"Ahhh... Life."

I know. These words. Don't lie, you've said it AT least four times in your lifetime. Sometimes, you go days, weeks, months, having escaped these utterances, but then BAAM. The moment you least expect it, this thing called life rears its ugly, unwanted head, and brutally reminds you of its unfair existence.

I know.

By the tone of my writing, it is possible that you think that I am here to address something so heinous or ridiculously emotive to explain my wistful tone towards this thing called life. But alas, I am not. At least, I am not here to whimper about why life is unfair and blah blah blah, because, well, I am learning not to be the quintessential, whimpering girl, who let's everything and anything get to her. Emotions are a female dog, and, quite frankly, I cannot constantly weigh myself down with things which are inevitably bound to happen to me as a human.

Okay. It must seem as though I am speaking Greek.  Let us begin.  Seeing as I have a penchant for storytelling, I might as well bore you with a little anecdotal analogy of mine. Do bear with me on this. 

All my life, it seems at least, I have been living to please people. I know, now, in retrospect, I think about how much time, effort, and energy I have wasted put in to please people, and I shudder inwardly. As a teenager, I was told that my boisterous nature was not appealing, and that it meant that people would not like me. So I tried to make myself less loud, less talkative (psssh.), less... ME. Afterwards, after trying soooo unbelievably hard to be less Professor Trelawney and more Professor McGonagall,  I was accused of having a split personality, and that being two different people meant I was cunning and conniving. 

I KNOW!

Not to bore you with the intricate details of my very, well, interesting life, I shall just tell you that this exact pattern has followed me from my teens till this day. Naturally, during those formative years of my adolescence, so many things about my personality were assessed and scrutinised so often that I became quite unsure about who I was as person. I was changing myself quicker than... well... I don't know, but you get the picture, and trust me on this, juggling multiple personalities is a very tasking job. Very tasking job, I tell you.  And the worst part of it all? The worst part of it all was the fact that no matter how hard I tried to make myself into that perfect person that would please these particular people, my best was never good enough. When there was nothing to complain about, complaints about mindless things would ensue, resulting in harsh words and unnecessary antagonism. 

Yeaaaah, so it was rather hard being myself. I was so scared of what people would say, or think, or act towards me, that I became a shell of my former self in order not to let people have opinions about me. Well, I finally decided I was tired of living the life of an Egyptian slave, and thought that if I was this bad, or if my personality was this heinous, then I would like to hear it from the mouths of the WORLD itself. Screw being an emotional pansy who was being told not to act in this manner and dress in that manner, or present myself in such manner. Let's face it, all those times when I was trying to be Supergirl  and please the masses did not really work well in my favour, seeing as there was ALWAYS something I did not get right, or do right anyway. 

To cut the diatribe short, I would say that meeting my true self, and finally finding out who I was as a person was ridiculously liberating. It was like that moment in 'The Runaway Bride' where Julia Roberts finalllly realises what type of eggs she likes. I am not even kidding.  It was that bad!

Okay. So now, you've read my sob story, perhaps you can understand why I stand so strongly for individuality? If I could leave anyone with anything from this verbose article of mine, it would be that you should NEVER, EVER, let the opinions of the masses be the ultimate ruling factor of your life. As humans, we are ALWAYS prone to having opinions; even about things that are so factual, that having an opinion would be ridiculously foolhardy, but there you have it. And, although it may seem like I am preaching to the converted (or is the term 'preaching to the choir'? Ohhh I don't know), I just felt like re-iterating this point. The whole world will NEVER love you. Heck, they won't even like you. And even when you put in all your effort and sweat into trying to make yourself that person that people tell you you ought to be, that will never be ENOUGH. So, you are better off being yourself; enjoy being that crazy lady who is slightly over obsessed with Christmas and Miuiccia Prada. Ohhh... And her Ted. I know. *flutters eyelashes* I am quite comfortable being Professor Trelawney now more than ever. But if you are naturally a Professor McGonagall, then that's also cool.

BE YOURSELF. It's the best person worth being, honestly.

"If God wanted to create me otherwise, then he would have created me otherwise".

                                                                                                        - Goethe      

*P.S: Professor Trelawney and Professor McGonagall... Haaah. All my Harry Potter fans throw yo' hands in the airrrrr*

You Know That I'm No Good...

Oh dear. I came on here, left you all gagging (undoubtedly) with promises of  the stories of my travels (a la the picture).


It is now a week later, and it must obviously be running through everyone's minds that Miss Quirkyanything is a big FAT, Nigerian phony, who cannot keep her promises.

But ahhhh well. For the upteenth time on this here blog, I fall at the feet of you lovely people in blogsphere and beg for mercy. The upside to this hiatus (obviously inflicted upon me by the government AGAIN), however, is that I have a whole lot of information to let loose on here.

Screaaamm for joy people! I am going to write/type/speak/ lace you with more incoherent psychobabble!

*deadpan expression*


Ohhh...kay. So much has happened within the space of a week. Amy Winehouse is dead at twenty seven, and her father already wrote her eulogy in 2008, whilst I am still here carrying on with my life, still torn between colouring  my hair either burgundy or strawberry blonde. Yep. I want to become ginger. But that's another story for another blog post people...

So Amy's death has reallly shaken me to my very core, because I was a big fan of the little lady with the terrible problems and unshakeable demons. I always rooted for her; always likened her situation to Ray Charles' in my very warped mind, and prayed that she would turn her life around and wow all the naysayers.

But alas, like other tortured, yet incongruously talented humans like herself (Think Kurt, Jimmy, Janis), she is gone. Way too soon.

Can't say I didn't see this coming, but it is still saddening nonetheless.

Thus, in tribute to Ms Winehouse, I leave you with the distinct, heart stopping voice that made us love this lady, demons and all.

Amy Winehouse - Just Friends

Stronger than Me


xoxo

It's the weekend, so we go crazy like crazy, cos we crazy like that...

The most epic weekend yet. 

