Monday, 30 June 2008


So I haven't written on here in so many days and it's really bothering the heck outta me, how my interest is slowly waning with this blog. I find writing for it is becoming too much of an obligation, what with fuckin shit like Fiction Friday and Song of the Week and all that bull crap. Which is why I won't be on here much longer. Plus the pink and my big ole face is starting to get to me, not to mention the fact that I foolishly signed up for a shitty ass ad on my blog. Yeah, it's all highly unfunnable now. I'm going for something more simple the next time around, black and white and the grey areas of my mind, and I wouldn't have to write a god damned thing everyday if I didn't want to. Hear hear. I'll let you know when that's happening of course, because I still love you.

And like...I'm dying to get my hands on the skull-printed trunk that Madonna was carrying around in Desperately Seeking Susan? I CAN'T FIND A PICTURE FOR YOU FOR NOTHING THOUGH?! It's pissing me off. That would've been a great post. Regardless, I am making my own. very. soon.

But in the mean time, I've gotten this classic Blue Oyster Cult song re-stuck in my head. I can't believe it took getting sandwiched between two heavily scented Filipina ladies, squawking on the bus ride home, sitting an hour and a half in traffic, to remember how amazing this song is. So I thought I'd share it with you before I head off to my last day at the VIVA office (yeah, I haven't been posting about that either because there really is nothing worth writing about. It's me gathering my points. ha).


Skip ahead to 2:30 for one of my alltime favourite guitar solos. I'm no expert at guitar solos but I know what I like in my rock. And SOMEhow, if I were a guitar genius, that would've been exactly what I would've fingered. I've heard my fair share of epic runs, but the recorded version of that one, my friend, is bliss. Short and sweet.

Wednesday, 25 June 2008


Tea leaves and diet coke. I'm picturing this starvation method or something similar in caloric content in order to fit sexily into some of these particulars. *sigh* life can blow dicks hard sometimes. Anyway, meet Pixie Market and their garb. Oh, and take a good minute to sigh and die over the pink number with the crisscrossing cords, will ya? JESUS H!

Tuesday, 24 June 2008


...for her.


I can be so goddamned gullible sometimes. Jesus. I wrote about this a while ago, and how beautiful of a find it was for me, these 'lost' tribes. But turns out...Dumbass. But that doesn't bother me so much, as long as they're not a bunch of loin-clothed painted up Apocalypto people. They're real. And they're beautiful.

Also the other day I said I would show you that creepy bus stop guy's poetry website, so...this is it. Definitely not my cup of vanilla black tea. I'm more of a Ginsberg kinda gal. (Read 'Howl'!)

Sunday, 22 June 2008


So, this is the highlight of my entire work day, which started and ended at like stupid o'clock.

Pistachio Almond ice cream. It seemed a man at the bus station was intrigued by this as well and decided to approach me, sit quietly for 6 minutes, then wait until I stuffed my mouth like a Thanksgiving turkey, hanging perilously from my red plastic spoon with his eyes, it seemed. He was menatally saying "wait for it...wait forrrr ittttt..." until the green sloppy jet was safe and sound in the hangar. ZOOOOOMMM! And then was when he opened his mouth to say something obscure to me like,

"arampashalmasjardeyhai ice cream heeramsita, ya?"
I said something along the same lines, but you can guess why, "shovvy?"
I still never figured out what he said, but he introduced himself to me several times, while laughing and saying how this and that and ice cream was the meaning of happy times. Yeah. Great fun. He stuck out his hand a grand total of three times for me to shake it, which I then counteracted with three shakes of my head and three stifled smiles and three look aways. Maybe more.

"You waiting on the bus?"
"Yes sir." Otherwise I would be sitting in a sweaty crowded bus station enjoying some pistachio ice cream just for the filthy fun of it; waving at the spit globules that flew all around me by dark, dirty, robed men with all manner of sacks in their hands. I wish I had told him that. But then, he probably would not have understood after the words hit four syllables.

"So, which bus? Where are you going?"
I pointed to the one that was loaded up with its 12 women already, which meant that the several BAZILLION seats at the back after the plexiglass partition could only be reserved for men, so I waited, with a sigh...and a scoop, for the next one to almost never come.

