Am in a very happy, things-are-quiet-at-work, looking-forward-to-my-uber-long-weekend-with-Boyfriend kind of mood. But still, I have to say:
Grrr.
You cannot order a pizza in this town anymore without bumping into Seth bloody Rotherham.
Would I like to try a Nomu peri-peri rub on my pizza? Seth Rotherham invented it and reeeeally likes it apparently, so now it's the new hot ('scuse the pun) thing at Butlers pizza.
No. I would not like my pizza rubbed with anything inspired by Seth sponsored-down-to-the-ground Rotherfrigginham.
I hate him, I really do. I don't know him, but he lives in my dream hotel and he has money and sponsorships (for everything from his car to his coffee) coming out of his ears despite the fact that his blog is ... ahem ... mediocre.
Like how I stopped myself from using my big-girl words?
Grrr.
Yes, I'm jealous. Doesn't change the above facts.
Oh and his real name is William Mellor. Just by the by.
Also, please notice the lack of link to his page.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Back in the land of the living!
Well almost.
Wow what a busy-busy week. Have been working twleve-hour days and generally being a wonderful example of matyrdom to the man.
Yes yes, feeling very pitiful and pathetic and sorry for myself.
I am back though (Well, almost. Still trying to get a magazine in a language I don't speak off to print tomorrow, but you know – details, details).
Celebrated my-almost freedom with a little vintage shopping, accompanied by That Ulanda Girl, a glass of bubbly and some macaroons. Isn't life funny how it pelts you with stress, freelance work, late nights, early mornings, your period and nightmare clients, then relents and hands you something delightful. The ultimate I'm-sorry gift?
Okay shower and bedtime. If anyone ever thought I was cool, now's your chance to be disillusioned by looking at the time stamp on this post.
Wow what a busy-busy week. Have been working twleve-hour days and generally being a wonderful example of matyrdom to the man.
Yes yes, feeling very pitiful and pathetic and sorry for myself.
I am back though (Well, almost. Still trying to get a magazine in a language I don't speak off to print tomorrow, but you know – details, details).
Celebrated my-almost freedom with a little vintage shopping, accompanied by That Ulanda Girl, a glass of bubbly and some macaroons. Isn't life funny how it pelts you with stress, freelance work, late nights, early mornings, your period and nightmare clients, then relents and hands you something delightful. The ultimate I'm-sorry gift?
Okay shower and bedtime. If anyone ever thought I was cool, now's your chance to be disillusioned by looking at the time stamp on this post.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Moving to Switzerland...
Not really. It's just my mental escape-to place.
Aside from the snowcapped mountains and chocolate (mmmmmmmmmmomentary distraction), I like the fact that these people are best-known for their watch-making skills. How patient and quiet and organised do you need to be as a populous that your claim to fame is watch-making?
And the fact that you have to apply to the city council to paint your house a different colour, so they can establish whether it'll fit in with the colour scheme of the rest of your street.
This is where I imagine myself living out my days, quietly and with chocolate, whenever my world gets too much.
Like now, when every day this week I find I have to fight to believe in the human race. It's like that scene in The Fifth Element when LeeLoo considers not saving mankind because of what a scourge we are – on the Earth, on each other, just in general really.
'Cept there's no Korben Dallas here baby...
In what kind of world is a father coming home to find his little girl dead, raped and with her hands cut off just another news story? Why do people hack up a village or three of women and children, ostensibly just because?
Hate to be dramatic, but this shit is killing me lately.
Aside from the snowcapped mountains and chocolate (mmmmmmmmmmomentary distraction), I like the fact that these people are best-known for their watch-making skills. How patient and quiet and organised do you need to be as a populous that your claim to fame is watch-making?
And the fact that you have to apply to the city council to paint your house a different colour, so they can establish whether it'll fit in with the colour scheme of the rest of your street.
This is where I imagine myself living out my days, quietly and with chocolate, whenever my world gets too much.
Like now, when every day this week I find I have to fight to believe in the human race. It's like that scene in The Fifth Element when LeeLoo considers not saving mankind because of what a scourge we are – on the Earth, on each other, just in general really.