I shall be back with the sordid details. But for now, let your mind wander, imagine why I am standing next to the human with the most hilarious facial expression I have ever witnessed in my life.

hahah!!

Bisous!

xoxo

People are of this false idea that happiness is a place they get to by getting this car, having that person they can depend on: Happiness is a mood, a condition, not a destination.


... I'm catching up on my One Tree Hill... And this came up. How lovely...

When the music fades...

The brain is a weird mechanism.

Very weird. I'm beginning to think that perhaps good ole' Sigmund (Freud sounds waaay too ordinary) was actually onto something with his Superego, Id and Ego business. 

Okay. I must stop speaking metaphorically and get on with it. This is a slightly different post than expected from Queen Crazy, because, well. Every body gets their quota of unhappiness/grief/sadness/depression soon enough. There's no running away from life is there?

Hence, I re-iterate once again: The brain is a very weird piece of equipment. My last post, the one about life's ever changing routes? Weeeellll, when I wrote that, I was simply thinking aloud, you know, with maturity, realisations such as those become normal. Sometimes these realisations become reality.

Yerp. What begun as a thought has translated into my reality, because as I type, something which I can say has NEVER happened to me, has indeed happened.

I failed an exam. 

No, no... I failed three exams, to be exact. 

I have never failed at anything in my life. Especially not exams. This is not me being boastful, or claiming intelligence as my God - given right. But as is our intrinsic human nature, being accustomed to something, and having that thing taken away from you shakes you to your very core.

Upon receiving this news, my tears have been non stop. One would think I am in a situation reminiscent to Anne Frank's. I know, none of my parents are dead, I am not a Jew in a foreign country, and nobody is searching high and nigh for my body; dead or alive.

But still. 

It feels like my whole life, my existence, who I am, has changed. My feelings towards this, towards life, has taken another turn. To some people who will read this, their reactions will either be for me to get a grip on life and stop whining about something as trivial as education or exams. But to others, my feelings and my fears will   probably be a mirroring of similar experiences, albeit not through exam failure: something or someone or some situation will have or is happening to you right now that you would NEVER have thought, even if Buzz Lightyear were to become president, would happen to you.

So, as my very understanding parents have been reassuring me, I come to you with this. Reach down into your soul, spirit, chakras, or whatever (my soul, that would be, being a Jesus kid and all), and find that strength that we have all been blessed with as humans. I think the scientists, with all their love for indecipherable jargon and mumbo jumbo have labelled it less ethereally and just tagged this strength asThe Survival Of The Fittest? or something?

Yeah. Find your inner strength, your survival, your sanity blanket, channel it, and keep moving. Though it may seem like the end of life infinity times over, it really is not. It is simply, just the beginning of a new reality.

So. Keep moving. And stop crying.

P.S. This post is simply my way of publicly reassuring myself (and anyone out there in a similar  situation) that I will not become a good for nothing statistic who will, due to this my very unfortunate mishap, never be able to fulfill my life-long dream/ambition of meeting Miuiccia Prada and having her fall in love with my sunny disposition and charming personality that we become confidantes. 


Since I have so cleverly imbibed fashion into this sad ole' tale of mine, I might as well show you the shoes I am currently salivating over when feelings of dread are not overtaking my whole system...

They're New Look wedges, and they used to have them in orange, but I think they must be sold out. I figure, fingers crossed, if all goes well with my resits, and I pass, these babies will be my present to myself...

And with that, ladies and gentlefolk, I bid you farewell.

God bless!
xoxo

On having natural hair... and all that jazz in between...

 

Only when I became 'natural', did I realise there was this feud between the natural haired ladies and the ones on 'creamy crack', as relaxers have been labelled now. Ohhh madame CJ Walker. See what you've caused!

Okay, I kid. Much respect for madame CJ actually.

I like the message this lady addresses. One's decision to become natural should not become the cause for speculation on the person's motive, or a reason to attack said person. I should also point out here that I have no problem whatsoever with people who perm their hair, or use weaves. Autonomy is key in life. However, I have a problem with the misconception that without a weave, you are not beautiful. I refuse to buy into that brainwashed ideology of straight hair being the key to beauty.

I've never had a weave. No, that is a fib. I had one of those glue in  block fringe thingies sometime last year, and that was a wholeeee new experience for me, seeing as that was the closest I had ever come to having a weave. And it itched like hell. And also resulted in the worst forehead breakout of my entire existence.

Coming from someone who is still dealing with insecurity issues due to the spot- infestation puberty so kindly graced my face with, having more spots was something I was not planning on dealing with. So off the fringe went. That was the last of my weave experimentation. Hahaha... I don't think I can handle that much itching, ALL OVER MY HEAD this time, should I get a full weave done. Bad times.

Anyways, the point of this rant herein, is just to spread this simple message: 'Chill out'. Yerp. I had to resort to  the use of youthful vernacular to get my message across.

I hear too many girls voice their opinions on natural hair being ugly, and not looking as nice as fake hair, and yada yada yada...

I see too many girls sold out on the silly idea that their real hair (Be it natural or relaxed), is not fit to be shown to society in that state, unless more hair has been sewn into it, or unless their 'signature' bouncy curls have been attached to their hair.

I see wayyyy too many girls who believe that the weave(s) on their heads define who they are, and therefore have the audacity to look down on girls who decide to go natural. This saddens me.
And the WORST part of it all? I see boys, who fuel this craze for Rapunzel hair within our community by requiring that their potential girlfriends or current girl affiliates have certain types of hair, or have ' hair length requirements' which these girls must adhere to.

Before I became natural, I was already dealing with MAJOR insecurity issues. Like most girls do; not thinking I was good enough, not pretty enough, too loud, too weird, easily misunderstood, too complicated, never being referred to as 'being pretty' during conversations, too different. That was the part that scared me the most. It's amazing now how the tables have turned, and weird is the new cool, and being different is celebrated. I HATED IT. I hated always having opinions on the topics that people would rather not know about, hated that I had to make myself into this particular type of person to please these particular type of people. Hated that I was not the quintessential 'damsel in distress' teenage girl who had all the boys swooning by the faintest batting of an eyelash. I was always the 'Best friend', the girl who understood the boys' predicament, the girl who drew conversations out of people by making a total fool of herself, the girl who, despite never having been in a relationship was the ultimate relationship guru. I wanted to be that other girl. Always.