"Where do you live?"
"Around. You really think I'm going to tell you that, right? I'm afraid my mother taught me well."
"Ah, it is just friendship talk...just blah blah blah gobble mumble friend mumble jumble I not kidnapper yadda yadda yadda."

Anyway, so it went like this and then he opened his wallet and told me the most pleasant thing that could have burst my seams and had me shitting myself right there and then.

"I'm a writer. I write English poetry."

He then started rifling through his wallet for a badly folded piece of paper the size of a business card, where one of his poems was typed; something about a cup of tea and milk of some other f-word faith, tea leaves of promises and things like that.

"Ummm, that's cute!"
"Yah, like you, yar?"
"Sure, why not?"

He said it was crazy faith since I'm a writer too and that we should stay friends and exchange emails and phone numbers (and here he would not rest even after my 96.375 firm 'NO's') and look out for each other as we're in the same area.
Sorry palos.
Not happening.
In fact, how's bout never.
But I did take the "business card" he offered me, saying he started doing them up when he got a couple stuffs published in Gulf News over here. I took it because, as soon as he said "I have a blog where I share my work, here have my business card and check it out sometime and contact me pls pls pls contact me" I was thinking of YOU; my blog babies. I thought you might, at best, be ticklishly amused by this...'S.H. Ghazi', says his card with a feathery quill icon in one corner.

The catch is...I haven't checked it out yet, and in order for you to come back and visit my blog tomorrow (yes, it has come to this) I am going to withold this amusing information from you until tomorrow. Hopefully you're still interested...or even STARTED off interested at the very least.


Friday, 20 June 2008


SOOOO I just finished catching up with Gnarlitude's blog. Haven't visited the fiesty Jen in quite some time. She posted something about a metal band. I like me my occasional gothic/symphonic/heavy/black metal, so I definitely clicked on the link to watch the documentary on Gaahl, from the black metal band Gorgoroth on VBS TV. And well, she's fuckin' right. Jen is R.I.G.H.T. You really gotta watch this video, man. ALL of it! To the END! Do it. Now.
Because I can't be bothered to get into specifics myself, here's Jen's satisfactory synopsis:

"In what might possibly be the best episodes I’ve yet to see on VBS TV, legendary and amazing photographer Peter Beste and crew headed to Norway to meet up with Gaahl from Gorgoroth on his release after a short stint being locked up for some gnarly shit (you have to watch to find out.) They go to his home which no reporter has ever been to. Traipse around the town he lives in while trying to no avail to get a word from the townspeople on Gaahl, who they are all to frightened of to say anything about. Described as the most hated man in all of Norway, Gaahl is gripping on the screen and once you think they are getting close to him, well, just watch the very end to see just how amazingly creepy dude can get."

I thought I might add this YouTube clip for effect...

...BUT that's not what I think the actual VBS documentary portrays. He raises good points in it; just in a sinister way. I just want to make sure I get it clear that I don't support Satanism. Actually, fuck what you think haha.

I especially like Gaahl's quote (somewhere around part 3 of the VBS docu., after showing us his artwork), something like"It's like a painting; you won't stop until it's finished." However, the context it was dropped in made it uber bone-chillingly creepy. I say undergound TV series with like...a BAZILLION seasons. Pretty. Please. With a bloody lamb's skull on top. Watch it here.


If you've been following me all these months, you will know that best-selling British Asian author Hanif Kureishi dominates my current mental bookshelf. I am about to start 'The Body' this evening, once I round up the last couple pages of Kerouac's 'On the Road'. I'm falling so far behind on my summer reading list for my Developing the Novel class next semester. I'm supposed to be going at a one book a week pace but Kerouac's took me two weeks because of my new crazy/busy schedule (new to the office life, folks).


Geez, as much as I love my tangential train of thought during my writing process, it kills everything else. So, The Guardian is featuring Writer's Rooms and they naturally chose Kureishi's. Here it isss!
Ahhh...beautiful writer jumble and clutter. This may be of waning interest to you but as the daughter of an interior designer, interiors are just as important to me as wearable exteriors. Besides, a writer's work space must give off the right vibrations and must only have inspiring things within its walls. It's a very key part of the process. Anyway, also required of us for the Developing the Novel class, is that we set up and finalise our writing space this summer in preparation for the long months we'll be spending in them for the class, as well as for the rocky road beyond graduation.

