So after the excesses of the weekend, not to mention the fact that there has been no shift whatsoever in the festive season gain, I've decided that it's now February, and time to stop pretending I have the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old. I have therefore bought my ticket and am boarding the cardboard and cottage cheese train for the next few weeks.

Which means it's time to play What I Ate Today, a fun game for the whole family (or, you know, your Google Chat friends).

WIAT:
1 x cup of tea
40g Hi-Fibre Bran with 200 ml fat-free milk
1 x cup of tea
8 provita with marmite (in two sittings)
1 x cup of tea
60g nutty muesli with 150 ml low-fat milk

Edit: Before anyone else freaks out, this is not all I ate the whole day. Munched a couple crackers with cheese when I got home, and had chicken and veg for dinner. Okay?

Not so bad hmm? Pity all I really want after swimming laps at lunch time is this:

Eat me? Drink me? Who knows, I just
want to consume it with both hands

So the weekend didn't go quite according to plan...

Missed the night market, much to my distress. We had a somewhat impromptu dinner to go to first with Boyfriend's workmates. Ended up eating ourselves silly at Thai World's end-of-the-month buffet, which sounds as tacky as plastic high-heeled sandals but was actually delish. Looked up from our groaning plates to realise we had but an hour to get back to town and explore before the market closed. Opted instead to roll home on our distended stomachs. Strike one.

We did make it to the Neighbourgoods market on Saturday, but didn't stay long. Boyfriend has an aversion to crowd's and I have an aversion to my body butter melting off in the the heat, so we hightailed it to the next thing on our list, which was shopping for a new pair of shades for Boyfriend, who had lost his. Again, the world turned upside down, and instead of Boyfriend no longer having to squint into the sunlight, I ended up walking out with my first pair of (albeit it largely discounted) designer sunnies. With a shiny D&G case to match. Strike two.

On to the somewhat disappointing tattoo convention we'd been so excited about. Someone needs to take that show in hand and get some organisation going. You cannot do an entire calf piece while someone is lying across two convention centre chairs. No wonder the international needlists have stopped coming. Strike three.

Not out yet. We did manage to be slightly productive by getting Biscuit a much-needed wash (screw you, you incontinent birds) and buying massive blow-up animals for Up The Creek. I have a killer whale. Boyfriend has an alligator. We shall be the terror of the river.

Gave in to the universe rearranging our lives and went tra-la-la off to braai at a lovely rental house in Camps Bay, where I lazed by the pool, sunburnt my nose and tucked into second helpings of ribs and sausage. All very chic.

Sunday we put the world to rights, woke up early, got Boyfriend his sunnies and spent the rest of the afternoon altenately sleeping, eating and watching series.

And that, good friends, is everything a good weekend should be.

As you may or may not know (this is a test to see how carefully you've been following), I am a cog in the magazine production world. My desk is not 50 metres from our repro department, where those little worker bees spend their days making people's skin smoother, their hair sleeker, their eyes less puffy and their thighs, butts, arm flab and various other bits and bobs the world doesn't necessarily want to see, disappear.

Still, I love watching videos like this one and seeing the magic – for want of a less appraising word – happen.

Discussed over pastries and coffee at Jardine this morning how trawling Gumtree for flats/houses/cars can be soul-destroying, and that a large part of that is probably because of the sheer uglyness of the site (really, that puke green with yellow highlights is just vom).

Which made me think... Imagine a world in which we never had to see anything that wasn't aesthetically pleasing; if the whole world looked like the love child of a Mac OS, an issue of Vogue and a Muji store (yes, okay, that's a threesome).

As though the universe heard my thoughts, my inbox pinged shortly thereafter, delivering the following image from Brother Dear. It's s a save-the-date for a couple's wedding. The happy event is to take place near The Page Museum in California, at a tar pit full of fossils (odd yes, but one assumes they have an interest in paleontology?).

Anyway, the groom-to-be is a graphic designer, and the Brother Dear had quipped, 'What life would be like if everyone married a graphic designer'. No tacky brushscript font in sight, no boring floral background, no gag-inducing curlicues. Just this:

Quirky, original, just plain awesome design.

Just found an adorable jewellery store on Etsy – seriously, I was like Alexa Chung in a leggings shop, I couldn't click through all the pictures fast enough. From what I can gather it belongs to a girl in Hong Kong, and her page is called – oh so charmingly stereotypically – AmazingCraft4U.

Take a look at some of these. I can't decide what I love most, but I suspect it's the clock.

