Clarabella Speaks.

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves" - Shakespeare

Saturday, 27 April 2013

Clarabella Speaks: Pimp my Intern.

Guess who's back, back again...no it's not Shady it's me, and I'm writing to you from my NEW FLAT with BALCONY and FRENCH FLATMATES. Guess I finally got that flat with the rooftop view of Paris I always wanted! I was planning to still be asleep at this time but alas my body clock no longer understands the concept of a lie-in so what better way to pass the time than writing my first blog in over 3 weeks. Those 3 weeks have been ajetreadisimas and so I have not been doing a good job of documenting my daily outfits which really is a shame because my outfits this week were totally fabulous but I guess now I can re-wear them without fear of judgement. The following is my last photo in my old studio *sob sob the memories*, which reminds me, now that I no longer live in a studio I'm gonna have to think of a new name for studio style. Will add that to the blog to-do list which also includes work out a way to get rid of camera-face (harder than you'd think).


So what have I been doing over the past 3 weeks you may wonder. Well being pimped out for one thing.  Before you choke on your tea (if you're British and reading this chances are there is a cup of tea near by you, don't deny it) let me explain. We had some important clients (it already sounds bad), it was their last night out and it was decided that some girls were needed. When I say girls I mean me and the other intern. So at first we were all excited because we got a night out on the company in a fancy club, then we asked what our dress code was and the response was "sexy". Joderrrr. I don't think I have ever dressed sexy in my life, I can barely even say the work without cringing so that was going to be fun. I eventually settled on a black dress and and heels, with BARE LEGS, which consequently led to the worst metro journey of my life. It was raining outside, so there I was walking through the streets alone in bare legs with a scarf over my head as an umbrella, looking like an absolute twat, and then when I got onto the metro I was greeted by the judgemental stares of anyone over the age of 40. I had to sit down and cover my legs with my scarf out of sheer embarrassment. I'm telling you, I have a newfound respect for street walkers. Thankfully that was the worst part of the night and our biggest problem after that was having to take a shot of Hennessy XO whilst balancing our champagne in the other hand, which, might I add, was topped up constantly by a leather kilt-wearing barman. Marc Jacobs may be a fan of such an outfit, but it will never be okay.

Other than that slightly interesting acontecimiento, I HAVE GOT A NEW PASSPORT. It is however Irish, and I'm still not sure how I feel about my new found Irish nationality but then again it does mean I am not doomed to live out the rest of my days in France, nor pay any more visits to the British Consulate (touch wood) so I am not going to complain, nor bring it with me on a run. That lesson has been well and truly learnt, although most people would probably say that it shouldn't really have to be.

Further excitement includes cockroach-spotting in the office, almost having my precious Marc Jacobs bag sprayed with insect repellant (worse than a cockroach attack), more homeless appearances on the metro, deciding to walk 3 miles to Spanish then getting lost and arriving 30 minutes late, an exploding bottle of shower gel in my gym bag, and semi-cooked porridge that ended up more around the bowl than in it. C'est la vie as the French would say, and there's no point crying over spilt milk (ha).

Bises

Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Embarrassed.

Keeping her short and sweet this evening as it is now 22h35 and I am taking yet another trip to the British Consulate tomorrow morning (before work) to get yet another emergency passport. Bet they've never had the same person come back for another one before, sort of hoping they don't recognise me. I'll be in a red suit (love my life) so fingers crossed that will be a good disguise.



My main reason for writing this evening is because the past 9 hours have given me plenty to write about. I was feeling pretty crazy at lunchtime so I thought I'd be adventurous and try eating something other than scrambled eggs and chorizo. I decided on a tuna salad, but the blood pouring from my finger 2 minutes later told me that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. The tuna was obviously not impressed at being eaten and I ended up slicing my poor little finger on the tin lid. I'm not even being dramatic when I say slicing, it was a good 5 mm deep and the first plaster had to be discarded after 5 minutitos. Think I'll stick to eggs in future.

After lunch I got to go on a little trip to the Arc de Triomphe which was fun. It was all going swimmingly until I managed to get lost in the metro station. It's not even as if I got on the wrong line or missed my stop, I was literally walking in circles trying to find the train. Mid-confusion I came across a vending machine so decided to stop for a bottle of diet coke for some refreshment. That however turned out to be another one of my not so good ideas when I ended up opening it too soon and getting fizz all over my arm. I just ignored the looks from the other metro goers and carried on as if I meant for it to happen. Sticky arms are the latest accessory did you not know?

But the most embarrassing is yet to come. Tonight was my second spanish class and I arrived to discover we were having a mini party. Thought I'd stay off the vino, even if it was from Bordeaux, and I still had half a bottle of now fizz-less coke in my bag so I whipped that out. 2 hours later I went to the bathroom before going home to discover that the lipstick that had been on my lips before the class was now in a semi-circle above my lips. Oh.my.word. I wasn't sure how long I had been sat looking like that but I finished my coke after about 30 minutes so the chances are it was more or less the whole 2 hours. And oh no. I've literally just remembered that one of the women kept looking at me during the class and smiling. I thought she was being nice but now I know. #thisisworsethanawkward. 

Besitos guapos. 

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Diary of a Parisian Office Worker: Field Day.

"You're having a field day with your earrings today". My 'bin lids' as an airport security worker so kindly named them one day are not generally the object of many people's affection (my own excluded), so that greeting from my boss this morning sent many things running through my mind, namely "oh no". Then he said "they're great, I like your earrings and I like your shoes". Well I was not expecting that! Normally when a man (over the age of 30) appreciates my style it is normally Karl and it normally scares me and makes me want to run and change, but my bin lids are my babies and ain't no-one gon' put me off them, even though you probs think someone should...


Ooooh and as if I almost forgot. Was feeling super chic on Saturday so thought I'd capture the moment to share it con todos. I'm just so thoughtful really.



This morning I sent mi hermana un whatsapp saying "trop nirn. Donr wanna. Fer y". She definitely thought I had taken friday's fiestaaaa comment to the extreme but in fact yesterday was spent tranquilamente under the sun eating lots of nice food in Place des Vosges and what I was trying to say was my weekend was "trop bien" and "I don't want to get up". Turns out whatsapping whilst still asleep doesn't really work. I did however have two nights out in a row this weekend which is almost unheard of in my normal life, never mind my life in Paris, so I'm totally feeling popular right now and lamenting the fact that work is an actual thing.

Went to the gym ce soir and was definitely close to death, it felt so good. I then had a mini drama, obviously. Tried to open my locker and the key card was not working. I was sure it was number 311 but after repeatedly trying it and then spending ages trying to open all the lockers in the vicinity, it really wasn't happening. "Mais j'en suis sûre" I told the french woman trying to help me. I was imagining my bag and all its contents being lost to the dark depths of the locker for eternity, then she tried 307 and turns out I wasn't so sure after all. I may have been slightly red-faced, but what's a little embarrassment when yet more important belongings are at risk?

Today's main drama however, came in the exhaustion of my pomegranate supplies. There could literally be no bigger food crisis. Thankfully I am going to Londres this weekend, where apart from spending some quality best friend time, I intend on stocking up on affordable pomegranates. Given this is my last trip to the UK before June that will be one hell of a lot of pomegranates to fit in my hand luggage, can't wait to see the look on the security guards' faces as that passes through the scanner...

Besitos