'Cept there's no Korben Dallas here baby...
In what kind of world is a father coming home to find his little girl dead, raped and with her hands cut off just another news story? Why do people hack up a village or three of women and children, ostensibly just because?
Hate to be dramatic, but this shit is killing me lately.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Help! (I need somebody) Help! (Not just anybody) Help!
Dear readers...
I'm doing a lil freelancing at the moment, and am in need of a few people to help me out by answering a couple of questions about communication in their offices/work environments. If you're inundated with emails or you're constantly invited to meetings you don't need to be at – I need to hear from you! It'll be minimal work, and you'll get to see your comments in an international glossy. Also there's something else very special in it for you – my undying gratitude.
We can do it over email, but I will need your real names preferably and where you work. Also, you have to be female, and between the ages of 18 and 30.
Um... yeah that's it really. Comment if you're willing to help poor little me out.
I'm doing a lil freelancing at the moment, and am in need of a few people to help me out by answering a couple of questions about communication in their offices/work environments. If you're inundated with emails or you're constantly invited to meetings you don't need to be at – I need to hear from you! It'll be minimal work, and you'll get to see your comments in an international glossy. Also there's something else very special in it for you – my undying gratitude.
We can do it over email, but I will need your real names preferably and where you work. Also, you have to be female, and between the ages of 18 and 30.
Um... yeah that's it really. Comment if you're willing to help poor little me out.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Things I would rather do with the R4 000 it's going to cost me to fix the damage I did to Mum's car during a moment's inattention in a parking garage
- Put the money toward buying my own car.
- Pay for at least two return flights to Joburg to visit Boyfriend.
- Sign up for weekly sessions with a personal trainer. The FUPA situation is getting so out of control, I think it's time I paid someone to crack the whip and stand over me yelling, 'Fifty more sit-ups! You're not going anywhere near a cup of tea till you've given me fifty more, soldier!' (or something).
- Buy a pair of Jimmy Choos. Or at least, half a pair. Maybe just the box.
- Have 267 Vida cappuccinos.
- See 200 movies at the Labia.
- Take 100 of my closest friends out for a cocktail. (Or, you know, take my closest friends out for 10 cocktails each.)
- Pay off a huge chunk of my laptop.
- Go out for sushi every night of the week for a month.
- Buy a new cellphone so I don't have to keep 'fixing' mine against the wall.
Monday, March 8, 2010
This poem by Kim Addonizio has been in my head lately
I always think of this one as a kind of Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle for the twenty-something existentially confused female. Maybe it's just me, maybe it's my carpe diem panic, or maybe I just feel like cheese and wine. Either way, it's in my head so now it's on my blog.
Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look.
Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look.
The weekend in numbers
Number of times I gasped and put my hands over my face while watching Precious on Friday night: about seven. That movie is really, really gritty and depressing. Though the five of us who went to see it are all fans of, shall we say, thinking cinema, we all kind of just wanted to be hugged and then get ice cream and watch something atrociously Hollywood like Bride Wars afterwards, just to feel okay again. (But really, go see it.)
Number of ID books currently in my possession in which my name appears in full and spelled correctly: one. Though my ID photo sadly still resembles a police mug shot, I'm glad this nonsense is finally out of the way.
Number of laps the Princess and I did around the Old Biscuit Mill Neighbourgoods market on Saturday morning: Too many. Being spoilt for choice is sometimes a terrible thing. But seriously, how can you possibly decide what to buy/eat/taste with such a smorgasbord of delights at every turn? Princess, god love her, managed to do all her grocery shopping for the week, while I dithered between anything from a pancake to a salmon bagel and back.
Number of 3D movies watched: one. Alice in Wonderland. I was a 3D virgin, and am suitably impressed, not least by the very cool wayfarer shape they've gone with for the 3D glasses. I don't need to tell anyone how cool the movie was.
Number of hours spent at home on Sunday, vegging, reading the entire Sunday Times for a change, watching TV, doing a little freelance work, making multiple cups of tea and slices of toast and just generally getting some much-needed downtime: 24. Loved every minute.
