Question: Does anyone else have days like this?</b></span></i>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-58028867108676893552010-08-06T08:11:00.000-07:002010-08-06T13:22:24.814-07:00Mentees and Mentors...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Og3mbeiT3Vf59eewtQvItqAYowo6RBgR0sucRJDMn5jVdsVT5jLsedcIp3cjIr9vEkcI-B4yo8u-M7WT-pSkm4p5MjWI-vgsbxZAvbUvx6t_YvL9UX0J9rrfOw3xmXYVXZcyHsjOWO0/s1600/The_Waterway@feature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Og3mbeiT3Vf59eewtQvItqAYowo6RBgR0sucRJDMn5jVdsVT5jLsedcIp3cjIr9vEkcI-B4yo8u-M7WT-pSkm4p5MjWI-vgsbxZAvbUvx6t_YvL9UX0J9rrfOw3xmXYVXZcyHsjOWO0/s320/The_Waterway@feature.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>…Hushed sounds from the stream nearby, dimmed lights and the constant chatter from fellow diners characterised the evening. <br />
Making good my promise to T, I had met him at his Hendon Central office. He had had one of those days and was feeling very discouraged. I wasn’t usually worried about him, T was strong, more than your typical dose of the average 34 year old, owned his own business and grossed £200,000 mark annually (after the tax man’s cut); his lifestyle spoke for itself. We’d had worse conversations <i>(in my opinion!);</i> once he’d called me on a Monday morning; <br />
<br />
<i></i> <br />
<i></i> <br />
<i>Ade: 'hey' </i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i>T: 'Hi', he’d returned very solemnly </i><br />
<i>Ade: 'What up, you?'</i><br />
<i>T: 'Just lost £8000' on the stock market</i><br />
<i>Ade: 'What?'</i><br />
<i>T: 'Yup! hey I guess it evens out huh?', made £13,000 last month. Damn! Still hurts though! </i><br />
<i>Ade: 'Oh! that’s not too bad then…'</i><br />
<i>T: Anyways! How are you?, He chirped) </i><br />
<br />
The conversation went on as though he’d just mentioned that he’d misplaced a bag of ‘maltesers’. I wonder fleetingly what age I’d be able to absorb an £8,000 loss. <i>Hmm!</i><br />
This time it was different...very different; whatever was going on had left him somewhat distraught. His words were <i>‘I feel like packing it all in and walking away’.</i> That concerned me predominantly because he was clearly questioning himself.<br />
I gently reflected on what I knew about T, he was determined, driven and had a penchant for the finer things of life. He had been growing his business actively for the last few years <i>(approximately 6),</i> and I had a very vague idea of where he was headed in his mind. But I knew he’d get frustrated, his current network was simply not big enough, <em>(in my opinion)</em>, he’d grown it to the point where he alone could, and now needed a fresh pair of hands and eyes.<br />
I arrived at the metal gates sheltering his office at 19:07….<br />
<br />
<i>Ade: ‘What up? I’m spending an hour discussing you, your business and where it’s headed and then you’re taking me to dinner’.</i> I greeted <br />
<i></i><br />
<i>T: ‘Why do you always have to demand, what’s wrong with asking? You look very nice by the way! ’</i> He retorted <br />
<i>Ade: ‘Whatever! Thanks! My time’s precious. I need the rest’, </i>I replied, unsure as to what question/statement I had responded to first. <br />
<br />
Agreeing and disagreeing a million times over the next hour, we eventually reached a calm compromise on what level he was currently operating at, where he was headed, clarified his vision and thought up new ways to breach the gap between those two distinct stages. T was going to network with more relevant people and find a mentor <i>( I was in an absolutely horrific state of shock when i realised one of MY mentors didn’t have a mentor!!!... some teacher huh? :)) .</i> <br />
<br />
Mentors, for me, were crucial, they were there to guide you, introduce you to new circles, see further than you’d ever be able to <i>(at least, within their field of expertise),</i> it was a no brainer to engage in the almost parasitic relationship.<br />
The mentee being the parasite as well as the bigger beneficiary, of course. It’s an almost divine opportunity to draw from tried and tested resources, techniques and contacts; all you have to do, really, is be willing to learn, be taught and be accountable to the mentor. <i>Fantastic!</i><br />
T thought I was a great<i> 'sounding board' and had some fresh ideas</i>. I disagreed, I had simply taken him to where I was; the exciting start of my business, one of the many facets to my current journey. All he needed was to be reminded.<br />
<br />
<i>Dinner!</i> We embarked on the half hour drive to Formosa Street. I had called the Water Way just before we left in a hurried attempt to reserve a table. <br />
<br />
<i>‘Oh we’ve got nothing till 22:00, but you’re welcome to try our first come, first served section’</i> <br />
<br />
T can sometimes be a bit of a ‘Diva’ <i>( he was being an uber twat of a diva at this stage - 2 mega divas, not cute! as I'm a diva amongst divas), </i>he really wanted to go somewhere where we definitely had a reservation, but I won! <i>(diva extraordinaire!)</i> We did go, winged it and got a pretty cool table! The gods were ruling in my favour yet again! It was beautiful! Great food, <i>(They do the best ever ‘char grilled squid),</i> great company, superb conversation,more importantly,T relaxed and had fun <i>(he’d been there once but not eaten)… </i><br />
Towards the end of the night, his phone rang. He politely excused himself and took the call… <br />
<br />
‘<i>Wow, what a day! Just signed up a new client, he’s transferring £20,000 into my account now, didn’t think he was going to do it today!’ </i>The golden, golden smile broke through the stress lines etched on his face only a few hours ago as he related an abbreviated version of the call he'd just taken.<br />
You could tell he'd once again being reminded of the reasons he had chosen to run his own wealth management consultancy…<br />