Sheesh. Talk about being riddled with insecurities, right?

And then I went natural. W..elll... I just shaved my hair off really, not intending to 'go natural' or BC as the naturalistas call it. And the insecurities are intensified with every look in the mirror, despite people telling you that your hair looks beautiful, or, the funniest roundabout compliment I recieved: 'At least it looks okay on you', okay translating to ' Well, you could have looked a lot worse than you do'. Hilarious. Going natural has been one of the weirdest experiences of my life.

Anyways, before I go on filling this space without regard for the longevity of the post or the fact that I have to get back to my revision, I shall round this up. There is enough room for both natural haired girls and non - natural haired girls on the planet. There is no need for the naturalistas to look down upon the weave - laden women out there because of some latent belief that they are more 'woman' than the girl next door with a relaxer, neither is there need for the snobbery often witnessed from the 'permers' who think having such nappy hair on display for the world to see is abominable.

Let's all take a chill pill and enjoy the sunshine. Oh and  revel in the beauty of being individually different; be it whilst rockin' an afro, or a perm.


Toodle - oo!
xoxo

Lies and Other Drugs...

You know when I bade you lovely inhabitants of blogsville farewell with the excuse of needing to study, I really meant it. I was in such a good, positive 'I have a dream' mood, that I honestly thought focusing on my revision and school work would be all I could think about till my exams started.

But. The title of this post has so very cleverly (If I may say so myself, haha) let you in on the fact that I might  have been lying. 'Cos my 'revision' proved to be somewhat futile. Amidst all the good food, and soaking up as much sun as possible (WE BRITS HAVE SUNSHINE IN APRIL! It is assuredly the weirdest thing to witness, I tell you),  and, welll procrastination, I have only managed about a day with my head in the good ole' books.

I KNOW! Poor. Horrid. I'm not being serious. I'm not prioritising. But other things seem much more, MUCH  MORE appealing, than being holed up at home revising.

Sooo... Well... I've been up to other interesting things instead. Like visiting my beautiful friend's amazing shop and exclaiming over how darling everything is. If I could take this shop home, trust me. I would have done. It is exquisite, and the decor, as you can tell from the picture above, is fantastic.

...Oh... And there's a picture of me, I guess, trying to capture the grandeur of the mirror in the shop... I love ornate Grecian mirrors. Wish I could buy every single one I come across.

Anyhowzzz, I gotta go for now. Last night with the Mother, and she wants a bit of a bonding session before we jet back off to university. Fun stuff. Just a quick update. More on the elusive 'amazing shop' to come. How cool! My first feature, shall we call it that.

Happy Easter!

love and tomato juice!

We are all intrinsically made to be SOMEONES...

This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot.  Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. 

Ecclesiastes 5: 18-19  

Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for God has already approved what you do. Always be clothed in white, and always anoint your head with oil. Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun—all your meaningless days. For this is your lot in life and in your toilsome labor under the sun.Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.

Ecclesiastes 9:7-10

... These Bible verses speak volumes to me, not because it almost condones hedonism by encouraging us to eat, be merry and make babies, but because of what I think is the main message of the whole book of Ecclesiastes. This life is not promised to us. I go through random days of nothingness sometimes, wallowing in self-pity, wondering where life is going to take me, assuming that the next day is promised to me. I neglect the simple things - simple things like the fact that I love painting, but haven't drawn since high school because I think it's a waste of time. Or the fact that I write poetry, but only limit myself to thinking these things up when I'm either earth shatteringly depressed, or in like/immensely feel something for someone. Not when things seem fine. Or, the fact that I sing, but for years, I've hidden under the 'I'm too shy' banner, thus doing nothing with what God has given me. 

There is talent embedded within every soul. Every being on earth has something or some things that make them happy, or things that cause that little twitch of excitement in their eyes once mentioned or once fulfilled. I know I get excited when people talk about the 20s. Or the 40s... Okayyyy... 50s, 60s, 70s.... all the eras except the actual one I was born in. My eyes widen, I begin talking even more so than I already do, indecipherable words like 'Oooh and Queen Nefertiti was blah blah blah', 'oooh, let me tell you about the Nubian kingdom', 'do you know that 20s fashion is still what we're thriving on in the twenty - first century?'.

So. My point? My point, ladies and gentlemen is: Find that thing that makes your eyes twitch with excitement. The one thing that elicits happiness just by your accomplishment of it, no matter how small and unimportant it might seem to everyone else. The gift(s) you can use to your happiness, your sanity, your fulfilment, to keeping your mind sane in this insane world we live in. 

We keep trying to find happiness by doing the same things, in the same ways others have done before us. Even if it has been done, or is being done by everyone already, the world has not experienced that same thing through YOUR EYES.  What do you do that the world does not know yet? DO IT AND LET THEM KNOW! YOUR TALENT IS WORTH BEING SHARED WITH THE WORLD. Your shower head probably loves when you croon softly, with your majestic voice to it, but is tired of being the only one hearing your amazing voice. Your friends and/or your diary are getting agitated by you only sharing your genius ideas with them only and not the rest of the world.

GO OUT THERE, AND BE THE YOU GOD WANTS YOU TO BE. Happiness? You want happiness? FIND YOU. AND DO YOU. Happiness is an easy A after that.

... Now I gotta go. Because, in staying true to myself, I have poured hot coffee all over myself. Gosh. Now that I have shown you what an incurable, clumsy kid I am, I might as well be back with the story of how I walked into a door and busted my lip a few weeks back. This being 'cool' façade is slowly beginning to wear thin.

Aloha friendies! 

God bless!

xoxo

Fashiony Washiony... Zashiony Mashiony?...

style.com pictures...