Number of ID books currently in my possession in which my name appears in full and spelled correctly: one. Though my ID photo sadly still resembles a police mug shot, I'm glad this nonsense is finally out of the way.
Number of laps the Princess and I did around the Old Biscuit Mill Neighbourgoods market on Saturday morning: Too many. Being spoilt for choice is sometimes a terrible thing. But seriously, how can you possibly decide what to buy/eat/taste with such a smorgasbord of delights at every turn? Princess, god love her, managed to do all her grocery shopping for the week, while I dithered between anything from a pancake to a salmon bagel and back.
Number of 3D movies watched: one. Alice in Wonderland. I was a 3D virgin, and am suitably impressed, not least by the very cool wayfarer shape they've gone with for the 3D glasses. I don't need to tell anyone how cool the movie was.
Number of hours spent at home on Sunday, vegging, reading the entire Sunday Times for a change, watching TV, doing a little freelance work, making multiple cups of tea and slices of toast and just generally getting some much-needed downtime: 24. Loved every minute.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Happy Friday everyone!
I'm (finally) about to leave work.
Yes? Is that the stroke of five I hear?
(It's all about imagination – you can hear the stroke of five at 4.45 if you really try hard enough. I'm gifted this way, but really, you'll get it if you practise).
Apologies for the doom and gloom earlier. Here's something to make up for it.
Happy weekend word attack:
Precious
Popcorn
Princess
Pancakes
Pool
(There are a lot more happy things happening this weekend, but I just don't have time to work them into words that begin with P)
Yes? Is that the stroke of five I hear?
(It's all about imagination – you can hear the stroke of five at 4.45 if you really try hard enough. I'm gifted this way, but really, you'll get it if you practise).
Apologies for the doom and gloom earlier. Here's something to make up for it.
Happy weekend word attack:
Precious
Popcorn
Princess
Pancakes
Pool
(There are a lot more happy things happening this weekend, but I just don't have time to work them into words that begin with P)
Some creepy things...
Trying to keep myself culturally informed this week, since I tend to fall behind the times quite often. However, after this little lot, I might go back to burying my head in the sand...
Lulu Xingwana, how could you? With one little temper tantrum, this ignorant woman threw the constitution – most specifically the bits referring to freedom of speech and the rights of gay couples – right out the window. Should someone so small minded really have anything to do with arts and culture? Then again, given our late health minister's solution to the Aids problem, we shouldn't be surprised.
Then, advertisers seem to be taking things a leeeetle too far these days. The latest way to punt your products? Pay kids to talk about them in the playground. These little soul-sellers need to be smart about their tactics, mind you. Apparently, anything sounding 'rehearsed' is bad. Kids are instead supposed to 'look for natural opportunities to drop it into conversation'. Scary.
All ridiculousness aside, sometimes things in the world make me so very, very sad to be a member of a race capable of such atrocities against each other. I hadn't heard about the practise of vitriolage (don't click this link if, like me, you're a bit of a sensitive person) before this week (head, sand, ya know), and I wish I could go back in time and not have watched BBC the other day. It disgusts me. And the savage sense of justice I feel at the retribution finally taking place disgusts me even more, only, with myself.
(Sorry for the enigmatic-ness of that – didn't want to ruin anyone's Friday accidentally. Though you have the free will to clicky clicky if you'd like.)
On a happier note, I try not to discuss South African politics ... well ... ever (because really, what's the point?) but I have to say, go Vavi!
Lulu Xingwana, how could you? With one little temper tantrum, this ignorant woman threw the constitution – most specifically the bits referring to freedom of speech and the rights of gay couples – right out the window. Should someone so small minded really have anything to do with arts and culture? Then again, given our late health minister's solution to the Aids problem, we shouldn't be surprised.
Then, advertisers seem to be taking things a leeeetle too far these days. The latest way to punt your products? Pay kids to talk about them in the playground. These little soul-sellers need to be smart about their tactics, mind you. Apparently, anything sounding 'rehearsed' is bad. Kids are instead supposed to 'look for natural opportunities to drop it into conversation'. Scary.
