Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
tout va de travers
tout va de travers; translation: everything goes wrong
Bonjour, and welcome to the musings, the unprecedented and completely personal thoughts of Ariele. aka, me.
Ok, let me try to remember when we picked off. Oh yeah, meeting the adorably fiercely amazingly sexy asshole aka Mia's brother, and TDI's devil offspring. After meeting gorgeous Burbery Boy too.
Basically, I headed straight to college. It was quiet, except for the rare ocassional college student waltzing past in the arms of some other guy. I couldn't help noticing that it seemed like everyone had someone else... except for me. I sat myself in the library, giving all the middle-aged librarians the fiercest glare possible whenever they looked at the girl with the brown patch on her pants and the tired, grumpy eyes (thanks, Mia's Brother)
Anyway. So i'm reading a history on vintage handbags, (tres fascinating, merci) and contemplating my bitter fate. I'm already by then, in a sarcastically moody mindframe thanks to the biggest and hottest asshole I have ever met in my life, and my future looks dim. Never returning to my hometown, having a hopelessly mindless career wasting away while my bitch sister plays it up in Paris, boyfriend-less and lusting after Mia's brother, no matter how much I already hate him, and having a stellar attraction to Burberry boy too. My Brick dings, its loud and shrill, but none of the librarians come and tell me off, their loss, probably terrified away by my big wild eyes and the anger in my face.
You can come back now... I've already bought dinner, Thai, your favourite. xo
It's from Mia, decisively apologetic. If she knew me well enough she'd know that baguettes and cheese from France are my favourite. With escargot for dinner. I have to admit, I'm feeling a wave of homesickness, probably the result of the thousands of purposely missed calls from my busy and demanding mother.
Instead, I head home. My ugly-stylish heels are hurting, my head is throbbing, and I'm holding my phone away from my body warily. I'm debating whether to pick up another coffee, but decide against it, purely based on my new fear of crotch-stains. I finally reach the apartment, with a glower as I pass the lobby room (recalling the Ass's words) and the door flings open before I even reach distance of it. The furious babble of apologies from Mia's mouth barely deter me as I give her a cool glance (the one SuperBitchSister Giselle mastered) and head into my room. She follows intently, still babbling. "I'm sorry, you know what my Mom is like, I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking, I was stressed..." I dig through my messy closet (Damn not having a maid in this hellhole apartment) and pull out my familiar pitch black, skin-tight skinny leg jeans, (some obscure French designer that I got cheap, but yet the jeans are an absolute beauty) my sky high silver stilettos with a vengeance, my loose fitting rock singlet with a purposely-fading Kurt Cobain photo, which adds some curves in the right places when cinched in with a braided Navajoe style braided black leather belt at the waist, a leather jacket with the cuffs rolled up, my favourite black leather handbag (Fendi, too, expensive as hell but so worth it) and a shitload of jewellery, all silver bangles and dainty feminine chains on my neck,. I allow my hair to fall down my shoulders, and I apply the makeup on fiercely. And all through this, Mia is still talking. I step out of the bathroom, admire myself for a moment (I'm entitled to at least one conceited moment a day please) and smile. I turn to my roommate, and she shuts up. "I'll forgive you ... if you come with me." I say simply, heading into the kitchen. She blinks, confused. I grab a bowl and start filling it with Pad Thai. Baguettes or no baguettes, this will do. She watches cautiously as I scarf down the food. "Nightclub. You're paying, a classy one too. You better eat up, because I'm sure taking the day off work tomorrow." I give her a devil's glare that she can't refuse as she sits down beside me. I pass her a bowl silently, and she passes me a bottle of beer. I uncap it without thinking and take a long sip. Usually, beer isn't my thing- in my parisian days, I always considered it so vulgar and middle class. But now? Who gives a damn. Mia is watching me, looking a bit scared. I glance at my phone- nada. Not even from my mother, let alone Burberry Boy. I hope to God that he's playing it cool, that he is eventually planning on calling me. "One more thing." I add quickly, standing up and fluffing my hair absently. Mia looks at me silently, eyes huge. "That jackass brother of yours got a girlfriend?" She looks at me for a long moment before replying. "Let's just go, Ariele." And with that, I shrug and follow, taking my beer with me.
Bonjour, and welcome to the musings, the unprecedented and completely personal thoughts of Ariele. aka, me.
Ok, let me try to remember when we picked off. Oh yeah, meeting the adorably fiercely amazingly sexy asshole aka Mia's brother, and TDI's devil offspring. After meeting gorgeous Burbery Boy too.