Thank God I came across this because I completely forgot that assignment. But either way this proves tricky for me because I live out here in the U.A.E. half the time and then when I head back to England for school, my accommodation arrangements are pretty much non-existent. I change rooms like underwear. It's crazy. My London belongings are scattered all around London at various friends' and families' houses. And I am certainly not looking forward to the treasure hunt when I get back, of retrieving them and finding a place to rest my head.
Back on track now, I'm not sure how I'll be able to organize a proper work space until I move out to the U.S. after school. AND EVEN MORESO, I find I get more on the page by sitting on a bus from start to finish anyway! I'm set, even if I were a bum.


Well kids, this is what you call masterful.


God..everytime my friend Naomi goes on trips she hauls back the most four-dimensional, character-brimming shots. Have a couple of my faves...

[the eldest son gets his head shaved for a funeral ceremony. I hate it when my friends back in T'dad have to go through this. Who wants everyone to know that a loved one died while you're walking down the street? Bless him.]

[dig the guy in the dark sunglasses in the background]

Anyway, the parts of Abu Dhabi and Dubai you don't see are starting to morph into this. This place is thick and spilling over with hidden beauty. Fuck the Burj. Try looking behind that, in the shadow of its impressiveness. I urge you, if you have no obligations and you find yourself in Dubai, take the public buses. ABSOLUTELY don't if you are planning to get somewhere on time, though. But I've experienced the real Dubai just by being stuck on public transportation all. day. long. for this internship. It's been a real eye-opener. So, as much as the hours are long, and the office chair at VIVA can seriously paralyse your bum, and the 2 hour bus journeys that it takes for me to get there, I am very grateful for this experience. I've never seen so much of this place that I live in.

Wednesday, 18 June 2008


Okay, I actually wrote this up last night at home on my laptop until it started giving trouble. So, here it is...

I roll with so many filipinos now on a daily basis that I feel I can say that. Can I? And can I tell you how hot the coffee guy is at the ITP Consumer Publishing office where I work? Filipino.

"Ma'am, you on your lunch break now?"
"Yes, indeedy. Where can I find hot water?"
"Hat warder? Ah, ma'am, over heer."
Smile. "Ahhh. Only hat warder ma'am? No cappuccino today? Not even tea?"
"Oh no. I quit. I just need something to ease my stomach. Hot water."
"Ah, hat warder. Ai Seeee."

Anyway, so this post is what I call a Jumble Sale; just a slobbery mess of everything that's going on and being thunk up by me, all laid out there for you to feast on, since I haven't seen you in what? Four days? Momma's workin'. Leaving the house before 7am and getting home near 9pm means no tolerance for blogging, or just about anything else but splendid slumbers.


Wellll firstly, a toast, to my name in (very tiny) print. The Fashion director took my full name today to put down for credit helping out with one of July's magazine photoshoots; that lovely colourful one I posted about a couple days back. And might I add that it looks quite fetching on the picture editor's computer so far. Looking forward to the release date (July 1st, and the day after I leave the office)

Secondly, I kissed a girl and I liked it.

I'm afraid of how Katy Perry always manages to sing what I'm thinking. So daring. Loves it. Not her. It. And then there's this version of It...that I...stumbled QUITE ROUGHLY upon...

Hmm...I feel left out. Where did all the teen angst go? And when did the Over-Confident-All-Eyes-On-Me Youngster Generation start up? So, anyway, the song is stuck in my very congested head regardless, along with:

Magic Spells by Crystal Castles
Tomorrow Never Dies by Sheryl Crow and,
Waiting in Vain by Bob Marley and the Wailers

AND, Mark Wahlberg speaks and I listen: "That f**ker lives down the street from me, man! He has to go back to the U.K., because he has the paparazzi all over my house!" AH, YES! I'm sure you can guess who that is...
THEN here is Agyness Deyn stealing my clothes. I actually went on one of my first dates with my current ex in a more fitted and better arranged version of that netted number. But after cleaning out my closet at the end of first year at Uni, I threw it in a garbage bag of donations to a Charity Shop. So I AM CONVINCED(!) that she dug it up at one of the branches, purposefully chucked it in her blender for a minute, then wore it with a brilliant grin.