All ridiculousness aside, sometimes things in the world make me so very, very sad to be a member of a race capable of such atrocities against each other. I hadn't heard about the practise of vitriolage (don't click this link if, like me, you're a bit of a sensitive person) before this week (head, sand, ya know), and I wish I could go back in time and not have watched BBC the other day. It disgusts me. And the savage sense of justice I feel at the retribution finally taking place disgusts me even more, only, with myself.
(Sorry for the enigmatic-ness of that – didn't want to ruin anyone's Friday accidentally. Though you have the free will to clicky clicky if you'd like.)
On a happier note, I try not to discuss South African politics ... well ... ever (because really, what's the point?) but I have to say, go Vavi!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Humpday
Odd isn't it, how it comes around every week?
I'm trying very hard to have a good one, despite feeling less than energetic today.
Why you ask?
Well, for one thing I managed to exercise out all my body's reserves yesterday (wouldn't it be magical if that meant all excess body fat? alas, alack, no). Swam laps during lunch, and then did the most energetic dance class I've been to in a while after work. Really sweated it out, a result of some serious cardio coupled with an instructor who doesn't believe in air con (um, what?). Then last night for some reason I kept waking up every hour, on the hour. What gives?
Anyway, all makes for a sleepy Wednesday morning.
Missed Boyfriend last night too. You'd think that in an area with, like, all the country's coal mines, where they are in fact building Eskom's next power station, there'd be a constant supply of electricity. Not so much. Their poor little house keeps losing power, which means laptops and cell phones eventually fail, which means Boyfriend and I are incommunicado from time to time. Very annoying. Clearly Eskom doesn't care about my relationship.
Not to mention the annoyance (ARRRRRRGGHHHH) that is my phone. Every couple of weeks it gets PMS and switches itself off while I'm typing an SMS or trying to make a phone call. Damn temperamental thing. I solved the problem this morning though by throwing it against a wall, after it had turned off for the third time in a row.
Yeah. That'll teach you.
Hmmm, what else?
Forgot my hairdryer yesterday. Dried my fringe after swimming by sticking my head under the automatic hand dryer. Classy.
I'm trying very hard to have a good one, despite feeling less than energetic today.
Why you ask?
Well, for one thing I managed to exercise out all my body's reserves yesterday (wouldn't it be magical if that meant all excess body fat? alas, alack, no). Swam laps during lunch, and then did the most energetic dance class I've been to in a while after work. Really sweated it out, a result of some serious cardio coupled with an instructor who doesn't believe in air con (um, what?). Then last night for some reason I kept waking up every hour, on the hour. What gives?
Anyway, all makes for a sleepy Wednesday morning.
Missed Boyfriend last night too. You'd think that in an area with, like, all the country's coal mines, where they are in fact building Eskom's next power station, there'd be a constant supply of electricity. Not so much. Their poor little house keeps losing power, which means laptops and cell phones eventually fail, which means Boyfriend and I are incommunicado from time to time. Very annoying. Clearly Eskom doesn't care about my relationship.
Not to mention the annoyance (ARRRRRRGGHHHH) that is my phone. Every couple of weeks it gets PMS and switches itself off while I'm typing an SMS or trying to make a phone call. Damn temperamental thing. I solved the problem this morning though by throwing it against a wall, after it had turned off for the third time in a row.
Yeah. That'll teach you.
Hmmm, what else?
Forgot my hairdryer yesterday. Dried my fringe after swimming by sticking my head under the automatic hand dryer. Classy.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Just had the weirdest little panic attack
Our servers shut down for a few minutes, rendering me completely unable to do, well, anything. Scary how much we rely on technology – so scary in fact it prompted me to say in frustration, 'Argh! It's like I don't have hands!'
Then I got really freaked out.
The human body is so fragile, I could end up really having no hands one day as the result of some kind of freak accident.
Got totally panic-stricken by this thought. If I think I'm struggling with life and my emotions and finding a purpose and direction and meaning in the world now, what would it be like if I was disabled in some way? Like when Henry lost his feet in The Time Traveler's Wife.