I smiled… again… chuffed, grateful <i>(my time had been well worth it!)…</i> I neatly tucked away another memory and filed it for safekeeping! As I knew for certain that I too would some day be able to absorb an £8,000 hit… <em>'mentees were indeed as important as mentors afterall!' </em>I silently thought...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwPYVeVh6qZF9D6AJ6F7p3WkcAIKRBo7l-uZisSTLN45TowguLe7z6C8v-F-FUSYSO9kABa5hLeh9gJH8XITNwQaVPdiOll0vtLtkYDNXZqqxHbM5UnAEOz4shtOniL5DSq_RR6M0yJ0/s1600/indie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwPYVeVh6qZF9D6AJ6F7p3WkcAIKRBo7l-uZisSTLN45TowguLe7z6C8v-F-FUSYSO9kABa5hLeh9gJH8XITNwQaVPdiOll0vtLtkYDNXZqqxHbM5UnAEOz4shtOniL5DSq_RR6M0yJ0/s200/indie.jpg" width="163" /></a></div><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b><i>ten minutes ago</i>... <i>Cute Guy Alert :)</i></b> - Tall... very tall, Jesse Eisenberg, indie - type, shoulder length, dirty blond curly hair, tattoo neatly done (inner arm - read <i>Truth</i>) made a pair of skinny jeans and a grey rock n roll, loosely fitted <i>(don't ask - best description I've got) </i>t-shirt look ultra sexy! hmm! he decided to get a coffee while I was getting one <i>(after smiling at me twice)... </i>The goddess in me took over <i>(i did try to quieten her... I promise!</i>)... but she asked his name and introduced herself <i>(aaargghhh!!! she totally embarrasses me most times)</i> ... he played along pretty well entertaining her charm!!! <i>Blissss!!!</i> <i>(hey! its Friday, got my weekend head on already- Blame that!)</i> ;)!... Yet one more thing to look forward to on Monday Morning! <i>(the very hot D!)</i> Yaaaay!!!.... <em>*sigh!* </em>I finally get paid Monday <em>(victory dance), </em></span></span><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><span style="color: #e06666;">would</span></span><span style="color: #fce5cd;"><span style="color: #e06666;"> probably give my darling bank manager a well deserved cornorary! <i>hehe!!</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: black;">*I'm terrible... I know...*</span></i>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-17154007967287276382010-08-05T09:05:00.000-07:002010-08-05T15:34:22.793-07:00Precious, Precious Words...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDHA1xOW-lKYaQgtttN_A8n8tq9tAkknsx9lAq9KKojtPGh_3cL8Wjg1854gdr1sWU7VJLjJTibhNjTqgZGP-JeVzZnhsvfYTysGBjGKw_i2TGRDae0LDz4YRr8RaVaaTPWhteu-kYbQ/s1600/Ade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDHA1xOW-lKYaQgtttN_A8n8tq9tAkknsx9lAq9KKojtPGh_3cL8Wjg1854gdr1sWU7VJLjJTibhNjTqgZGP-JeVzZnhsvfYTysGBjGKw_i2TGRDae0LDz4YRr8RaVaaTPWhteu-kYbQ/s320/Ade.jpg" /></a></div>When I eventually meet my significant other, otherwise known as my husband, we will have a conversation <i>(I most certainly hope so! ;))</i> and it will go something like this and I would expect his answers to be thus… <br />
<br />
<i>Ade: Will you raise me up, will you help me down? Will you get me right out of this Godforsaken town? Will you make it all a little less cold?</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I can do that! </i><br />
<i>Ade: Will you hold me sacred? Will you hold me tight? Can you colorize my life, I'm so sick of black and white? Can you make it all a little less old?</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I can do that! </i><br />
<i>Ade: Will you make me some magic, with your own two hands? Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand? Can you give me something I can take home?</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I can do that! </i><br />
<i>Ade: Will you cater to every fantasy I have got? Will you hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?Will you take me places I've never known?</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I can do that! </i><br />
<i>Ade: After a while you'll forget everything and think It was a brief interlude and a midsummer night's fling.</i><br />
<i>And you'll see that it's time to move on</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I won't do that! </i><br />
<i>Ade: I know the territory, I've been around. It'll all turn to dust and we'll all fall down And sooner or later, you'll be screwing around</i><br />
<i>My Husband: I won't do that. Please trust me! </i> I<i> would do anything for your love, but I won't do that, no I won't do that. </i><br />
<br />
Hmmm! I have wondered what ‘praying to the god of sex, drugs and rock n roll' entails. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">*i</span><i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">nspired</span> by meatloaf! </span></i><br />
Oh by the way inception was awesome...inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-12613300850023873462010-08-04T08:10:00.000-07:002010-08-04T17:21:53.689-07:00The little things... and of course Salsa!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShGr-UDttvamcSobSHXiiJflrlShKEwWBevazPF4px0hXzBX-ucBAq0nkngY-Gweqn9TU9UC3PFy2M9yoUNJsKdhS9vOXoIMYCYkGjEe3L66DGhqyYQ-aW5e0rqcDdAvgQ7BURv1OGqI/s1600/Salsa0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiShGr-UDttvamcSobSHXiiJflrlShKEwWBevazPF4px0hXzBX-ucBAq0nkngY-Gweqn9TU9UC3PFy2M9yoUNJsKdhS9vOXoIMYCYkGjEe3L66DGhqyYQ-aW5e0rqcDdAvgQ7BURv1OGqI/s200/Salsa0.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Shutting down my laptop signaled the end to my work day. Tired in its most effective form, couldn't remotely begin to describe how I felt, my eyelids felt like lead. I briefly contemplated heading straight home, but I had plans! Tonight I had planned to lose my ‘Salsa-virgin’ status…<br />
<br />
My resolve to try new things must have been way bigger than me, I thought, as I stepped into the weird mix of people and eccentricity that Farringdon was filled with. Looking around, I smiled and knew, beyond all reasonable doubt; exactly why I lived in London.<br />
<br />
