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Two luxury cars in the garage. Six-person hot tub in the back. More clothes and shoes than I know what to do with.
I mean, there was a time when I would go shopping at Bloomingdales What REALLY Matters to your Customers: The most important document that you could ever have in your business which helps you understand your customer better than your customer understands themselves.. Road Rage, how it can entrap you, and how to get rid of it!
So ride them through and try to find another way to work it out. This is a rewind episode of a previously released show. There's no guest today, just me, and I've got some important news to share about the future of this podcast. So, saddle up and stick around Unlike the more defined polarities of ambivalence, doubt is pervasive, muddy, and ranges from crippling to constructive.
We may doubt our capacity to meet a challenge, achieve a desired outcome, or make the right decision. SS The Bitchcast. Ginger and Katie sit down discuss the world as it is, discuss men, and do it with no filter. This is their space, this is, The Bitchcast. Female, fat, funny, forty-something and in her 4th year of recovery from Alcoholism.
A Dogman is Out There! Her kids were in the backseat, and she was Chapter Shirley the Nurse on hurting with homelessness and healing with heart: 3 Books is a completely insane and totally epic year-long quest to uncover the most formative books in the world.
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Each chapter is hosted live and in-person at the guest's preferred location by Neil Pasricha, New York Times bestselling author This is fine, because motorcycles quite effectively fill the hole those feckless, non-riding bastards leave in your life. I want to write a poem about abortion. I pass the neon Pegasus sign outside a gas station,always off.
I pass a man panhan. Review must be at least 10 words. I suppose my own internal crash — spectacular as it was — all started with a little red car. The Ferrari. Spring Day, 1 September , was my year birthday clean and sober and this was the year I had planned to celebrate it like never before. A rare R3. Higher-power stuff, I grinned to myself.
As a motoring journalist, I was blessed to drive hot new wheels on a weekly basis, but the Ferrari was in another league all together. This was a convertible GT, packing kW of V8 power, and as I signed the indemnity forms at the dealership the following morning, it felt like a pure poetic universal blessing. Even if it was only for a day.
I half heard that the car was insured, but in the event of an accident I would be liable for 10 per cent excess. No sweat, baby. But I did manage to pay attention when the guy told me to have the vehicle back by 4 pm, at which point the insurance would cease. I smiled. For a moment I felt like I was on an aeroplane listening to the prerequisite emergency safety instructions.
Crash landing. I grinned and nodded in agreement to everything he was babbling on about as he showed me how to switch her on and off and how to adjust the seats. I had never experienced anything quite like this. Zero to a hundred in 3. I stood back like a proud pet owner, a parent who had just birthed the Saviour, a Buddha babe. The new Dalai Lama.
It felt like my entire life had been leading to this moment. I turned the key in the ignition of the Cali and gave her a little rev. The crowd roared in approval. I then parked her on the rooftop parking, where I could keep an eye on her, my beloved machine, from my desk.
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Man, was I just loving this, revelling in the moment. Throughout the day, the compact sports car took up a lot more time and energy than I had bargained for. At this point, all I really wanted to do was chill, but the clock was ticking toward the agreed return time and, as I stood up from my desk to make that final journey back to the dealership, three of my colleagues who had not yet savoured Cali magic begged me for one last ride.
If I had done what I had felt like doing at this point, I would have said no. I was tired and worried about getting the car back by 4 pm. It was already pm.
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What if there was an unexpected hold-up, a robot down, a power failure on Sandton Drive, as there so often was at this time these days? I needed to leave. Before we left we took a group selfie and posted it on Instagram. Then I pumped up the jam and we headed out of the parking lot, some dope Lil Wayne blaring from the speakers. It felt like we were cruising Miami.
By the time No Scrubs kicked into gear, the world was ours for the taking, all kilowatts of power bursting to life.
Melinda ferguson crashed cars videos: Johannesburg - Award-winning motoring journalist Melinda Ferguson has crashed a rare Rm Ferrari California while test-driving the vehicle. According to the Sunday Times, the incident happened in Johannesburg last week when Ferguson collided with a Mitsubishi Pajero.
This little Italian bitch of a ride needed very little coaxing. With her quick throttle response, within nanoseconds of pressing my foot on the edge of the accelerator she was begging for more in a hysterical cadenza of dizzying revs. She could have pushed Primal Scream off the charts. Instead of heading into rush-hour traffic, I decided to rather err on the side of safety and work my way along the back routes, through Benmore, a small-business-type residential suburb, just in case the main route was jammed up.
Forget degrees — mine was a degree double revolution. I mean, I was the girl who was never going to drive. God, I was a lucky bitch, I smirked. The Cat that Got the Cali. Another good chapter title for the book I was itching to write.
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Fucking, hello? We were now forced to crawl at 20 kilometres per hour in a car that could screech to kilometres in less than four seconds. I checked for oncoming traffic. Nothing for as far as I could see — the long road to the right completely clear.
Here was my chance. I could rev her up, overtake this slow boat and get a bit of open tar to show my girls what this beauty could do. It seemed like the simplest thing in the world. I touched the right pedal, and she growled with impending pleasure. I began my move. And then, just as I sailed past the truck to nip back in and take my space on the left — I could not have been moving faster than 50 — I saw it.
It would be an image that would continue to haunt me. There was no sound, just the deathly choir of angels waiting to receive us. On and on we spun. We seemed to whirl forever. And then suddenly it all slowed down … time distorted like a 45 single playing on Like a monster shadow, it wrapped itself around me, around my everything.
It took control like a lioness holds her litter, swirled around the spinning red and brought it to its knees. Everything stopped for the very longest time. It grew quieter, quieter than the dead end of time. The silence was impenetrable. Nothing moved. Then I breathed for the first time. I was alive. The red car lay sprawled in jagged fragments across the tar, like a toy that had been pummelled by a hammer, a mashed-up sardine can, road kill festering in the sun.
Across from me, on the other side of the road, a seven-seat Pajero stood rammed up on the pavement, left side smashed. The traffic light lay on the pavement, dismembered, the amber light still flashing. The driver of the Pajero was holding her baby. They were both alive. No blood. The vultures were gathering fast. Phones whipped out, cameras clicking.
Ambulance sirens screeched in. The appearance of tow-truck scavengers — six of them — was almost immediate. After she admits herself to a clinic to address her meltdown, in her trademark gritty tell-it-all and often hilarious style, she interrogates the controversial pharma-whore psychiatric industry as she is diagnosed and medicated over her three-week stay.
Ultimately Crashed sees Ferguson slowly coming to grips with the meaninglessness of outward material success as she embarks on a painful journey of introspection in search of intangible inner peace and self love in a crazy out of control world. Crashed is the highly anticipated final installment of the 3-part memoir trilogy, following in the steps of her South African bestsellers Smacked and Hooked Melinda Ferguson.
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