For all you camera-clicking city kids

A flat version of the one I wear periodically

Shiny shiny

Perfect for picnics when there's never a damn teaspoon around

I don't feel I need to explain myself on this one

TGIT

Somehow Thursday is always a good day for me. It's not as awesome as Friday, but I suppose in a way it's like those last couple of weeks leading up to Christmas – full of potential. You may be at work right now, yes, but Friday is but a craning of the head around the corner.

I guess that's why people phuza?

Anyway, thanks to the merciful fact that it was payday on Tuesday, this weekend promises to be a little more activity-filled than the last. Not that I'm against relaxing, it's just I don't like feeling like my hands are tied due to my impecuniousness.

So this weekend, this little piggy is going to market – with her plus-one. That's right, I'm taking Boyfriend to his first ever Cape Town cool kids 'I'm so hip it hurts' market. And not one actually, but two.

Tomorrow night we've got the Me, You and Everyone We Know night market at the Labia (see below). It's named after an indie movie (the one where the girl always wears shoes that are too tight and the lead male says, 'You think you deserve this pain but you don't', which I've always found strange) but the epithet is more accurate in terms of the fact that every time I've been I really have seen just about every single person I know (of the hipster variety, that is).

Then on Saturday morning we're up bright and early to hit the Neighbourgoods Market at the Old Biscuit Mill. I know I should forgive him based on the fact that he's been living in that place up there (can't say its name) but can you believe Boyfriend has never been? Situation shortly to be remedied. I'm thinking crepes for breakfast and maybe another coconut (not really).

After that it's off to the tattoo convention for a bit of normalcy.

Is the shining brighter today?

To market, to market

Blegh, the end of January

So by Tuesday next week we'll already have flown through the first month of 2011. Heading-spinning stuff, is it not? And a little scary, because now that I'm 24, I'm suddenly thinking about all the things I had meant to do before I was 25, things like:

• Live and work in a foreign place (New York, Paris, the Swiss Alps, Guangdong Province, anywhere really)
• Have the beginnings of a successful writing career, possibly with a book in the works
• Um... (shuffles around in embarrassment) move out of my parents' house

And about a million others of course, including a lot more partying, a lot less laundering of gym socks and being able to cook more than toast, popcorn and one chickenmushroomnoodle dish. And now, it seems, time is running out on me.

Gulp

The end of January is also a little bit blegh-face inducing because we're well and truly out of the holidays now. There's no more pretending. It's back to work/school/varsity kids, and the prospect is bleak.

Having said that, I still keep finding myself unexpectedly POOF-ing up to cloud nine from time to time. Like this morning, when I woke up and it was cold. Usually I'd think, 'I wonder what the the weather's doing up where Boyfriend is...'

Not today. Today, and for the foreseeable future, Boyfriend and I are sharing meteorology. And it's still absolutely fantastic.

So, who wants to be in COSMO?

(That's not capped because I'm in awe by the way, it's just house style.)

Dearest readers, I've got a feature to write and I am in need of your help, in the form of case studies (that'd be when you read something like this: 'Bill said he'd call, but after I hadn't heard from in two hours, I Google Earthed his flat and waited outside with a shotgun,' says Samantha, 32, a self-confessed bunny boiler.)

Anyway...

My feature is about relationships that don't work out but teach you something along the way. So for example there's Mr Wrong (who teaches you, with the wisdom of hindsight, that abuse is not cool) or Mr Perfect on Paper, Mr Casual Fling, your childhood sweetheart and so on.

Basically, I want the dish on your failed relationships. I need to ask you questions about your relationship with  any one of the above men (or any others you feel are relevant – I'm open to suggestions). I'll need you to tell me who he was, what he was like, why it didn't work out and MOST IMPORTANTLY what this taught you about yourself/men/relationships.

It really won't take up too much of your time, I promise.

As for the boys... I need one courageous masculine soul to stand up and tell me about the girl that got away that changed his life/perspective. Come on now, be brave...

Feel like you can help me out? Email me at jadetaylorcooke@gmail.com.

Thanks guys!

PS I'll need to use your real name unless the story is of a sensitive nature, so please keep that in mind.

So, Boyfriend and friends and I were chatting the other day (beside the pool, watching the braai do its thing, you know how we roll) and apparently the general consensus of stable people the world over is that if you can give up drinking for two weeks without too much hassle, you're not an alcoholic.

This pronouncement was followed by a bit of uncomfortable shifting around and shuffling of feet.

I mean, while I'm sure there have been at least a couple fortnights in my life that I've gone without drinking without even realising it, if asked to do it, starting right now, I wonder how successful I'd be.

Actually I don't wonder. I know.