I dutifully followed instructions the ‘station guy’ had given me and headed to Clerkenwell road, my eyes carefully seeking 102/108. The TFL website had approximated a 9 minute trek, but somehow it felt like I’d been walking for all of half an hour already.<br />
<br />
I looked for a sign, anything, that could give even the slightest hint as to where I was… nothing! <i>(Just so you know the buildings in Farringdon as you head up to King’s Cross do not have numbers on them… aarrrgghh!). </i>Walking into the ‘Costa’ on my left, my eyes locked onto animated bloggers furiously typing away, I envied them. Oh! The sweet thrill of writing away in oblivion as the aroma of roast coffee beans filled the air. Orgasmic! <i>(my very vivid imagination, indulge me please!)</i> <br />
<br />
<i>‘Do you have any idea where 102 Clerkenwell road is please?’</i> I desperately asked the closest barista. The blank look she returned quickly informed me that she was as clueless as me…<br />
<br />
A few thoughts back, I’d walked past him, <i>( the mere fact that it was a face that had embedded its self in my mind's eye forced me to name him, to me he was 'big Joe'!),</i> He had looked at me, his eyes silently offering help as I struggled to find door numbers where there were none. I was clearly lost, aaarggh! The snob in me had initially ignored him, defiant, as though his intimidating frame could even be remotely overlooked. <i>(psssh! I had no idea where i was going). </i><br />
<br />
'Big Joe' looked like he knew the streets, in a black t-shirt and a black suit jacket, he was sat on a wooden stool at the front of a pretty impressive bar. The dark green sign above his head read ‘The Griffin’. I composed myself adequately and shamefully retraced my steps so that I now stood face to face with ‘Big Joe’s’ big frame, he sat, I stood ‘tall’, very tall, and still fell a few notches short of eye level. It was only then I noticed the masked gash under his left eye. <i>(hmmm, I fleetingly wondered how it got there)</i><br />
This time I knew I could ask for a name rather than a number, for 'Big Joe' really did look like he knew the streets. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4mEdbgazy-T-oLY_-a819m05UcJjEnqafxtQDcwAMU3LxHi1jzuQONeCQImDzUf7nQHXt43-ogDJnMLVLFc5oYBLXocpaVSZ91swBVeJ5SLtMnrbByVb71sMNJXJDXgdYD8JKry_8j4/s1600/griffin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4mEdbgazy-T-oLY_-a819m05UcJjEnqafxtQDcwAMU3LxHi1jzuQONeCQImDzUf7nQHXt43-ogDJnMLVLFc5oYBLXocpaVSZ91swBVeJ5SLtMnrbByVb71sMNJXJDXgdYD8JKry_8j4/s200/griffin.jpg" width="200" /></a><i>‘Hiya! Do you have any idea where ‘Murphis is please?’.</i> His eyes showed the slightest hint of a smile. <i>(He would have beat Tyra in teaching her most treasured skill; ‘smizing’).</i> And then he answered in the softest of voices, it sounded like as though someone else was speaking the words; <i>‘You’re going in the complete wrong direction'. </i></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>a moment later...</em><br />
Armed with directions and a determination to at least go for one salsa class in my life time, I smiled thankfully at ‘Big Joe’. If ever I had met an angel, it was him. As I crossed to the other side of Clerkenwell road, I gently filed the memory of my angel in <i>‘safekeep’</i>. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><i>8 minutes later…</i></div>I walked down the steep steps to the bar basement, a weird, almost stale smell welcomed me. I considered turning around and heading for the door. I was in King’s Cross afterall <i>(rumoured world of streetwalkers and drug induced minions)</i>. A daunting fear gripped me, what if I got down there and all I met were toothless beings snorting weird white powder? My ignorance stunned me,<i>‘Don’t be silly, it’s Salsa for chrissakes, the company’s online it must be decent and you can always run if you need to’. </i>I inched closer. <br />
<br />
It was definitely an experience, a beautiful variety of Asians, Caucasians and me, once again, the token black girl. I got lost in it all, it was fantastic… slightly unsteady on my feet at first <i>(I joined late, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it), </i>I quickly got into rhythm. It was amazing, encouraging and so much fun as we swapped partners, helped the even ‘unsteadier’ get into the flow and counted our steps. The syncretised dance form and Cuban sounds took me to a different world, a new sphere. Was this the revered meeting point for African and European cultures? <i>Divine!</i> not to mention, the very ‘hot’ instructor. <br />
I must have given my name out at least 20 times. More than once I admired the healthy mix of students, real estate developers, gorgeous eye candy and city types in all shapes, ages and sizes,all with one predominant goal - <i>fun.</i> I smiled through it… <i>and knew i'd be back!</i> <br />
<br />
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<i>3 hrs later</i>…Another smile lit my face as I pulled the covers snugly over my tired self, showered and in bed, I reflected lightly…<br />
Paulo Coelho <i>(pictured below)</i> had once said:<i> ‘Getting rid of certain memories means making some room for new experiences’…</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYRLzLTnI8E6WJ7kROZb1HfGM04SrrC8l606mxk2MQy2u23uONJCRb7tMRj-OP1bGKvmGtYttvj2-EtKKByLRskfsbT5e6tvLTNYO_ya1oGXp4RactaqkPvaX7F8RJZfbPvXNm87D9Ac/s1600/paulo_coelho_romadonfreebooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghYRLzLTnI8E6WJ7kROZb1HfGM04SrrC8l606mxk2MQy2u23uONJCRb7tMRj-OP1bGKvmGtYttvj2-EtKKByLRskfsbT5e6tvLTNYO_ya1oGXp4RactaqkPvaX7F8RJZfbPvXNm87D9Ac/s200/paulo_coelho_romadonfreebooks.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;"><b>Life was indeed good!</b></span><br />
