Tee gee eye eff

So I've finally made it through this very odd, slightly disastrous, very unmotivated and entirely out of whack week.

Congrats to me. Here's what I've learnt:

• My healthy eating and gym plan goes right out the window as soon as life becomes a little less ordinary and I have things to do like going to work dos and getting ready to welcome Boyfriend home. 
• I should stop getting attached to peripheral people in my life to avoid feelings of abandonment when figures such as my Pilates instructor or personal waxer move away.
• One should never go to an editorial lunch without planning an escape clause that forces one to leave at a decent hour. At least not when one has a whole list of things that one had planned to get done after said lunch.
  On Wednesday evening I somehow managed to wash my hair, clean and vacuum my place, bake and ice cupcakes, and paint my nails – after about nine bottles of Chocolate Block and Haute Cabriere between six people. It was difficult, to say the least. I alternated between Miss Energiser Bunny (the two trying-to-sober-up double espressos catching up with me) and Miss I Am Holding On To The Bedroom Carpet So That I Don't Fall On To The Ceiling Duh.
• I will never again drink and dial (or whatever the equivalent is for texting).
• Sometimes, I am a complete idiot.
• Five weeks is far too long to go without seeing somebody you love.
• Eating a real meal after three weeks of soup for dinner can cause stomach pain.
• My Mac weather widget can't be working properly because it is forecasting sun for today and it is not sunny outside.
• One does not catch up on one's reading by watching House every night before bed.

My apologies

My last post was possibly the most boring What I Did On My Weekend-type ramble ever.

I feel it may have been an attempt to a) keep up the regular posting and b) make 'motherfucker' not the first word a visitor to the blog would see.

In any case, my apologies.

Far more composed than during Friday's rant. To cut a long one, Biscuit is all better, is having a couple newfangled security bits and bobs added to her, and is starting to smell less like new car and more like Stay Soft.

In other news, Boyfriend is arriving on Thursday evening (yippee!) and I've lost two kilos since two Mondays ago (now let me try not to fuck it up). These are Good Things.

...as were these:

• Having my fringe trimmed for free on Saturday morning (I love you Karen at Scar, marry me)
• Seeing an unfortunately swollen but no less lovely Princess Lara for tea on Saturday afternoon
• Finally having a drink with RobFather on Saturday eve
• Going to see The Castle on Sunday at noon (hilarious, and a bit of Aussie, erm, culture)
• Having sushi in the sunshine at Tank with Bunny, Frankincense and friends later that day

All in all a decent weekend. And no, just because I didn't mention them doesn't mean I didn't manage to watch about eight episodes of House as well in the last 48 hours (the first step is admitting you're an addict).

Fuck ass motherfuckers pieceofshit bastard asshole fucker fuck fucks

Yeah, most of the time I try to channel Grace Kelly, but last night was not one of those times, as I alternated between leaking through my eyeballs (some people call it crying) and swearing at the state of our nation, the human race at large, and whichever motherfuckingassholebastardshits ruined my evening last night.

They broke into Biscuit, snipped her little lifeforce (the battery) so she couldn't even cry (the alarm didn't go off) and then disemboweled her (ripped the radio – sans face I might add – out).

Hence the extreme vulgarity.

I know this shit happens to everyone all the time, but for me it was a massive crises. Not only because I gave myself the creeps afterwards (Did they watch me arrive at the twins' flat for book club? What if I'd left early and disturbed them in the process and they'd bundled me into the boot? And how could I have gotten into the car like a total idiot before realising anything was wrong? There could have been someone waiting inside.)

No, also because I hate being wrong. Certain people warned me not to get a citi golf, that it was just too easy for thieves to snip the battery and steal the thing, but I didn't listen because I wanted my Biscuit.

Oh poor, poor Biscuit. She's getting all fixed up today. She's been to the police station, the battery centre and the alarm/radio guys already this morning.

At least the (see aforementioned string of dirty words) didn't steal her Stay Soft refill.

Life in a fish bowl

(Yes aren't you loving my creative and intriguing post titles that turn out to be nothing more than a hook to getting you to read about my fairly quotidian goings-on?)

So, I'm wearing my contact lens today.