...Eley Kishimoto fall 2008. I was obsessed/appalled at first with their heavily clashing prints and their penchant for pattern mixing.  You know how I feel for looking like a big hot crayola mess right? Yeah.

*pictures off the eleykishimoto website: www.eleykishimoto.com*

Fast forward three years, and Mark and Wakako are still bringing it! Their Autumn/Winter 11 collection has been labelled 'Attic Fantastic', hence the granny vibes. But this is granny chic with a twist; these grannies are undercover superheroes - with the infusion of bat tights into the collection. 

I want bat tights!!!! 

Okay. I shall exeunt now, before I start telling stories about bats and the animal kingdom altogether.

... Before I leave however. Actual bats are just disgusting looking rats. WITH WINGS! OHmygoodylicious! EWWWWW to the nth degree! How is that an animal? 

Plus, did I mention my hair is beautified with a numerous number of straws? Yes... Straws. Apparently it changes the curl pattern of your 'fro. Or something of the sort. 

My mother is at it again. Threatening me with hairstyles that I have never encountered ever in my life. I trust her though, so I hope this is successful since she's used me as her guinea pig.

For the upteenth time. Oh dear.

Toodles!

xoxo

Errm... Keeping up with the Random...arshian?

Don't look at me weird for the post title PLEASE. I am normal. Very highly so, in fact. Things like these just happen to pass through my fingers... Or something.

BEFORE, I launch into a story/ode/elegy/soliloquy that has nothing to do with my post, I shall just post the video and be on my way... It's amazing. I'm finally at home, and without a doubt, my mother is ecstatic. I mean, come on, who can pass up living with the 'coolie' that I am?

Exactly what I thought. NO ONE! (This is a joke, by the by) 


Every time. EVERY TIME, I fall for the seductive lure of going back home as a form of escapism from the Durrrty South that is the region of the Londoners, to coming back to home cooked food, CHICKEN IN ABUNDANCE, and lazy days of nothingness...

But alas, it's only been day ONE, and my mother has already put me to work. 'Clean this, Oluwaseyi!', 'You see how the house was in pristine condition before you came in and scattered it all ehn' (despite the fact that all the laundry was strewn all over the sofas BEFORE I CAME IN), and 'Ahh, is this how those blogs you read say you should take care of your hair? Not combing it at all? Hmm.' After which she lunges a litany of Yoruba (The Nigerian Language I soooo proudly speak in public... 'cos it's cool to watch people's faces when that happens) about how she never fails to understand my 'style'. Like anyone does?



All onomatopoeic and whatnot. You gotta love Nigerian parents and their love for the melodramatic tone. But I love me some of that woman yo. She's just too cool for school; something I only realised last year. Blame it on the oh - so - important teenage years where NO ONE ON PLANET EARTH is as cool as yourself. I know. Isn't it funny how suddenly, they begin to make SO MUCH SENSE?

The joys of puberty and adolescence, aye?





*covers face*  I did not really plan to come on here to speak about my enslavement today; really, I didn't. But I do not control my fingers, you have to believe me. My brain does. Or shall I call it my subconscious? Or as Freud puts it, my Super Ego?


NANCY SINATRA for the world, friendies. Is she not soo cool? Isn't this, like, the perfect song to listen to when you have home work to hand in, or maths revision, or about the nuclear magnetic resonance of the structure of dinitrophenolpentamate (THAT chemical does not exist beyond this blog... Even weirder ones do, however)? The 'bang bang' and 'my baby shot me down' bits... Classy stuff.

Or something. Well, guys, I just wanted you to appreciate good ole' Nancy, her beautiful pink flapper dress, and the bouffant hairdo. 60s coolness is where it's at... And yes, I am aware flapper dresses are soo 20s, but...
... Yeah. I am happy to be HOME!

P.S, Welcome, all you beautiful people who have come to join the cool gang of quirkyanything! I hope you are not disappointed! Comment, drop an e-mail, send me free gifts, or maybe not? I like hearing all your thoughts!!!

Au revoir mi amigos! (Nothing says goodbye better than Franish, ayye?)


Okay. Goodbye guys.
xoxo

There is enough inspiration and creativity to go round in the world. It's about time people stopped thinking they invented a style, or brought about a revolution simply because YOU DID IT FIRST. There is, afterall, NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. Egyptians and Arabs started wearing HAMMER PANTS. They're famous 'cos of MC HAMMER. Emos (and my father's generation)wore drainpipes first; I thought they looked like idiots. Now hip-hoppers, scene kids, heck EVERYONE's wearing skinnies. It's not really about what you started doing or what you started wearing that matters, It's about knowing that what you do is your way of voicing out your identity through these various creative means.

...Plus, my mama said there was nothing wrong in copying good things. 

There is a big difference between LOVE and LUST; one sees. The other sees through you. 


#undercoverromantic

Hair-ology...

Excuse my attempt at posing in a 'cool' manner. This seems to be the only picture I took in which I do not look like a complete and utter Napoleon Dynamite-esque dork.

Can you seeeee the progression of my 'fro? Ohmygoodness! All the protective styling, the co-washing, the deep conditioning, the asking my father to purchase shea butter for me from Nigeria, seems to be working! I am on my way to gettin' my Esperanza on people! Watch this space!

I seem to talk about Espy  a lot on this thing. Sorry.

And, I cannot take pictures with anything other than a phone. Hence why there is no 'variety' in the way these photos look. Apologies.

Plus, just in case you were wondering, I do indeed love my mirror very much. Hence why I take most of my pictures in front of it.

Bleurgh.

Happy Mother's Day!!!!

"You with the sad eyes..."

...I've noticed that of recent, my post titles tend to be quotes; unauthentic and stolen from other great minds. Take this post title, for example. It has nothing to do with anything, it just so happens that my iTunes has decided to play the Glee version of Jill Scott and Fredro Starr's 'True Colours' at this precise moment, thus leading to its name.

Not that I would have thought of an appropriate post title anyway. But... Oh well. These things happen.