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<i>Tonight I’m taking </i><a href="http://redoje.blogspot.com/"><i><b><span style="color: #990000;">Freaksho’s</span></b></i></a><i> advice and going to see ‘inception’ with T, a dear,dear friend!!! Yaaay!!!</i>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-26503539141359464262010-08-03T06:12:00.000-07:002010-08-04T01:20:43.865-07:00Salsa Tonight!...but my tale does have an end... almost!<em><span style="color: #cc0000;">‘Men respect standards, get some’ Steve Harvey</span></em> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqgHsofO-P0cW7xaNOSnPk_QkrlFlH2-ddwpCvLY78gUrtZhzdkqrGhufDEEThEcua35TV3URghhaKSHKnaeKofBqzJGB-R5SnjlvjuDxrfFegF1TlD5VNJAujMuFx17x4E82amWK6AU/s1600/assassins-creed-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqgHsofO-P0cW7xaNOSnPk_QkrlFlH2-ddwpCvLY78gUrtZhzdkqrGhufDEEThEcua35TV3URghhaKSHKnaeKofBqzJGB-R5SnjlvjuDxrfFegF1TlD5VNJAujMuFx17x4E82amWK6AU/s320/assassins-creed-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<em>…I wasn’t with M.H!</em> … It didn’t matter much as the next message directed me to voicemail. I<em> had to go back to work</em>... technically I couldn’t have stayed anyway.<br />
The next few weeks saw me through tedious tasks and a Herculean schedule, there was no way I could have met up with M.H. To be totally honest it was awesome being asked to meet up for drinks a few times and thinking up new ways to politely decline;<br />
<br />
<em>M.H: Hey! What’s your week looking like?</em> <br />
<br />
<em>Ade: um hey! Really really busy, meeting with my accountant, viewing property, work, Claridges… but we will link up, I promise.</em> <br />
<br />
The slight quiver of impatience spoke its tiny tones incessantly through his voice <em>(oh! His voice was so cool, i shuddered!)</em>, I heard it, but M.H unwavering, remained the gentlest of gentlemen and didn’t push further. <br />
<br />
<em>M.H: ‘Well! Let me know when you have some time to see me’</em><br />
<em>Ade: No worries!</em> <br />
<br />
To be honest, I<em> was</em> as busy as I sounded, I <em>was</em> viewing property, I <em>was</em> networking, I <em>was</em> meeting old friends socially, lunching and laughing, going to museums and galleries. <br />
I was selfishly doing the things I wanted to do, the things I was sure would make me smile and I was totally ‘doing me’. There are a few things, a real bad break up will teach a woman in a heart beat, <em><span style="color: #cccccc;">‘Love you extremely, Know yourself and then Love you some more!’ </span></em><br />
<br />
It was barely a couple of weeks after my ‘catwoman/bond girl manouver'.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43fmpMVK1TJW5wjVwSND3hOmBdBLTYd0g-5Ho3ioyZNrICJGw87sTjyUU8ZlSVgmJrDAcVuszo2WeyCp0fJ-pkrv4Saw7XRvtYIPBDyFdvE_kbrJdmefMcu_3-zzKbHd84LicVTtQLqs/s1600/falcon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg43fmpMVK1TJW5wjVwSND3hOmBdBLTYd0g-5Ho3ioyZNrICJGw87sTjyUU8ZlSVgmJrDAcVuszo2WeyCp0fJ-pkrv4Saw7XRvtYIPBDyFdvE_kbrJdmefMcu_3-zzKbHd84LicVTtQLqs/s200/falcon.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>Friday! I could barely contain my excitement, The British museum had on a ‘little Italia’ theme. Italy had somewhat become magical to me. I wasn’t sure if it was the free history lessons I had gotten from my staunch desire to complete Ubisoft’s Assassin’s Creed 2 <em>(avid PS3 gamer, I confess!),</em> the vitruvian man, the dreyfus Madonna, the Mediterranean or simply the phrase <em>‘See Naples and Die’</em>. I totally loved Italy. The evening was everything I had hoped for; <em>talks on</em> <em>Leonardo de Medici (The great Italian patron), sword plays, the falcons, wine tasting… fantastic! And my cousin randomly met me there completely unplanned! </em><br />
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<em>…3 hrs later</em> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22d9B4V3c0r5uXGuK6xfqjlibSPycLQN5PvcCObCgfLPsDkhFxaC5Z2QJG5bodXPo23TeyS8xjEF9eK9QqgykDdBq6nlZaC4WbpwH9qljNCaKaayPgX1NIlhWL7yHd6xiIujDWBTcscM/s1600/interior%20british%20museum%20small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22d9B4V3c0r5uXGuK6xfqjlibSPycLQN5PvcCObCgfLPsDkhFxaC5Z2QJG5bodXPo23TeyS8xjEF9eK9QqgykDdBq6nlZaC4WbpwH9qljNCaKaayPgX1NIlhWL7yHd6xiIujDWBTcscM/s320/interior%2520british%2520museum%2520small.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Showered, divinely scented; I lay in bed exhausted. My evening had been beautiful, quiet thoughts intertwined with soft sounds from Bon Jovi’s ‘thank you for loving me’ until an almost abrupt interruption, the persistent shrill of my Samsung <em><span style="color: #cc0000;">(I don’t believe in switching off phones! Smart ass!),</span></em> besides I <em>was</em> hoping he’d call. He had casually advised that this Friday was poker night <em><span style="color: #990000;">(I’d rather walk tightrope across the Petronas towers than intrude on ‘poker night’- ever seen ‘how to lose a guy in ten days?). </span></em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bAPF6mkNMURaJfALabHP1-G6zc25UnQYMw7cmFq6l_p6W8DMiE8ZFNYYmyBQrWK6oKZTyeXa7_LI9T7icpdZrxpzvOtOg0sHrGVM6Oez_8Uln8Dym3sHeZvis64NJEBtqj5p6FXETt8/s1600/towers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bAPF6mkNMURaJfALabHP1-G6zc25UnQYMw7cmFq6l_p6W8DMiE8ZFNYYmyBQrWK6oKZTyeXa7_LI9T7icpdZrxpzvOtOg0sHrGVM6Oez_8Uln8Dym3sHeZvis64NJEBtqj5p6FXETt8/s320/towers.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<em>M.H: Hi Hun (Oh! That voice again!)</em><br />
<em>Ade: Heyyy!!! Sweetie!</em><br />
<em>M.H: are you home? </em><br />
<em>Ade: yup</em><br />
<em>M.H: ‘Get in a cab and come here now’ he said authoritatively (hmm! Very ,very sexy and in that voice too! Lush! a man's man, so my thing!)</em><br />
<em>Ade: ‘Huh?’ I retorted, ignoring the shiver coursing through my spine.</em><br />
<em>M.H: ‘Get in a cab and come here now’ he repeated, this time, I heard the laughter in his voice. </em><br />
<br />
Every fibre of my being wanted to do just that, get in a cab and go to him, but I knew I couldn’t… Steve Harvey had said <em>‘act like a lady’</em> <em>and I was… no! I am a lady! , or I was at least going to fake it till I became one!</em> <em>I couldn’t go...</em><br />
