So, it's that time of year when I, like Santa, start making lists, checking them twice and so on and so forth (I won't bother with the usual naughty and nice jokes, because I plan to be a bit of both).

Seriously though, as much as I'm a list lover all year round, at this particular moment in time, everything in my life has been reduced to point form, from Christmas shopping lists to end-of-the-year to-do lists and last-few-final-things-to-wrap-up-at-the-office-before-I-go-on-leave lists.

One magazine left by the way. And only three PDFs at that. I wait with bated breath. Three PDFs and counting...

Everything's also been reduced to some kind of countdown.

• Twelve sleeps until I'm 24 
• Five sleeps until Christmas (yes I'm a 12-year-old when it comes to the ole Yuletide)
• Three sleeps until I'm officially on leave
• And (drum roll please) only TWO SLEEPS until boyfriend and his Garden-Route-road-tripping posse cruise into Cape Town, after which he's never leaving again.

Oops, I may have sounded a little like Isla Fisher's Wedding Crashers character there. What I mean is he's going to be working and living at home from now on. No more flying around the country, no more long-distance, no more Skype every night. I can hardly wait. It's Christmas come early is what it is...

ho, ho, ho

I've decided that Thursday public holidays are possibly better than Friday or even Monday public holidays, especially at this time of year.

Wednesday felt like Friday, Thursday felt like a mini weekend and then – how did this loveliness occur? – suddenly it's Friday all over again. It's enough to make a girl forget she's still got two magazine deadlines and some freelance work to wrap up before the hollies.

Put up our family Christmas tree yesterday too, so feeling ree-hee-hee-ally in the ho-ho-ho spirit of things. That, plus the proapect of baking Christmas-tree shaped chocolate cookies and going to see the Cape Town City Ballet's Cinderella this weekend makes for one happy blogger.

Must do Christmas shopping tomorrow. Mall dread setting in...

Cannot wait to see the movie Black Swan.

Here's why:

I love ballet.
I love ballet movies.
I love Natalie Portman.
Therefore, surely, I shall simply adore a ballet movie starring Natalie Portman? Yes, I think so. QED.


Also, in my most secret of all dreams, I wish I looked like this (and I'm not talking about her face):

The Weekend in Numbers

Number of hours spent at Paul Senyol's exhibition space on Friday night to see Debbie Turner's lovely illuminated manuscipt-type poetry: one?

Number of hours spent at the Medi Clinic ER on Friday night after dashing out of Paul's: three to four. Poor, poor Noodle had a bad reaction to some antinausea medication. First there was the involuntary teeth clamping and lock jaw, then there was the friendly doctor who sorted her right out, then there were the hysterical giggles, rapid-fire talking and memory loss in the middle of long, convoluted sentences, a side effect from the drip counteracting the other side effect. This is why I don't self-medicate. Look what can happen, even when you're in the safe hands of a qualified professional. Was hilarious though, hearing the usually very reserved Noodle babble at about seventy miles an hour about how we should dress up for the Kings of Leon concert (Golden Circle baby! Thanks Boyfriend, you are, hands down, the best). She also told me five or six times how lovely my hair is. Bless.

The rest of the weekend passed by in a lovely blur of productive freelancing, Fat Cactus-enchilada-and-margarita-ing, Lazari brunching and Christmas and birthday present shopping. All in all a good one I'd say.

Seven work days left and counting...

The Friday Night Staff Party at Karma Lounge in Numbers

Number of new pairs of shoes worn: 1. They were so happy to finally see the light of day. 

Number of drinks: foggy 

Number of photo booths: 1 

Number of sober, smiling, decent-looking groupshots taken in photo booth: 1 

Number of smashed, prop-filled, drunken-faced photos in which at least three extra people than is necessary are crammed into the tiny space of the booth: far too many. Least my directors look about twice as hammered as I do. I tried to grab all the prints in what I thought was a fairly astute bit of damage control, before being informed at the end of the night that all the images are being put on to a CD for office-wide distribution. 

Number of lucky draws won: 1. A R400 shopping voucher. That brings to four the number of competitions I've won in the past five or six months. I think I should buy a lottery ticket soon. 

Number of regrets: None really I suppose, though I wish I could quickly go back in time and double-check that all my conversations were in fact sensical (I know that's not a word but, you know, whatevs). That and maybe not have started pulling shapes to a Katy Perry track. Still, not bad...