We shall begin, before I go off on another pointless rant on this thing. It's almost going on 2am here, I have a test tomorrow that I know pretty much NOTHING about (I promise I am not a slobby university student who is at uni simply for the 'experience' and the 'bursaries'. I actually want to secure myself a future of some sort... Buuuut, trust me when I say that studying Pharmacy is not for the faint hearted) , and blogging is what has taken my interest right now.  Earlier, I was trying on all the shoes in my wardrobe, before that, I was wowing the people on twitter with mindless, unneccesary information (a la the existential purpose of twitter), and even before that, I gave myself a break to get myself  a MUCH DESERVED Skittles milkshake. 


Do not fret; despite my warped prioritization skills, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will not be sleeping tonight. It has to be done, eh?

Anyways, to the matter at hand. I have noticed yet another trend within my age group. Boys are falling in love, girls are falling in love with love, everyone's listening to Esperanza's 'Fall In' on repeat, girls are sighing and looking wistfully into oblivion during those uber romantic scenes in movies  (YES.. Okay. I fall into this category...) and as a result, news of emerging relationships are reaching me as quickly as Facebook status updates. Is it just me, or is it the same everywhere else?


Added to the fact that we are about ushering the WONDERFUL MONTHS OF SUMMER in. I know what you're thinking. Relationships and summer are like, the best combinations ever invented.

Only after PB&J sandwiches though.

But, yeah. Relationships. I honestly do not know what to make of them. I really wanted one during the winter months, so  I could be the proud owner of a six-foot something, Boris Kodjoe looking, guitar-toting, personal radiator. Note that I used the word 'own'. It's bad, I know. Priorities again, right? I'm still at that point where I want a relationship more for the aesthetic, Hollywood instilled reasons. For emotional stability; to be a constant in my life. The guy I could demand a cuddle from at the most unreasonable of moments, or who would let me babble on and on... and on... about how Miuiccia's shoes are a godsend, even when he has no CLUE whatsoever if Miuiccia is a brand of vormicelli, talk less of being human.

I haven't even given any thought to what HE might want from me. Not once. Not ever. My idea of an ideal relationship is always based on how much he can do for me, never once stopping to think about his feelings. Like, how he'd probably expect me to understand that when he's playing those silly games or watching some sport or the other, he is not to be disturbed?

... I guess, for right now, at this point in my life, listening to Esperanza croon about how she's found heaven by falling in love should be as far as my 'relationship' dreams go.

As well as constantly watching this video...



...Because I don't want to 'end up with HIM'. Deep stuff yo.

I must exeunt now!!!

Off to try and get some information about bacteria into my brain.

So long lovelies!
xoxo

'You give me the sweetest taboo...'// Holly Fulton for London Fashion Week '11

The post title is, in fact, somewhat correlated to the post this time. So I guess congratulations are in order!

More congratulations are in order as well, as I am no longer talking to myself on here! Alas, I have friends; people who are 'following' the ramblings of my OBVIOUSLY sane mind! Welcome guys, thank you so much for joining the party! As a result of this new development, I shall blog more often... And, about meaningful things (I will try, I promise I will)!

Once again, I am like so like totally like BOMBED that I like have followers. (The use of American vernacular  is definitely essential, so as to make you realize the depth of my excitement.)


Okay. Maybe I told a little fib; about the title relating to the post herein. It does, simply because I wanted to express my love for Sade's music, as well as the fact that I have an exam in about eight hours, yet blogging about mundane topics such as fashion *yawn* and music *yaaawn* seem to be my motive right about now. That, in itself, is a taboo so sweet, people. (continues song... 'you've got the biggest heart, sometimes I think you're just too good for me...')


On to the fashion now. I figure I should press on, si? non? Si!
Remember how I was excited  that it was Fashion Week season?  Well yeah. And I did not finish my ramblings about LFW! There were tonnes of shows I was in love with.  Holly Fulton was one of them actually. Holly Fulton is not a designer I am actually conversant with; but then again, I do not claim to be a fashion know- it- all. Hey, I rank Betty Suarez high in the 'fashionista' league tables... In some places, such ethos warrants my being blown to smithereens like Dexter's experiments...

HOLLY FULTON, without any more talkations from yours truly...

*Images from style.com...

OHMYGOODNESS. I am in LOVE! Yeah, I know I have used this very important word a lot of times these past days, but believe me when I say I am not using it lightly. You really have to. The collection is fun, playful, uber feminine (She changed the stereotype of  the sexy stripper girl leather micro-mini tight, cheap looking leather skirt into something classy and regal, a la Catherine Baba. I luuuurrrrve Catherine Baba. She is... just... phwoar...). Plus, did I mention that I love the colour yellow?

...Yeah. Totally dig The Fulton henceforth. You can really tell when I like/love/am obsessed about someone, when they start being referred to as The *insert cool name/person/animal here*

Holly Fulton, feel free to mail me a dress. I will write NICE things about it. Preferably the yellow one above. 

Many thanks,

Me.

Goodbyeeeee guys! I have an exam to revise for!

Toodledooo,

xoxo

The 2011 inspiration// Perhaps a tumblr would be better...?

First and foremost, hello there members of the society we inhabit. Firstly, I would like to point out that it's been an age since I spoke to myself (and the possible homo-sapiens that stumble upon this) on this thing. The abominable hiatus is simply due to my inability to find time to rant about the important nothings swarming in my oh-so very sane head.

Alas! Today is a turning point for me, I promise! Given how happy and VERY fulfilled filling this space with all the goodies my brain has to offer makes me, I figure I might as well keep talking to you myself on here. Sanity did not make my New Years' Resolution list this year again, i'm afraid.

But we must press on. Do you know what is going on right now, as we converse? Do you? DOOO YOU? It's only fashion week. I mean, I don't want to be there or anything. I'd much rather write up IMPORTANT essays about visits to claustrophobic little pharmacies which lasted all of two hours and cost me money which could be put to good use in a nice charity shop. But I digress. Yet again.

ITS FASHION WEEK!