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<em>M.H: ‘I really want to see you’ this time his voice was less authoritative but very, very, very sensual. </em><br />
<em>Ade: hmm!</em> <br />
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I felt myself start to give in. <br />
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<em>M.H: I’ll send my address, should I (oh that wasn’t a question and if it was it was rhetorical)</em> <br />
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I got the address, picked up my phone and put a call through to Addison Lee. <em>(Thank God for automated messages)</em>, as I listened to the options I was being offered, I considered the option of waking up in his apartment the morning after and how I’d feel <span style="color: #cc0000;"><em>(not great or maybe great?)</em></span>. I realised I didn't know for sure. I simply wasn’t ready to gamble on that one… sorry! Not playing tonight! <em><span style="color: #cc0000;">The only option really open to me was to stay at home…in my bed! </span></em><br />
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<em>Ade: Hey! I really want to see you, but not like this, I’m sorry…</em><br />
<br />
He tried some more, but my mind was made and in resilience I fortified my case. He finally gave in, but no level of intelligence, exposure and education could have prepared me for the words he uttered next…<br />
<br />
<em>M.H: Wow! I’m impressed! (I landed on the floor, literally, trust me!), Steve was right???(Why didn’t he write the damn book when I was 2!)</em><br />
<br />
This man who had just tried to persuade me for all of 15 minutes to come through, really wanted a ‘no’? <em>Shock and Horror! Oh My God!!!</em> <em>(Very Thick British Accent)</em><br />
This was definitely a game and I wasn’t the only one playing. <br />
<em><span style="color: #cc0000;">'I was going to win'… was my silent resolve!</span></em><br />
Saying goodnight courteously, my eye caught the clock on my phone as i laid it to rest… 2:30 am Saturday, stared me square in the face, very smugly <em>(might I add)</em> through the screen… <em>I smiled victoriously…</em>inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-33968211523242776762010-08-02T10:01:00.000-07:002010-08-04T03:41:52.350-07:00The 90 Day Rule...!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxY6QF1gDUGGtuUzdAcYtvme-xLfccmgI0XBs35qCMXoRoKro8sDnTDLC4rAP-1O0qjXua7Cb7mTX0tFu9AAlvVH5kc5_AcqvgsXF_mDwtYXhxh0w_4-e44yiw85wnZ9USsSS4bssb9U/s1600/catwoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxY6QF1gDUGGtuUzdAcYtvme-xLfccmgI0XBs35qCMXoRoKro8sDnTDLC4rAP-1O0qjXua7Cb7mTX0tFu9AAlvVH5kc5_AcqvgsXF_mDwtYXhxh0w_4-e44yiw85wnZ9USsSS4bssb9U/s200/catwoman.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><i><br />
"Lots of us make bad choices romantically. It's not usually punishable by death." …Catwoman #57</i><br />
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Yaaay!!! It had arrived!!!… It was literally only two days ago, when I had searched for it on Amazon and ordered it… and now W.H smith had so dutifully delivered me my very own copy of Steve Harvey’s; <i>‘Act like a Lady, think like a man’</i>… Since watching him speak to millions of women on Oprah, I knew I had to get it.<br />
I smiled; I had been doing a lot of that lately and it felt amazing.Preciously looking the new addition to my library over,I tucked it neatly into my Louis Vuitton Neverfull GM, ready to read on the tube the next morning, it was going to be my ‘commute read’<i>(hey it did promise to be more fun than eyeing up swanky city types).</i><br />
Ordinarily, the acquisition of a book would not have meant so much to me but at this point in my life I was learning and ‘un-learning’ a plethora of things, I thought back to days when I thought I knew it all <i>(haha! how naive!). </i><br />
I had started speaking to this guy, M.H, and somehow Steve Harvey had promised a ton of answers to questions I needed answering to. <br />
Now M.H was supposedly one of those really cool, swagger ridden guys, hmmm, <i>boy! Was I in for a shock! </i><br />
<br />
<i>Backtracking slightly… how it all began.</i><br />
<br />
It was a Sunday afternoon, Kiki <i>(or trouble)</i> had come over and in a totally random conversation she’d mentioned his name and I stopped,no! time stopped. I had met him once years and years ago and I wanted to meet him again, simply because he had left an impression in the softest manner possible. I immediately demanded that Kiki make it happen….<i> 8 hours later</i>… Monday morning greeted me with blaring repetitions of my alarm clock and Kiki handing me M.H’s BB pin.<br />
Shit! I had actually forgotten!Some impression eh? Later that day, I added him on and he seemed like the gentlest gentleman I’d ever met. I thought wow! What a breath of fresh fresh air…<br />
<br />
Now you really need to understand Kiki and I to understand how we stay friends, both born on the most beautiful day ever, the 21st of January (different years). <br />
We are both extremely soulful , extremely silly, not to mention vain, intelligent (c’mon we’re both engineers) and total love birds!<br />
I simply love the girl but too much of each other and we’re definitely going at it… its that somewhat self involved, attention seeking attitude Aquarians individually carry.. <i>OK! Ade! (Get on with it!).</i> <br />
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A few e mails and a telephone conversation later, M.H invited me for a drink that night. One Problem! Kiki and I had agreed we were going to make him wait for at least 3 weeks till I met up with him. I believe it was our way of enforcing 'the rules'… <i>do not ask!Please!</i><br />
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<i>Fast forward 6 hours later…</i> really stressful day at work, I could almost taste the refreshing wave a Corona would bring as its cold, harsh, foamy texture connected with my throat. <br />
