Friday 10 august 2012 5 10 /08 /Aug /2012 19:18

As seen in The Broken Heel Diaries

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My heel was broken as I starred at the end date stamped on my visa, realizing that my beach paradise was coming to a premature end. After concluding that there was no physical way I could make it to a border in time, there was nothing left to do but drown my sorrows in a bottle of Sansom whisky and howl at the moon in sorrow. ‘I know someone,’ whispered a German living on my resort. ‘He can get you to Malaysia and back in 12 hours if the price is right.’ My ears perked up. The howling stopped. I accepted.

Standing blurry eyed and slightly nauseous the next morning, I waited to see in what form my saviour would arrive. Within minutes, an old Mercedes pulled up on the side of the dirt road. A man with a moustache to rival Magnum PI, pulled himself (and his belly) from the rusted shell of the vehicle. ‘Natalie?’ he asked in a strong Middle Eastern accent. I nodded. ‘I take you. Malaysia. My name: Bin Laden.’

Moments later, I was flying down a dirt highway, my white knuckles clenching Bin Laden’s torn leather seats. If I hadn’t feared for my life, the comic value of being whipped across south east Asia by a man of a notorious namesake, and driving as if pursued by Obama himself, may have struck me. Unfortunately, I was struck only by sheer terror- (I didn’t pee myself this time). He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. His lead foot just lay heavy on the gas.

Hours later, we arrived at the border. Finally, beneath that heavy moustache, flashed a row of yellowing teeth. ‘Malaysia!’ he announced, and I had the urge to applaud. I crossed the border, renewed my visa (the whole debacle took 10 minutes max), and climbed back into Bin Laden’s car. ‘See!’ he exclaimed proudly. We smiled at each other and for one endearing moment, I wanted to hug him. When I heard Bin Laden’s death announced this past year, a part of me was doubtful. ‘He’s not dead,’ I thought. ‘He’s saving paradise in Malaysia.’

By Natty P
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Thursday 9 august 2012 4 09 /08 /Aug /2012 03:12

Yesterday I had the pleasure of meeting some of Toronto's finest bloggers at 3 Years of Style, celebrating the three year anniversary of Stlye Blog.ca, Souls of my Shoes and Back Seat Stylers. It was a beautiful event held at the beautiful Thompson Hotel, filled with beautiful people. I left with a troubling case of shoe envy.

I also had the pleasure of meeting a publicist for one of my favourite brands: Links of London. Their Canadian presence is growing steadily, decorating more and more necks, ears and wrists nationwide. Personally, I wear a Links of London extend-able chain with a beautiful heart and locket pendant, day in and day out, so I am already a fan and have been for years. Although previously I brushed off heart shaped anything as tacky and crass, Links of London gives the ominous heart shape, elegance and class. 

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You may, however, know Links of London from their famous charm bracelets and the charms which seem to capture both individuality yet accessibility. They whisper sophistication while retaining a certain degree of playfulness. Despite the exclusivity this brand exudes, they are reasonably priced, and available at 5 locations throughout Toronto within Holt Renfrew. See www.linksoflondon.com for more information.

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Just when you think it can't get any better, Links of London produces a brand new Friendship bracelet in a variety of new colours. They emulate culture and civility, while also remaining current and classy. They are available from August 10th at Links of London in Holt Renfrew.

Personally, I can't wait to get my hands on them! My only dilemma? Do I pick red, purple or fuschia?!

Any advice would be greatly appreciated!

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By Natty P
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Wednesday 8 august 2012 3 08 /08 /Aug /2012 16:53

Although I may not be producing emotional vomit as often as I like on nattyponline.com, I have been guest blogging on different sites, with many more publications to come! 

Keep up with the adventures of Natty P on the following websites:

The Broken Heel Diaries

Ramped.ca

Elvia Magazine

Blue Suite Collective

And coming soon...

Wave Accounting

Styleamo.com

And more....

Thanks for your support as the adventure continues!!!

By Natty P
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Tuesday 24 july 2012 2 24 /07 /Jul /2012 04:44

As seen in The Broken Heel Diaries:

My heel was broken as I stood on a dirt road in Myanmar, drenched, dirty and muddy, a machine gun pointed in my direction. I am no longer ashamed to admit that, yes, I had peed myself but let’s be honest, you would have too.

Five days earlier I had departed into the Thai jungle in search of an infamous waterfall, so beautiful, that I would drop to my knees and weep with unashamed joy- a wailing waterfall, if you will. Nine hours, wet clothes, (not to mention an unexpected ambush of the ‘Aunt Flo’ kind), and an elusive campsite later, we were doubting our escort’s broken English promises.

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The next five days consisted of a long, wet, arduous trek through seemingly uncharted  territory, dodging giant spiders, alluding gargantuan mosquitos, and avoiding rather aggressive birds. We begrudgingly walked, rode unstable elephants and rafted for days, singing Mariah Carey songs and praying for our ‘dream lover to take us away’ from the hell we had voluntarily entered.

'5 minutes!’ the guides barked for the gazillionth time when we asked how much further. An hour later, we arrived at our destination. I held my breath in anticipation of the sight that would justify this torturous ordeal. And yes, I gasped. I fell to my knees and I cried. Before me stood brown rocks, discoloured with limescale, tarred from algae, brown thick water trickling down the precarious landscape. My tears, my hands, my knees, all fell on unsympathetic ground.

Emerging from the jungle, we slumped toward to a dirt road, defeated and ready for a hot shower. Upon realizing that we had left Thailand and wandered into war torn Myanmar, we asked our hosts to quickly return us to the border. ‘You pay,’ they snapped. An argument ensued, raised voices, English, Burmese, Thai, noise! So much noise! They drew their weapons and pointed the barrels in our direction. This is the part when I peed myself….

By Natty P
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Tuesday 17 july 2012 2 17 /07 /Jul /2012 15:19

Ah summer! The temperature goes up, as do our hem lines. Us ladies embrace the opportunity to show off our pins and strut our colours like a horny peacock. It's the season to be noticed...whether you like it or not.

 

The only trouble with wearing the jean shorts my boyfriend loves so much, is that it also attracts the attention of a less savoury kind, most often seen in construction workers, men in trucks, and more recently, teenage boys with low hats and even lower pants.

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 Somewhere throughout evolution, men must have been rewarded by whistling and yelling obscene things at women. Women of all shapes and sizes, colour and creed are plagued by this same irritating practice, despite the proven fact that hooting and hollering does not get you laid. Whoever it DID work on, I would like to meet her and thank her for the incessant honking that follows me home.

 

But how do you get them to stop? I could stop and pull the 'Imagine I was your daughter or sister or mother!' card, but then I will probably be called something else...(it rhymes with snitch). I thought about wearing a burka, but a) I would be much too hot and b) even this get up comes with it's own set of issues.

 

The conclusion? I don't know. I'm not going to stop wearing shorts and the male species will not stop being obnoxious. I have, however, stopped wearing skirts on a breezy day, as one older man had a heart attack when my leopard print brazilian bottoms went on display. I guess the only solution is to continue feigning temporary deafness.

Yes, gentlemen. I can hear you, but I'm ignoring you.

 

By Natty P
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