Yes, that's lens, singular. Why can nothing about me ever be normal, but always has to have some spastic twist? On the bright side, I suppose having 20/20 vision in one eye and, um, non-20/20 vision in the other means I save 50% on contact lenses.

Anyway, after giving up on them years ago, my eyes (eye?) have (has) been straining a bit of late, so I've decided to give them another go. Not too sure if it'll take. I'm having this weird fishbowl feeling, like I'm seeing the world though the glass of an aquarium. I may be hazardous in traffic.

Maybe I should just stick to my reading glasses. Pity I lost them a couple weeks ago...

Shopping list:

• Yoga mat (the gym mats are starting to freak me out a bit, crawling as they are with the bacteria and sweat of others)
• Reading glasses
• One of those stay-soft refill things to put in Biscuit (when I finally get her back that is) to make her smell purdy and less like honking eau de new car.

Good news or bad news first?

The Bad News

• Biscuit is still not fixed properly. This involves another round of trips to the dealer and to the AA. Hopefully by next weekend I can officially say, 'I have a car' and really mean it.
• I'm sitting in the office when I should have left ages ago because somehow there is just always one last job bag outstanding for this particular client on a Friday afternoon. I am going to kill the CEO of a large hotel chain, and then be arrested and forced to eat prison food. Sigh.
• Our router is broken at home, and since it's horribly expensive and still under warranty, we're opting to have it fixed by the manufacturer rather than buy a replacement. Means no internedi for 10-14 working days. I ask you.
• I have still not lost weight (according to my frenemy the scale).

The Good News

• It's Friday.
• I'm going to a three-hour dance class tomorrow.
• I nearly have a car.
• Um, that's about it really...

Biscuit is going for surgery today

I took her to the AA for a technical check on Saturday, and they found all kinds of things wrong with her. Not hugely bad things – nothing engine related – but bad enough.

Like a half-existent handbrake, for a start.

Luckily she's still under warranty, so the dealer is coming to pick her up today and take her to the doctor. Poor Biscuit. I actually forgot to say goodbye to her this morning (see? I'd make a terrible mother). I'm hoping though, that this is the beginning and end of my car trouble. (Nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking.)

In other news, I 'Hup Holland Hup!'-ed with the best of them last night, to no avail. Oh well, I'm not entirely bummed that Spain won (least it wasn't Uruguay – what's that? fourth? oh shame...). Good for them.

However, I do wish Puyol would tie up that hair of his, rather than swinging it wildly at the ball every time he's close to a cross. I just want to hand him an elastic band and explain that if he doesn't at least consider hair accessories then he will only have himself to blame when one day that curly mop gets up off his head and slinks away of its own accord

It actually kind of reminds me of our new cleaning lady at work, whose unruly hair extensions keep falling out and ending up in places you really don't want to see them, like the dish drainer.

Did you just involuntarily shudder? I did.

You know your're sad when...

...you spent most of this rainy Saturday cuddled under a blanket on the couch with tea watching Californication (then again, Hank Moody, who can blame a girl?).

...there's a 99% chance you're not going to move from here until you get into bed later.

...you're giving Taylor Momsen's band a listen and thinking, 'Hey, this annoying little trampy dresser is not actually half bad.' Although, granted, 'Make Me Wanna Die' is still a very teen angst-ish title for your first single.

...someone you used to be close to recently questioned your continued existence.

Sometimes when I wear just leggings and a jersey, I worry people who don't get it behind me are saying to one another, 'Did that girl forget her pants?'

Happy Friday everyone. Here's the latest...

The Good
It's the weekend.
There are two very exciting footie matches coming up shortly.
I'm finally getting used to my non-power steering.

The Bad

Service at Minato last night was shocking. Resident waitress Miss Miserable was in top form, which is to say, Surly McSurly Pants.

The World Cup will be over come Monday, and I'm actually kind of sad. Also, I have no idea who to support now that Ze Germans have been knocked out. I could quite happily cheer for both teams on Sunday night. In fact, I may do just that, and paint each country's flag on either cheek, like other ambivalent supporters I've seen.  