I called him ‘hey! I’ll see you in a bit’ <i>(he sounded shocked and maybe even a tad arrogant – 1st alarm, I ignored!) </i><br />
Well! We had shared a few e mails, he definitely wasn’t a health hazard or an axe murderer so what’s the big deal eh? I hopped along slightly elated ,did a tube swap at Baker Street heading dutifully to Swiss Cottage. Got out the station, exit 5, and called M.H.<br />
I was instructed to walk down the road ahead and meet him in front of Tescos’. Great I had time to call Kiki and to think… (<i>2nd alarm, was I too old fashioned, expecting a man to at least meet me at the station entrance? I’d just done a half hour trek on the sticky, sweaty tube. I ignored again!)</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<i>Ade - ‘hey babe’<br />
Kiki – hey where are you? (She always asked that like I was her damn husband)<br />
Ade – hey I’m meeting M.H for drinks babe <br />
Kiki – Get outta there babe, its too early (OMG! I hated ‘the rules’ or games)<br />
Ade – babe but c’mon, stressful day at work, drinks and good conversation req’d.<br />
Kiki – seriously hun! It’s too much power to give to him and too early too.<br />
Ade – yeah! You’re right, Shit! Shit, Shit! How am I ever going to get out of here without getting caught!!!!! (full panic set in!) And WTH am I s’pposed to tell him!!!</i><br />
<i>Kiki – Babe! You’ll think of something, (it was an order)</i><br />
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<br />
I did my best ever ‘bond girl/cat woman maneuver as I attempted to get away from this faceless stranger, who was probably not even chasing me, phone in one hand laughing hilariously with this silly woman on the other end of the phone… Insane! <i>(She wasn’t the one making a run for it… Lucky her!)… </i>I knew for sure almost, that he was definitely going to turn up, already ‘beetroot red’ <i>(hypothetically)</i> from laughing and crying so hard and now the damn station was evading me, <i>where was it! Shit! Shit! Shit!…</i> by this time trust me; I was legging it out of there like my whole life depended on it… hard! Panting like crazy, phone still in hand... <br />
<br />
Ten minutes later my Samsung H2 buzzed; two messages, one after the other in quick succession. I clicked,it read;<br />
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<i>‘Please tell me you are not with him right now’… </i><br />
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TBCinStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-13144644456098401222010-08-01T09:44:00.000-07:002010-08-01T11:18:49.149-07:00#2. These ones!... I luv absolutely!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbWfaV4eZXhNxYiX6M-W5Q5GSK1wo964hGfqokTqtpDfJThazEHDXvSU_jMPU_DR-7RCqNssdD3xk_XSmbw7YnmQjcFY_5l21gjYaIPpgdCZTqL6vi7yFdpcCF2tSSgSgVQ2xq7v_PpU/s1600/HairDresser.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 157px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbWfaV4eZXhNxYiX6M-W5Q5GSK1wo964hGfqokTqtpDfJThazEHDXvSU_jMPU_DR-7RCqNssdD3xk_XSmbw7YnmQjcFY_5l21gjYaIPpgdCZTqL6vi7yFdpcCF2tSSgSgVQ2xq7v_PpU/s200/HairDresser.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500485571235270386" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVcVh-pGYaYEEShX04cr5aUzWh_zETI7ZN4HUlZg9VR885NgAPxmz-xdihrAvfasiI2sEfrX3EfydDQ4bHiqppNGbPPmJspS8I-T3md7ppb0Z44yXhdvTKYZsOoIGeZ3LFzlucU9KL0A/s1600/moi.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVcVh-pGYaYEEShX04cr5aUzWh_zETI7ZN4HUlZg9VR885NgAPxmz-xdihrAvfasiI2sEfrX3EfydDQ4bHiqppNGbPPmJspS8I-T3md7ppb0Z44yXhdvTKYZsOoIGeZ3LFzlucU9KL0A/s200/moi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500485252735648306" /></a><br /><br />… The very rare beef burger I had had finally stopped mooing in my stomach, thank goodness. Sat in my hairdressers chair on the backsides of North London, I quietly reflected on my morning and my bank account, lol! <span style="font-style:italic;">(I smiled coyly at the real cute guy getting his hair braided literally two feet from me, It would be pretty weird meeting someone at the hairdressers', I discarded the thought of giving him my blog URL almost immediately! he'd probably spend longer sorting his hair than I would mine)</span>. It wasn't funny actually, 6 weeks and not yet been paid! Couldn't complain much, my demise was down to being self employed, 30 day payment terms and me not invoicing on time… It was still painful though! <br />I quickly decided that my morning was definitely a less depressing thing to write about in comparison to my constantly dwindling bank account or the discussions between me and the HSBC customer services department, which typically went something like;<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ade</span> – I’ve been charged(coyly neglecting again). I’m a loyal customer, please refund the charges (shameless begging)…<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">HSBC </span>– We did that yesterday <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ade</span> – I’m really trying to sort my finances out and you should be helping me, can I escalate to the financial ombudsman. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">HSBC</span> – Hello Miss Adeyemi , we would refund the charges this time as a gesture of goodwill.