I'm vereeeeee excited. VEREE. It's insane. Have you taken a peep? And despite the fact that I am aware that about a gazillion other blogs are ranting about this very same topic,  I cannot seem to bring myself to stop. It's that SHMARMAZING. One of these days, You shall see, on this very same blog, pictures of yours truly at LFW looking all jazzed up and dressed like an aubergine. Or... something.

So. Before I start telling you about my pet piranha (which I don't have), on to the beauties...

Sass&Bide Fall 2011...

They are mixology queens. Nuff spoken/said/exclaimed... And the colours!

L.A.M.B...

 

Mixology. It is a way of life. Be a cool kid, and wear random clothing. It makes you feel tonnes better. 

Androgyny?!? Do you see this? Do youuu?! I'm safe to keep on stealing Daddy's blazers is what this tells me. I'm doing something RIGHT!

 Okay. I'll stop now. You can see how overexcited this all makes me. I'm shivering with excitement. Obviously, that was an exaggeration. Get with the programme kids! 

There's Holly Fulton to exclaim over, Topshop Unique to... erm... love... Because, really, I do love them... Sometimes. Christopher Kane... VIVIENNEEEEE -

*normalcy kicks in* Unfortunately, I have those pharmacies to write about. Before Wednesday. Erm. So. This love connection we have is cut short by reality once again. Apologies.

Tomorrow, we shall continueeeeeee!!!!

It's been OH SO FUN getting re-acquainted!!! *smothers kisses*

A bien tot. Au revoir... wddyddbdd

The Queen!

Bisous! xoxo

P.S: Totally kidding about the tumblr thing. ME? Tumblr? Hello? Retardation??? LOL!

* All the pictures are off style.com. Where would we be without them ehhh?*

Things I like to focus on...

I've realised something all of a sudden about my fascination with fashion, if I may call it that. It's not so much the clothes designed, or the beauty of the overall collection that attracts me to a designer's artistry, more the knowledge of the message the creator is trying to pass on through his or her medium of expression. Because that is, in my opinion, the main crux of fashion; expressing one's self through an array of pieces brought together to depict a feeling or emotion, or in some cases, tell a story.

Sidebar: This is what I do. I like catwalk shows not because I can see my self clad in a table chair, or crustacean claws as a hat, but more from a literary perspective. Sue my love of Literature for this.

Anyhows. Hello there... Why am I telling you this? Well, because, I am slowly making my way through all the POP magazines my university library has to offer. POP, because well, Vogue is morphing into something my mind cannot comprehend, Harper's Bazaar is pretty much the same as Vogue, and POP has just the right amount of randomness to suit me. A girl's gotta do what she can to survive, right? I know.

So, yeah. POP magazine. Despite its overload of naked...I mean, nude (since naked is more associated with the sexual things in life and nude is what the 'artists' call their overtly showy portraits/photographs of NAKED people... I'm as confused as you are on this. Really confused) women from page to page, the magazine has quite a lot to offer. Like the December '06/ January '07 issue I'm reading right now - Yes. I'm reading it almost four years on, but that is not what we are focusing on. The focus, right now, are the interviews; the ones with John Galliano and Giles Deacon, to be precise. Not a particular avid follower of what these two designers do, but some seasons of theirs do catch my eye on occasion. But given my partiality to people who hail from random- city, I think I might've just fallen in like with Giles Deacon, especially.

"Obvious isn't what we want to do. Concentrated randomness - that's how we work, I suppose. It's those last minute tangents that are often the most interesting."
                                             - Giles Deacon

Giles RTW fall 06; style.com. Halleluyah to the randomness.

"With haute couture, we're challenging people to dream. It's also a laboratory of ideas, where we create pure and undistilled parfum..."
                                            - John Galliano

The last two pictures somehow remind me of Elsa Schiaparelli's collections, somehow. The kookiness of the colours, the hat, right down to the stance. And the bottom one is almost reminiscent of her collaborations with Dali...

Yeah. These are definitely my kinda guys. Random + heavy influx of imagination/dreaming = a very happy me. It's just something else to look forward to, is it not? Randomness is a unique sect of spontaneity, hence why I am such a believer in it. So when you hear, or read designers define their work to you, all of a sudden, what looks like a mahoosive ball of fur/masterpiece of  horror... ahem... Chanel's fall 2010 fur collection, may make sense. Depending on what exactly, the designer says, and how well it resonates with your psyche.


(The Chanel collection is still mystifying to me, whatever anyone may say. WHAT was Lagerfield thinking? That... erm...? NO. Still can't understand it)

Chanel fall 2010.Nuff said.  ??? [source]

Okay. Well. I have said enough for now. Going to keep the countdown alive! Yaaaay to Christmas!!! *face palm*. Ariberderci!

xoxo

 

Hello there/ In other news/ I should be making notes on spectroscopy...

I guess I need not bother with pleasantries, seeing as I am so clever and have killed three birds with one very FAT rock, and said hello in the title.

*By now, unnecessary rants such as the one above should be expected on here, you know, given the blog in question (muffled giggles)*


Yeah. I should be making notes on spectroscopy and how important it is that I know about the speed of light to save a patient's furry tongue, or itchy testicle (these things are real, believe me. And WE PHARMACISTS have to deal with these issues. Gahhh.), because OBVIOUSLY, the frequency and the wavelength of light and radiation and the like are expedient to my becoming an excellent health professional.

Sidebar: I am posting this in my house mate's room, and she is talking to her laptop. Seriously. Telling it how she's going to get lost or something, and obviously enjoying the conversation she is having with herself... I mean, laptop. And she is the main culprit for calling me weird. Imagine. (shakes head)


ANYHOW, it seems I am running out of nonsense to post on here these days. Actually, scratch that. I am full of nonsense to put on here, but instead, I have decided to torture my loverly friends/colleagues/house mates with all my psycho babble. Annoying them is ORGASMIC. Really. And... um... yeah.
  But, addressing the OTHER NEWS aforementioned, did I mention already that we have ourselves a spanking, beautilicious, smarmazing house? Yeah. We do. It looks... GORGE, for no other word describes my gushy feelings for our home. (Gorge, you know? Ewww...)