Basically, I headed straight to college. It was quiet, except for the rare ocassional college student waltzing past in the arms of some other guy. I couldn't help noticing that it seemed like everyone had someone else... except for me. I sat myself in the library, giving all the middle-aged librarians the fiercest glare possible whenever they looked at the girl with the brown patch on her pants and the tired, grumpy eyes (thanks, Mia's Brother)
Anyway. So i'm reading a history on vintage handbags, (tres fascinating, merci) and contemplating my bitter fate. I'm already by then, in a sarcastically moody mindframe thanks to the biggest and hottest asshole I have ever met in my life, and my future looks dim. Never returning to my hometown, having a hopelessly mindless career wasting away while my bitch sister plays it up in Paris, boyfriend-less and lusting after Mia's brother, no matter how much I already hate him, and having a stellar attraction to Burberry boy too. My Brick dings, its loud and shrill, but none of the librarians come and tell me off, their loss, probably terrified away by my big wild eyes and the anger in my face.
You can come back now... I've already bought dinner, Thai, your favourite. xo
It's from Mia, decisively apologetic. If she knew me well enough she'd know that baguettes and cheese from France are my favourite. With escargot for dinner. I have to admit, I'm feeling a wave of homesickness, probably the result of the thousands of purposely missed calls from my busy and demanding mother.
Instead, I head home. My ugly-stylish heels are hurting, my head is throbbing, and I'm holding my phone away from my body warily. I'm debating whether to pick up another coffee, but decide against it, purely based on my new fear of crotch-stains. I finally reach the apartment, with a glower as I pass the lobby room (recalling the Ass's words) and the door flings open before I even reach distance of it. The furious babble of apologies from Mia's mouth barely deter me as I give her a cool glance (the one SuperBitchSister Giselle mastered) and head into my room. She follows intently, still babbling. "I'm sorry, you know what my Mom is like, I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking, I was stressed..." I dig through my messy closet (Damn not having a maid in this hellhole apartment) and pull out my familiar pitch black, skin-tight skinny leg jeans, (some obscure French designer that I got cheap, but yet the jeans are an absolute beauty) my sky high silver stilettos with a vengeance, my loose fitting rock singlet with a purposely-fading Kurt Cobain photo, which adds some curves in the right places when cinched in with a braided Navajoe style braided black leather belt at the waist, a leather jacket with the cuffs rolled up, my favourite black leather handbag (Fendi, too, expensive as hell but so worth it) and a shitload of jewellery, all silver bangles and dainty feminine chains on my neck,. I allow my hair to fall down my shoulders, and I apply the makeup on fiercely. And all through this, Mia is still talking. I step out of the bathroom, admire myself for a moment (I'm entitled to at least one conceited moment a day please) and smile. I turn to my roommate, and she shuts up. "I'll forgive you ... if you come with me." I say simply, heading into the kitchen. She blinks, confused. I grab a bowl and start filling it with Pad Thai. Baguettes or no baguettes, this will do. She watches cautiously as I scarf down the food. "Nightclub. You're paying, a classy one too. You better eat up, because I'm sure taking the day off work tomorrow." I give her a devil's glare that she can't refuse as she sits down beside me. I pass her a bowl silently, and she passes me a bottle of beer. I uncap it without thinking and take a long sip. Usually, beer isn't my thing- in my parisian days, I always considered it so vulgar and middle class. But now? Who gives a damn. Mia is watching me, looking a bit scared. I glance at my phone- nada. Not even from my mother, let alone Burberry Boy. I hope to God that he's playing it cool, that he is eventually planning on calling me. "One more thing." I add quickly, standing up and fluffing my hair absently. Mia looks at me silently, eyes huge. "That jackass brother of yours got a girlfriend?" She looks at me for a long moment before replying. "Let's just go, Ariele." And with that, I shrug and follow, taking my beer with me.
sheer elegance, sheer talent, sheer beauty.
i can't believe i ever doubted daisy lowe's beauty.
british eclectic angelic photoshoots always win me over.
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
andy warhol's sense of creativity and insight never fails to amaze me,his talent shines like an incandescent light amongst a pitch black world of mindless pop culture.
this portrait of mick jagger has always been one of my favourites.
you were only waiting for this moment to arise
beauty is sychronized in this photoshoot to promote jeans.
simplistic, raw, femininity, beauty, thankyou.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