</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ade</span>- Huge sigh of relief religiously followed by my victory chicken dance! </span><br /><br />OK well not always but you sort of, kind of, get the general conversation flow. I was quickly running out of goodwill gestures. On second thoughts, my morning was probably more inspirational than interesting. <br />Shorter nights and longer days ensured that even at 7:45a.m I woke up to the slightest hint of golden sun rays enthusiastically threatening to fall through the skies. My heart steadily turned to my maker as I committed my day to Him and He returned my ode in what could only be described as a deep hug and a smile. I tossed and turned slightly longer and then reached for my HP mini and cigarettes <span style="font-style:italic;">(casually reminding myself that I needed to stop). </span><br />Face book! I covertly checked for updates and notifications and then clicked to see who was on-line… D! I had not the slightest idea that my ‘hey’ would lead to a ten minute chat and a beautiful two hr conversation. D was an older friend, male, but extremely inspiring, we spoke about everything, living principled, goals, authority and the need for it, what we were both doing now and if ‘Christians should get tattoos'. A gentle conversation yet greatly inspiring, you see D had been my pastor through my teenage years and maybe over the last few years too. I could trust and talk to him about a lot of things, he had slowly turned to becoming a friend too but still my shepherd somehow… em! Don’t ask, truth is it’s not a relationship I can define, my best attempt at explaining would just be rubbish.I can however confidently say,he is a true and genuine ‘Friend’ many of which I didn’t seem to have.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGaYfDX07_ziUN4UoYkbCndCX9K0ppo22hFelCxFQrbciXqdty5kKvM240j8lN5CvPxkW0wYlAO38W6o3S4mz9m5CZeoFBHRPLU9FmkTyv_wENUeNNIRF32576ILHuCEArfetNdwz85w/s1600/kiki.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGaYfDX07_ziUN4UoYkbCndCX9K0ppo22hFelCxFQrbciXqdty5kKvM240j8lN5CvPxkW0wYlAO38W6o3S4mz9m5CZeoFBHRPLU9FmkTyv_wENUeNNIRF32576ILHuCEArfetNdwz85w/s200/kiki.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500485761115036898" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">miss kiki!</span><br /><br />An hour later, showered and headed to one of my many ladies (the hairdresser this time), my darling amazing, and constantly talking youngest brother had decided to give me a lift.(they do have their uses!)<br />I picked up my blackberry… ah Kiki! She had finally decided to reply my rather lame attempt at apologizing for missing the party… <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">‘Hey babe, party was ridiculous, U won’t believe it, so D(almost dated) came with model friend H.B Check him on Google. And then M(current man) came 3 hrs lata. And D, H.B and M all went to same school… like shiiiiitttt! Thankn God! I never duck’d D. Cause M was like how’d you know D? Omg! Omg! then H.B decided he would like us to go on a date, so now its even more stupid. So my aunty and 2 uncles’ slept ova, wish u had come’! Kall!!! </span><br /><br />I silently cursed the mooing burger,hurried S off the phone after giving an even lamer explanation as to why <span style="font-style:italic;">Cabernet Sauvignon</span> was way better than <span style="font-style:italic;">Merlot</span>.. all that drama and I missed it… *sigh*… Hi Babe… I heard her shriek and I knew the party had indeed been ridiculous…inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-91040228687653754992010-07-31T07:53:00.001-07:002010-07-31T14:46:27.681-07:00#1. Running to… Running From… Same Difference?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpywVL3brRIptToz2eSyF8XMDWc7TUkaoM1qR-HySU-D5ENFpAqP8UNO59fyi4uev79EaCI23q5yMUqFxh_ywNhaZB__xt1iSsGntRuuDlDN9hU5-F5y56MOYlBshx8bU0nDwt4CQaPXc/s1600/n300187.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpywVL3brRIptToz2eSyF8XMDWc7TUkaoM1qR-HySU-D5ENFpAqP8UNO59fyi4uev79EaCI23q5yMUqFxh_ywNhaZB__xt1iSsGntRuuDlDN9hU5-F5y56MOYlBshx8bU0nDwt4CQaPXc/s200/n300187.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500090080186740354" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPlTT-huB62jZEo0yO4JvIUDLoSlbviUCyP0wvfFmCbn1yylZOzWi353pFOutR8MR3Fvii-72umF9BbbKAP1VJD6aVJPqS7RaXzwcxaqeow6n0e94E_RvrNeAGpyBOx350_CwKtja77Y/s1600/hakkasan-london.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 284px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPlTT-huB62jZEo0yO4JvIUDLoSlbviUCyP0wvfFmCbn1yylZOzWi353pFOutR8MR3Fvii-72umF9BbbKAP1VJD6aVJPqS7RaXzwcxaqeow6n0e94E_RvrNeAGpyBOx350_CwKtja77Y/s320/hakkasan-london.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500089447554585602" /></a><br />I glanced at the digital time display on my Blackberry one more time and could hardly believe it was 3.00pm. I had no idea where my day had gone or was going.<br /><br />Aaaarghhh! The newest addition to my vocabulary, only difference was I wasn’t speaking it this time, I was feeling it. Glancing covetously at the rays of sunlight soaking the green, green lawn on the other side of my window, or my mom’s windows until I moved in a few weeks, I felt my stomach cringe… again. A rude reminder as to why I had missed my business class this morning, why I wasn’t at Kiki’s house just yet for the party (she’d only constantly gone on about it for the last two weeks. I’d had it all planned out; business class till noon and then straight to Kiki’s) Damn! I was still vegged out on my mom’s couch in pain. Yup! aaarrggghhhh! Is exactly how I felt. <br />I had absolutely disregarded the CBS Drama reruns of Dynasty and given my very precious time to Lindsey Kelk as I purred through the pages of her book; ‘I heart NewYork’. I hear you say we all got it free in our August ‘Glamour’… agreed! But I personally heart ‘I heart NewYork’ and I considered ‘Angela Clark’ as a Pseudonym two seconds ago:) bite me!<br /><br />I didn’t have the slightest idea why my stomach had decided to betray me and then ruin my plans for the day, all I knew was that it was succeeding, insane growling in tow. I finally decided living horizontally and in an almost near vegetative state for a day might actually do my overworked self some good. It was my consolation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZCF3Og5n57pu7THklpgfuQpcumbEOgcvvwEwj7Che4t_Zl1H-nAHKf_Df6HVGwSFlyQnjpIV1yQlgvKjwJOpMxjDQc7I1QWXU337c8wSHSzYnv7ELnyXv39lSaCvBd3e3o4Q0nW-jc0/s1600/ade.