Imagine a personality ten times larger than life. We met at my best friend Crystal’s 20th Birthday and her friend from college came to the shindig we were throwing at Crystal’s parents house. Our meeting is another hilarious story for yet a completely differet post. Pardon me, once again I veered off track. I met the one and only Innesa, a Russian born, Jewish and Brunette version of Marilyn Monroe. A force to be reckoned with and sharp as a tack. Needless to say we were attracted to one another as friends immediately. It was though we had known one another for lifetimes, eons, centuries.
Wild is an understatement to describe her, but not negatively or with an irresponsible connotation. I mean ballsy, bold, badass. Our stars aligned during a very pivotal time for the both of us — right around the time we turned 21. My 21st was beyond mental and I don’t recall it clearly enough to regurgitate it (get it). I make myself laugh. Opps, sorry. Focus. Yet, for Innesa’s Birthday I remember ever detail.
I should probably back up and tell you where all this is coming from. We have a fancy built in closet and the rack on the wooden wardrobe fell down completely. It looked like a tornado snuck into our closet. After being that way for over a week, I couldn’t look at it like that for a moment longer and I was united. To my despair, as I was reunited with my precious Nan today, as she returned from her holiday to Aruba and once again organized my closet.
Whist handing her things as she’s standing on a mid-level ladder, I came across a Dior bag that was dusty and placed at the very back of my wardrobe and fell amongst the collapse of the rest of the wardrobe. When I say bag, I don’t mean purse, I mean, shopping bag. A Dior one.
A month or so ago I re-organized most of my everyday shoes and a friend of mine suggested that I blog about all of my different shoes I have as I posted as comment on how many memories each pair of shoe brings back and all of the places around the world they have been. If only shoes can talk. Then I figured they can’t, but I can write about it and she was right. There is a deep love affair with all of my shoes because they all tell a story.
As I was handing off the Dior bag which contains a pair of white Dior sandal heels, still in the box and probably worn twice. The box was dusty and I saw a hotel tag on the strap of the bag with a guy’s name on it. I’ll respect his anonymity — so let’s call him BJ Einns and I was instantly transported back to Las Vegas circa 2007.
At the time I was working for American Express and was in sales and making more money than I knew what to do with. My bills were being paid, I was a spender and didn’t have any remorse when swiping that debit card. Zavy on the other hand was the complete opposite, she liked a good negotiation and that is putting it delicately.
It was our second to last day and we weren’t leaving until that night and decided to go for brunch at the delicious but disgustingly expensive buffet at The Wynn and then we were going to browse around the shops inside ritzy hotel and casino on the famous strip. Following our gluttony and mimosa session at the buffet we wobbled to the shops like Chanel, Louie, McQueen — all my faves. Then we stumbled into Dior and at the time I just j’adored Dior. I’ll be classy and won’t drop the price, but let’s just say that Zavy nearly fainted and needed to sit down immediately…
TO BE CONTINUED…