I'd absolutely regret all this time I've wasted being sad when all the while I had two hands and two feet and legs that run and a head that thinks and a body that functions.
Good thing I'm going for a swim just now, and a class at gym later. Making the most of today seems like a good way to suppress the 'Oh how I've wasted my life!' type panic...
Then I got really freaked out.
The human body is so fragile, I could end up really having no hands one day as the result of some kind of freak accident.
Got totally panic-stricken by this thought. If I think I'm struggling with life and my emotions and finding a purpose and direction and meaning in the world now, what would it be like if I was disabled in some way? Like when Henry lost his feet in The Time Traveler's Wife.
I'd absolutely regret all this time I've wasted being sad when all the while I had two hands and two feet and legs that run and a head that thinks and a body that functions.
Good thing I'm going for a swim just now, and a class at gym later. Making the most of today seems like a good way to suppress the 'Oh how I've wasted my life!' type panic...
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Weekend in Numbers
It's that time again...
Bottles of red wine consumed at a Friday night braai: 0.5. Yes, marvellously restrained, wasn't I?
Time I woke up on Saturday morning: 7 am. Went to the Design Indaba at 8 to see Martha Stewart wax lyrical about glitter (okay okay, the rest of her talk was quite interesting – I just couldn't help jumping on the bandwagon).
Number of items purchased at the Design Indaba: 2. Well, three postcards and a wire and twine word ('hope') to hang in my room. Going to the Indaba and spending less than R100 takes skill but is possible.
Number of movies watched: 1 Bright Star, about John Keats' love affair with Fanny Brawne. Somehow I'm the only person I've spoken to (yes, I just implied that I talk to myself) who hasn't loved this movie. Is it just me, or did something just not gel right? It grew on me as it progressed, but in the beginning I just couldn't reconcile Abbie Cornish's face with the period and subject matter. I did love how they worked lines of his poetry into the script though, was quite inspired.
Number of Saturday nights at home on the couch with Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass: 1. I know I know...
Number of times celeb make-up artist David Sharpe looked with adoring eyes at the massive portrait of Bobbi Brown at the Bobbi Brown Make-up Course on Sunday morning: innumerable. Although it must be said that, idol worship aside, the class was really worth the R200 everyone else spent (I won my spot – haha). Very informative. And hey, who doesn't like playing with expensive make-up and getting all prettied up?
Number of flapjacks for lunch at Mugg & Bean on Sunday afternoon: 3. With almond butter. Healthy eating now starts with a vengeance...
Bottles of red wine consumed at a Friday night braai: 0.5. Yes, marvellously restrained, wasn't I?
Time I woke up on Saturday morning: 7 am. Went to the Design Indaba at 8 to see Martha Stewart wax lyrical about glitter (okay okay, the rest of her talk was quite interesting – I just couldn't help jumping on the bandwagon).
Number of items purchased at the Design Indaba: 2. Well, three postcards and a wire and twine word ('hope') to hang in my room. Going to the Indaba and spending less than R100 takes skill but is possible.
Number of movies watched: 1 Bright Star, about John Keats' love affair with Fanny Brawne. Somehow I'm the only person I've spoken to (yes, I just implied that I talk to myself) who hasn't loved this movie. Is it just me, or did something just not gel right? It grew on me as it progressed, but in the beginning I just couldn't reconcile Abbie Cornish's face with the period and subject matter. I did love how they worked lines of his poetry into the script though, was quite inspired.
Number of Saturday nights at home on the couch with Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass: 1. I know I know...
Number of times celeb make-up artist David Sharpe looked with adoring eyes at the massive portrait of Bobbi Brown at the Bobbi Brown Make-up Course on Sunday morning: innumerable. Although it must be said that, idol worship aside, the class was really worth the R200 everyone else spent (I won my spot – haha). Very informative. And hey, who doesn't like playing with expensive make-up and getting all prettied up?
Number of flapjacks for lunch at Mugg & Bean on Sunday afternoon: 3. With almond butter. Healthy eating now starts with a vengeance...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)