I have the biggest wardrobe, as if the Fates knew that my little town would be selling couture for 50pence all summer, which I WOULD INEVITABLY purchase (and oh my, did I purchase! lol), thus causing me to have quite a number of cool clothes, if I may say so myself. And humbly so, even (Such humility, eh?). Do not fret, soon, when I can convince a camera that we can be acquaintances, I will do a haul post on all my beautiful finds of summer.
      Which, finally, leads me to the reason behind this post. My latest beautiful summer find. And please. No need to remind me that we are more in winter than autumn, let alone summer, but, it's back to the Fates again, because, actually, the sun was shining today. Brightly, as a matter of fact. And I think it may have had something to do with me. You see, my shoes came today.


(Insert wails/screams/body fluids representing excitement, depending on whatever culture you belong to)

So, my shoes. Boots. Yes, boots. My red, tartan, Dr Marten boots. Mm-hmm. They turned up today, after being highly anticipated. After running home straight after lectures everyday since last week to wait for the damned postman to deliver my bundle of orgasmic joy, it finally came. And please. Despite the fact that Dr Martens are not seen as anything special any longer to some people given the ubiquitous overhaul of military boots and the like overshadowing the beauty of good ole' Docs, I am still ecstatic over mine. So much so that I almost...actually did run downstairs scantily clad to receive them. But common sense made me run back upstairs, and address the postman from the stairs, rather than in my bra and panties. Amen to wisdom!

To save you (and my fingers and my imagination) from the sordid details of why my babies came so late, I shall simply tell you this. They are MAGNIFICENT. So much so that I want to take them to bed with me, and stroke them all day long.

I think I'll settle for my feet to get all their sweet sweet loving however. Rational huh?

I am SO very proud of myself for finding such a pair of beauties, and look forward to treating them with exceedingly great care and love throughout our relationship. LOVE has only just begun.

*Unfortunately, no pictures of ze boots atm. Because of my retardedness with a camera, no doubt, BUT tomorrow, I shall be with able bodied, normal homo sapiens, who can work those darned things. Amen*


For now, these pictures from the website will have to do. But TOMORROW!!! Oh.... I am more than excited right now. Screw you, spectroscopy. Dr Martens need to be reverenced and adored!

Yeah. Okay. Bye for now...

Finally reading Chimamanda's 'Half of a Yellow Sun', and I'm liking it so far. What a hormonal little boy Ugwu is. Bless him... But, off to make a scrumptious, gooey chocolate cake, to commemorate my darling boots. Because I am very cool and obviously sane. Yes!

Okay. Goodbye fah' reals now.


Aloha!
xoxo

'It seemed to her such nonsense - inventing differences, when people, heaven knows, were different enough without that. '

So, I have this crazy habit of publishing a post and then viewing it once it has been published on ze blog. And I realised something. This blog is really, going nowhere. It has no beginning, no precise message; sometimes it is about art, other times it is pretty much about nothing. Which is more often than not. And then I start thinking about what exactly the main essence, if you like, this blog of mine is about, who exactly it resonates with, and why the hell... I mean heck, I keep writing on here. 

Sorry for being rude. Hello, happy Sunday everyone. Hope you are feeling fine. I want to make you happy... Sorry, again. Singing a song in writing? Weirdness. 

 Erm. As I was saying in writing, I am still trying to figure out where exactly this blog is going. And considering the fact that I am possibly, the world's worst planner-aheader (sorry. But if Shakespeare could make up words, then so can I), I still cannot tell you where I want this thing to go. Which pretty much sums up my little life. And no, this does not mean that I don't have direction or whatever the Dalai Lama would call my situation. In my case, I think this lack of "direction" stems from being a dabbler. Yes. That is what I would like to think it is. I dabble. A lot.

You see, I am a chronic learner. I want to know it all. But not in an arrogant, I-have-to-know-everything-so-I-can-show-you-how-much-better-I-am-than-you kind of quest for knowledge, more like, my mind just yearns for constant information (At least I hope I am not arrogant. If I seem that way, then please, do forgive me). I want to see things like the Ancient Roman Ruins and Michelangelo's 'David', and stand there for ages taking awful tourist-y pictures and appreciate Michelangelo's bravery, for hacking off the part of his sculpture that drew the most attention. I want to walk along a Parisian side walk and buy pain au chocolat from a real French boulangerie; speak the little French I can remember and have the locals make awful fun of me. I want to go to Italy, and marvel at the sheer sophistication of Italian ladies and eat real pesto. And learn how to sew properly, and possibly, how to work a camera. And soak in as much of Gaudi and Salvador Dali as my brain would let me in Spain. And meet Miuiccia Prada and Anna Dello Russo, because I still haven't met a woman who has leopard print wallpaper in her home, and wears a daring lacy number like she did and still be on my 'Women That I Respect list'. Miuiccia, because, despite my vehement dislike of her fall 2010 shoes, I can understand it from an 'artistic' perspective. But her quirk works for me, so much so that I would not mind if my wedding dress were covered in a million nude women. LOL. My mother would hyperventilate of humiliation, were that to happen.

Erm. Cobra shoes? I think i'll pass. They'd look nice to hang my jewellery on however. (MiuMiu, fall 2010; style.com)

There are, obviously, countless other things I want. Flimsy little things like owning a puppy named Daffodil, a little kitten (Still unsure of what I would call it), as well as living in Peru whilst tending to dolphins. Oh, and a couple of goldfish as well. Quite a couple, actually. Goldfish make me happy. However, these things do not technically, fit the stereotypical characteristics of a person who is at university studying Pharmacy, do they? No, they do not. My university friends look at me surprisingly and annoyingly when I have my momentous outbursts about supposedly flimsy topics, or when I sit for hours reading out '1920s: A complete account of the Jazz Age' aloud whilst we're trying to study genetics. Even my mother and brother look at me with bewilderment most of the time. And, although I have come to the conclusion that I am a bit on the weird side, I cannot help but wonder why it is that I feel so passionate about things that others do not care the slightest bit about, or why others seem to assume that the reason behind one's "difference" if I may call it so, is simply a questfor attention.