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZCF3Og5n57pu7THklpgfuQpcumbEOgcvvwEwj7Che4t_Zl1H-nAHKf_Df6HVGwSFlyQnjpIV1yQlgvKjwJOpMxjDQc7I1QWXU337c8wSHSzYnv7ELnyXv39lSaCvBd3e3o4Q0nW-jc0/s320/ade.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500089610922599922" /></a><br /><br />My thoughts slowly cascaded through Friday, as I did a mental check on what I had eaten, I needed to blame something or someone, was it the gorgeous mix of muesli, Greek yogurt and fruit I’d had for breakfast or the very rare beef burger I’d had at the Union for Lunch or the handful of chili’s I’d piped into dinner… Hang on! The union, the burger was so rare it had virtually mooed at me. Aaarrrggghhh! My stomach cramped up slightly tighter. I decided to rest my ‘Nancy Drew’ hat and gloves, silently resolving to pray the pain away. I let my mind wander further; the last few weeks brought a cheeky smile to my lips accompanied with a feeling of utter control. A bad break up and a failed attempt to move back to Africa, my roots, had seen me safely back to London. I’d only just lived here the last 10 years.<br /><br />The daily commute to the city, the breath taking colosseumic entrance to the British museum, the intoxicating sniffle from hot dog hawkers on crowded streets, the iconic representation of Harrods and Selfridges, the humid, windy summers, the almost intimidating Gherkin as it reared its most beautiful head through the city, fabulous restaurants and amazing pubs; the waterway, 55, Claridges, Hakkassan, Umu… but even more fabulously the freedom and liberty to be open and to be me.<br />I smiled, London made me smile and then I realized, I was doing exactly what Lindsey’s main character was doing; learning me, finding me as I rediscovered the city I had come to love so much over the last decade. Geographically we were 7,000 miles apart, she NewYork and I, London…<br />Am I running from or running to? I carefully brushed the tedious question away… my answer was simple enough!<br />I’m not bothered and its absolutely amazing… Damn! I’d turned down a hen night, a friend had invited me to tonight… aaarrrghhh! Pain again!inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7809470267942390667.post-76705204197254981892010-07-30T17:20:00.000-07:002010-08-09T22:35:35.798-07:00Randomly me...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GgqbpNlAd5F5aspzmI2pMOZkm0ynz8NNXTjLzmJCKfPvXkXMXoKcXTzWE7qS0ICBEFqCbgIft_2FE4DfVXgf6vI8qVSRnmVWXGj0Ji6G7_5huDAFbeJl9LNOiLw9cVM-mHhy46PRVN0/s1600/gal-louboutin-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499867341653556994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GgqbpNlAd5F5aspzmI2pMOZkm0ynz8NNXTjLzmJCKfPvXkXMXoKcXTzWE7qS0ICBEFqCbgIft_2FE4DfVXgf6vI8qVSRnmVWXGj0Ji6G7_5huDAFbeJl9LNOiLw9cVM-mHhy46PRVN0/s320/gal-louboutin-1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 213px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
...all I did was get in from work this evening with this insatiable desire to blog!...aaarggghhh! unreal! not again... My name's Ade and I'm a short term, serial blogger. I have started and deleted too many blogs, hadn't this unnecessarily complicated 29 1/2 year old living on the inside of me simply figured out that I was an excellent 'starter' and that was it. I sometimes wonder if I suffer from ADHD/ADD *sigh*... hmmmm!<br />
The internal struggle went on for all of five minutes and of course, the starter in me won, however we laid down some ground rules. I WILL blog and I WILL post pictures. This time we're not anonymous and we'll write fun and useful stuff. We'll update at least once a week and we would love for you to comment.p.s we will moderate :)<br />
We will not get too personal and we won't bare it all.<br />
At 29, oh and a half, I've slowly become very self aware, fantastically the last few months have been amazing and I'm almost too scared to close my eyes, You might want to ask why '?'... In the very wise words of Aerosmith - 'I don't want to miss a thing' simply,oh by the way I'm extremely vain, I need the beauty sleep and I did watch an episode of 'House' in which the very sexy Hugh Laurie insinuated that death was unavoidable after 14 days of being awake,does it matter that he's not a real doctor? (note to self - call Mo and check). My point is 'I must sleep', so I decided to document almost every minute of the next few years. Hopefully you'll get to know me if you don't already or maybe even just get to know me better.<br />
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Apart from loving all things Jimmy Choo, I carry a lifetime goal to be totally happy, the ultimate point where ying meets yang... I completely adore 'Carrie Bradshaw' not Sarah... Carrie, and pathetically, desperately want her life. I do wonder is 'Carrie' all that she is because she has Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte and maybe even 'Big'... or would she be 'Carrie' without the crew?<br />
I am a bit of a tomboy - slowly converting, that's definitely down to the engineer in me and finally my penchant for life is second to none. I simply luv to live. The next few years will be extremely significant to me...networking events, great parties, a bit about work and my journey to starting a business, I'll keep you informed on fab events,my time at central St. Martins, great recipes, great restaurants, McDreamys' and McSteamys', literally anything and everything. As all Londoners know, we live in an incredibly exciting city. Samuel Johnson says it excellently 'when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life'...I absolutely heart London!!! <br />
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I simply live a daunting mass of contradictions... <br />
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A<br />
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p.s enjoy the louboutins! Whats a girl without her guilty pleasures :)inStilettoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979919556529846138noreply@blogger.com3