[I'm Not Obsessed]
I promise you! THAT.IS.MY.TOP. (Anyways; finders, keepers, right?)

THEN here is an honorary mention for the not so honorary Kate Moss, who looks SO BANGIN' in this outfit. I would gladly tie her to a tree with her falling out extensions and rip both dress and shoes (moreso the shoes, if I had to choose, but in my dream I don't) off of her rattling body and run off into the sunset a better person.

[Gossip Girls]

ALSO, I NEED to produce a published article on the appalling madness that is Dubai's NEW transportation system. More on that another day.


P.S. I know I've been using constant celebrity posts as an excuse to fill up my blog. I hate that! This blog is not a celebrity-following blog. AT ALL! Please give me some time to R&R&R (the last one standing for refuel. I promise. I'll get it back.

Much love!
L.L. (in the much-anticipated Dreamland)

Saturday, 14 June 2008

NOW THAT I WORK 9-5 (6)...

...I realised life is short. Fiction Friday and the likes is cancelled. I'm busy enjoying my adolescence, so go scamper off and do the same. Run along...go on...shoo! Peace.

Wednesday, 11 June 2008


I seemed to be coming down with a bad flu which had been spreading around the VIVA office, so I took the day to rest and recuperate. This morning I looked like a scarecrow that had given up its duties, but by early afternoon, under the constant vigilance of my Aunt Judy, I feel quite fine and am shaping up into some sort of Gladiator.

I woke up at 10am to find on my bedside table, a glass of apple juice and a glass of water, both bundled up on a pretty tray close to a handful of vitamin and medication bottles. My aunt would’ve added to the mix her own massive bottle of Seven Seas Cod Liver Oil Multi-vitamin capsules, but I made sure to put out my own mini bottle upon arriving to keep her happy. After downing all of that, I took a shower and sat working my way through my emails.

“Miss Kara!” she bellowed next to my left ear. Everytime she talks to me, I am snapped into constant fear that I did something unforgiveable, like leaving the toilet unflushed after delivering a baby of pure muscled waste. “I am going to the gym, then I’m going to run some errands. You better have drank three more glasses of water by the time I get back, and have had something to eat. Did you eat anything yet? What did you eat? And tea doesn’t count.”

With my toes curling and scraping at the immaculate white tile flooring, I decided, “Well…I was about to get up and have a bowl of organic oatmeal porridge?”

“Well, alright. That’s good for now. When I get back I will boil some wholewheat pasta and leave it on the stove for you. Martin and I are going out tonight. Will you be alright? Keep warm and CHILD! You really shouldn’t be having your Commandments on the floor!”

For a minute, my heart stopped. I thought, had I accidently thrown her worn gold-fringed bible on the floor? What the hell was she talking about? I looked around frantically, and saw nothing but my own two dry feet.

“Put some slippers on. You say you’re coming down with the flu and yet you’re walking around on cold floors barefooted. Oh, child…”

My Commandments? I pondered this for a full hour, on the breaks I took between each chapter of the novel I was reading. Where on earth did she get that from? I thought, staring at my toes. Then, I realized I had ten of them…?

I watched as she hauled her tiny self up into her maroon SUV, then sped off. I reluctantly walked down to my aunt and uncle’s kitchen to organize my porridge, wondering if she was crazy enough to check her bin’s contents for ripped up Oatmeal Porridge packets. I poked around to see what I’d be eating while here; jars of preserved fruit, every one of God’s beans, peas, grains, nuts and seeds in their respective Tupperware containers, only every single cereal with Bran in its title, vanilla soymilk, teas in every colour (white, green and now black, brought by me for my mornings) and the honey or raw cane sugar that would go with it. Last night for dinner, 6/8’s of my plate was sautéed vegetables, 1/3 of them I was learning of and tasting for the very first time.