Altogether, I guess what the main point of yet another pointless rant is that no one is as we expect them to be. No one is everybody, if that makes sense. It made more sense in my head than written down. What I mean, is that ultimately, there are no two people on earth who are alike in every way possible anyway, not even identical twins. Difference is an inherent trait in humans, so much so that we cannot comprehend who we ourselves are really, yet try to understand others and explain who THEY are. I do not know what exactly it is that has caused such heavy sentiment on my part; maybe because I have lived a big chunk of my life trying to be someone I am not in the hopes that I please everyone. Maybe it is because I am so scared that the path of life is not straightforward and this lack of direction terrifies the hell.. I mean heck out of me. Or maybe I am, like every other twenteen (nineteen and eight months, to be precise) year old teenage-adult out there in the world, coming to the realisation that life is one mystical bubble of mixed experiences. I really do not know what it is. But what I do know is this: I am glad that I am finding out, slowly but surely where I fit into in this world.

...I guess this is another lesson this long, sometimes hot summer has taught me also. That I am the only ME, there is. Or something.

Oh, and, once I have figured out where this blog is going, I shall be excited to tell you. But right now, it's going with the wind. Do bear with me.

Laterwafer!

xoxo

* Title- excerpt from Virginia Woolf; 'To the Lighthouse'. 

'What's wrong? Is it your dysmenorrhea? It's your dysmenorrhea right? '...

Erm (with stressed emphasis on the r'...). Hi.


It is probable that whoever stumbles upon this blog/ masterpiece of articulated nothings will think of me as none other than neurotic. Thank you, if that's what you think! You have officially, made my day.


Unless you know, you really do think I have brain problems, a la the real meaning of the word neurotic. Of which I don't. And thanks for listening to that unnecessary prologue to this post.


Anyhows. I shall begin by (kindly) telling you what 'dysmenorrhea' means. It is the lady's monthly friend, that three - to- five days inconvenience  (yet vitally important for ze baby making) known as our PERIOD. 'Dysmenorrhea', is simply the scientists' way of making 'artistic' people (that is, all people who are not excited about DNA and electromagneticism. Yes, all you hardworking lawyers and the like are artists) feel inferior at our ability to use such irrelevant words on a daily basis when words such as 'period' would suffice. Unfortunate, isn't it? 


What is even more unfortunate is that after hearing your professor use the word 'dysmenorrhea' infinity times during one lecture (whilst making a litany of grammatical errors), you find yourself telling jokes that include the word. And it saddens me that this is what my life is to become in the years to come.

At least this time, the dysmenorrhea joke wasn't mine! No, it was my friend's attempt at making me smile on my 'this is not a good day, why-is-life-so-skittles-and-how-come-no-leprechauns-can-give-me-lucky-gold' day. And did I LOL! So much, because i'm sure he was semi-serious when he asked, more so because a) he   most likely did not want to know about my 'dysmenorrhea' related problems and b) he's just nice and caring like that and was willing to factor my feminine cycle into my unhappiness. And the whole thing got me thinking about the good ol' days when all life was about was;

Playing outdoors half-naked, smothered in Dusting Powder with the neighbours. There were no baby - snatchers or child fondlers to watch out for (Thank God for that... what with me naked and all!)

Waiting for The Flintstones to be on at 7pm and hoping to sneak in two more cartoons before bedtime.

Playing shopkeeper with empty tins and biscuit boxes AND old magazines and newspapers right down to making the damn money to buy our 'goods' with. *Gosh that shop had it all... Hot chocolate, Coffee, Milk... you name it... So who cares if it was in my mother's well kept sitting room? *

Teaching my teddies and dolls how to spell and write their numbers... And beating the crap out of them when they weren't listening *Do NOT even attempt to judge*

Deciding what colour hair bubbles were going to beautify my afro puffs for Sunday School...


Watching Tom&Jerry with such avid concentration for HOURS(I can't watch it for more than ten minutes these days), and wanting to go to Looniversity. Yes.

Well... Enough of the nostalgia. Just writing this is reminding me of the immense, childlike happiness I felt back when there were no 'I wonder if he knows I even exist/why do I like him so much' thoughts on my mind, or 'why the heck am I not in Peru fulfilling my life long dream of grooming dolphins and studying to become a boring 9-5ing pharmacist?'. Or even freaking 'dysmenorrhea'  problems. 

Ugh.

The other day, I spent the better part of two hours talking with a six year old about her favourite things in life (said kid happens to be dysmenorrhea- joker's sister, btw), which includes everything Disney Channel has to offer, and then some. So, the conversation, as you've guessed was of the 'Troy - Gabriella' persuasion... And she told me every. single. detail. about the movies, all three of them, right down to the part where Troy's stuck in a tree talking to Gabriella. And that happiness I'm going on about was so very evident in her voice, that I wanted to be that little kid again, who watched too many cartoons and begged her mother to buy her Oliver Twist when she was seven.  I miss that aspect of my life!

So now, i'm determined to get back to that happy place. Enough of the wallowing, of the feeling sorry for myself and those poor dolphins who could be getting some of my lovin', and all the crap life has to offer in SPADES. Starting from today, hopefully. Yours truly shall get back into society, and actually talk to real people, not just talking to myself on Twitter. 

Amen. Thus, from this, I have decided that i'm going to paint pictures from my happy happy times... Like Tom  & Jerry and all my other favourite cartoon characters for my room at university! So that whenever I feel crappy, I have Wilma's face staring down at me... Or Blossom... Or Shaggy!

I guess the point of 'THIS' is to encourage you to find your happy place as well... or something... Okay? Look for it and have fun with it! Because life is way too short to wallow. Trust me.

Yeah. I should get going now. Too much talkations... Not good eh? Sorry.

Bisous and escargots!

xoxo