The Ugly
Despite my efforts to the contrary, what with hitting the gym four times a week and trying to eat as healthily as possible yet, you know, remain a sane person, the scale, she won't budge. How (how?) is this possible?

Take that, Meesterrr Forrrrlan

You broke our hearts, but the Dutch kindly stood up and paid your retribution. Van Bronkhorst, Sneijder, Robben, you beauties you.

Sorry Diego, you sneering, crazy-eyed, blonde-locked lookalike of a Euro villain from a bad Stephen Segal movie – and sorry for your daddy too. Now neither Forlan (fall-en?) has been victorious against the Dutch in a World Cup.

Hah. That's all I have to say. Hah.

My preciousssssssssssssss

I'm broke. I'm going to be broke for a while. But I have a car.

Yes. Finally.

Can you handle it? I can't. It hasn't hit me yet and I am still calmly going about the details such as registering it into my name and getting an alarm fitted and all the other bits and bobs.

Oh my god, it's just hit me. It'll be in my name.

Mine. Mine mine miiiiiiiiiiiine miney mine mine meine, mien, miento mine mine.

Okay, I'm a little excited.

Typical me, I drove it for the first time to gym where I somehow managed to park it. Not having power steering anymore is going to take some getting used to – I think I pulled a muscle just turning a corner. But who needs a functioning right arm when you have a car? Not me, that's for sure.

The upholstery has little outlines of cars all over it.

As for a name, still undecided. I like Biscuit. Boyfriend wants to call it Jessica. We'll see.

Nip/Tuck

As you can no doubt see, the blog has undergone a little cosmetic surgery. Enjoy!

I need a project

I don't know what kind of project, just something I can put myself into, divert my energy to. Nothing work related, probably not even writing related.

Thought about taking up French again, but who has the time – or more importantly, what with the car and everything, who has the money?

Something I can do with my hands perhaps, something that doesn't require my brain.

Last winter I took up knitting. I am the proud owner of five balls of wool and one 15 cm-long scarf sitting somewhere in the depths of my cupboard. So maybe not that.

So Boyfriend was on at me this weekend again about wearing make-up while we were getting ice cream at the beach. He's of the opinion – which in principle at least I share – that less is more when it comes to the old slap. The difference in our views is about what constitutes less, and what constitutes nothing – or, as I like to call it, 'Are you kidding? I can't leave the house like that!'

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cake face and I don't do raccoon eyes to run down to the shops. I swear, I pretty much wear the bare minimum every day: a tiny bit of concealer and some mascara is about as much time as I have. Nights out are different of course, but even Boyfriend concedes I be allowed to vamp it up to paint the town red. But during the day, he wishes I'd just ditch the whole lot.

His argument, of course, is faultless: He thinks I'm beautiful without it. I don't need it.

Tempting.

But why then, at gym one morning, did the Bunny, who probably hadn't seen me without mascara since our second year of high school (the morning after a night out when I'm wearing it on my cheeks doesn't count), say, 'You look kind of weird. What's wrong with your eyes?'

Why then, when I forego this minimal makeup for work, do people immediately ask if I didn't get much sleep?

Why then, when for the first time in ages I wore eye shadow and eyeliner and lipgloss to the office today, did the lovely Miss Meeson comment on how 'pretty' I looked.

Because I look lovely every other day?

I think not.

Some frivolous candy-floss type happy thoughts

The sun – thank you weather gods – is shining today in Cape Town.

This afternoon during lunch I will be test-driving what will probably by tomorrow be My Car.

It's the first of July, which means we are at the beginning of the end of the year. Not that 2010 has been bad so far – not by a long shot – but this means we are moving closer to summer, Christmas holidays, my birthday – all good things.

July is also the month in which my paycheck will reflect my yearly increase. Thank you to the gods of cash flow.

I got some very good news over the weekend. Looks like the Boyfriend's move back to Cape Town could be accelerated to December instead of next March. No need for descriptions of the accompanying premature excitement.

I skipped gym this morning and got to sleep in (although never in my life did I imagine that I'd one day consider waking up at 7 am a lie-in).

Am currently drinking tea and eating provita, which okay isn't quite chocolate, but does fall under the biscuit category.