I imagine that since she has no children, that that is why she saddles and straddles my back day in and day out to make sure I am constantly sorted. She has been packing me well-thought-up vegetarian lunches for work which include everything from a zip-locked package containing mug, silver spoon and oatmeal packet, to a teabag and mint supply that I could share with the entire 10 member office team. Just before I got the bus home, I had to reluctantly gobble down half of my packed lunch, guiltily binning the rest, because my father, when dropping me off at the house, had wished Aunt Judy good luck, and had been telling everyone in his circle that I was anorexic. When I got home, she would quiz me on what my stomach held at the end of the day, then suggest, Military style (whatever that means, because I suppose there’s no ‘suggesting’ in the Military) that I add this or that to it before bed.

I can only hope that after lazily flipping through her Essence magazine archive, and 90’s copies of Vogue and InStyle, that I fall asleep before she gets home. That way, I’ll only receive a note in the morning as I rush off for work, instead of a full-on dietary discussion and debate.

As a result, that old Sesame Street song has been stuck in my head.

Am I sad to know it? The Street is great, man...

Tuesday, 10 June 2008


Oh my...when did this happen?

[images from The Skinny Website]


Already two more days then my work week is complete!
Hi guys. Been real busy at the office, researching for features and content and what have you. No news, no pictures, no interesting tales. I just know a few things:

1) It's very difficult trying not to spend too much in the city when THE BEST HUMMUS IN THE WORLD is literally three doors away; as well as a decent sushi place.

2) Once it hits 6pm (or sometimes earlier) I am outta here like nobody's business; and in all corners of my existence too, mind, body and soul. It's not that I'm not having a blast. It's just if I have ever worked as many hours as this in my short lifetime, it has been in the later part of the day steering clear of my beauty sleep, and in comfier clothes. Also, it hasn't been this BLOODY SWELTERING!

3) My father has the coolest friends in the world. They really stick together and have each other's backs. They all did pilot training when they were teenagers back in Trinidad, flew for the same local airline, and when it got bankrupt, they all eventually split and met back up in the Middle East working for another airline. I have been surrounded by this sort of pilots and their families culture, and it's quite amazing. It's like having 5 godfathers. They always look out for me being my father's daughter. So, this month, one of them has taken me in and provided me with generous accommodation (own room, own bathroom, free internet and food(I get packed lunch everyday and am forced to eat by the pilot wife), another picked me up from work yesterday, after perching near the bus stop for nearly two hours with a half melted Toblerone, and another (my actual godfather) gave me $300 US this morning!

4) Although I feel all proud and grown-up strutting down the street madly and purposefully in heels and fancy clothes, it's great to wake up to the occasional packed lunch (complete with fruit, vegetarian meal, bottled water, raisins, mints, porridge packet). Reminds me that I'm still a well taken care of fresh youthling. Yeah, I think I just made that up and I love it!

5) I STILL haven't seen Sex and the City okay? Shove your Manolos down your throat and get over it. That movie will never come to this country; this country that won't let us feature gay men, won't let us write an article on Darfur for our magazine, and deport us for getting pregnant!

6) What with all the research I do for the magazine, I've been finding the most amazing articles. Have a read...
Latest Indian Jones movie inspired by crystal skull-worshipping community in Mexico -,0,3549594.story?track=rss

Middle-aged bank employee running gladiator school in Rome-,0,2128413.story

Naked cyclists pedal the streets of Mexico City to promote Emission-free lifestyle-,0,2128413.story

Bank run by and for street children in India-,0,3767951.story

(THIS HAD ME IN TEARS) Albinos killed in Tanzania due to local superstitions-

Anyways, it's about that time in the office so I'm out. Have a great day! And Happy Belated Philippines Independence!

Saturday, 7 June 2008


I haven't really been into what celebrities have been looking like lately; exhibit A. And I don't even LIKE posting about celebrities on this blog. Have probably only done so two or three times. But I thought, it's a Friday night and I'm home alone, I'm in pyjamas, there's nothing to do, I'm going through my blogroll, and OH! LOOK! Amy Winehouse is caught looking good for once!(clotheswise). Why not take this opportunity to post some pictures of other celebrities looking 'stellar and fly' (Amy's words).

Sarah Jessica Parker

Rachel Bilson

Nicky Hilton

Hilary Duff

Anne Hathaway

Sienna Miller

Victoria Beckham

[All pictures courtesy I'm Not Obsessed]


Day 4 of my internship at Viva had me helping out at a fashion photoshoot which took place at the newly opened Alpha club at Le Meridien Hotel, Dubai.