A few weeks ago – I think it was the week of the flu actually, because that followed a month of solid eating and drinking, usually followed by more drinking and, then, some more drinking – I thought, Right, your liver has now got what was coming to it and it is therefore time to turn the other cheek. Maybe a couple weeks of no drinking...

Eh! – went my naughty half – but there's Sarah's bachelorette on Friday and then that house party and then that braai in Camps Bay...

Two alcohol-free weeks turned into only four days, and that was mostly because I was in bed hacking up a lung.

Bad form Jade. Maybe I should try again?

Then again, as Boyfriend said, 'Really, why try? Then you might have to admit you're an alcoholic...'

Superficial wants of the moment

• PhotoShop for real life (Just imagine...)
• Calorie-free whisky
• A personal shopper to go and find the perfect pair of jeans and trainers for me
• Rhinoplasty 
• Someone to wash Biscuit every morning after the birds that come to roost in the tree I park under at night have voided themselves all over her

Oops

So I may need a fresh start on my fresh start. Last night didn't go quite as planned...

We had a substitute instructor for Pilates, which immediately killed my motivation so I had a bit of a half-assed workout. Dinner was a large bowl of Mum's spaghetti Bolognese, rather than my optimistic egg-white omelette, and I ended up watching Gossip Girl instead of sorting through my closet. That's zero out of three, not quite up to my usual standard.

Re-do, please?

Also, what is happening to my skin? I think I've had more spots in the past month than all through high-school. So not feeling this teenage look I've got going at the moment. How annoying. They'd best be gone by the weekend or I may have to skulk at home. After all, if you have a spot while hiding in your bedroom in your pyjamas and there's no one there to see it, are you still hideous?

The definition of bravery

Courtesy of PostSecret.

Overhaulin'

No, Biscuit's not getting mags, sorry boys.

I know it's already halfway through January so it's probably a bit late for resolutions, fresh starts and the like, but given that I've had a few false starts to the year (one times birthday long weekend, one times week sick and in bed) I feel I'm entitled to be a little slow off the mark.

Not that I really bothered making any resolutions for 2011 – they're the same, year in, year out: lose weight, move out, become a famous and celebrated writer, world peace ... wait, I'm getting confused...

But I am finally getting in the swing of a new year, which means back to gym, back to eating like pizza's not the only meal left on the menu, back to good habits and so on and so forth.

Also time for a bit of an overhaul on the little things. For example, I hereby solemnly swear to try to lay off the ghd. And I'm off to a good start – haven't straightened my hair this morning, and wearing less make-up too. Not that I slather it on usually, but even my minimal concealer was starting to eat the coating on the nose-piece of my sunnies – that can't be good.

Also need:
Wardrobe update
New handbag
Spiffy new gym gear and proper training shoes so I don't end up with knee problems
Jeans. As much as I love my jeggings (they're so comfy I haven't worn button-ups for a year or more), as Boyfriend pointed out*, they really don't do too much for the old derriere.

My evening's plans include Pilates, an egg-white omelette and reorganising my closet. How's that for fresh start-y?

* Don't get up in arms, he did it in the nicest way possible: 'You have such a lovely bum, people should get to see it.'

So, my Grade 8 science teacher taught me that when things get hot, they expand. She explained this fact with the aid of a few lead balls and a bunsen burner, but I've always found that science is far more entertaining when applied to the real world.

Which is why I now present to you my findings on the matter...

Hypothesis Physical bodies expand in the heat.

Apparatus 1 x bathroom scale, 1 x bedroom mirror, 1 x heaped serving of self-loathing

Observable fact #1 General deduction. It is currently very hot in Cape Town.
Observable fact #2 Scale findings. My post-festive season weight is a whole three kilos more than my pre-festive season weight.
Observable fact #3 Mirror test. My middle appears at least twice as wide as it was three weeks ago.

Conclusion QED. Physical bodies expand in the heat.

See? Has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that we ate at least three square meals a day (and by square that I mean town square, say, Trafalgar-sized) and drank like someone had announced the Winelands were going to burned in 2011 to make way for the Julius Malema themepark.

So as soon as it cools down to a reasonable temperature, I will shrink back down to size right? I'll let you know how that goes...

And I'm back!

Well, to be fair, I've been back at work for two days now, but the old brain has only now snapped back into the swing of things like, um, typing, and, er, forming full sentences.

As per usual, the second the holidays were over I was like, um, could we do that again?

Truth be told though, I'm not too, too bummed to be back in the office. Cape Town has been roasting the past two days, to say the least, and our sub-zero air con is all that's standing between me and a Jade-shaped puddle on the sidewalk. I do not do well in the heat. At this very moment I am on my bed, wearing only a purpose-dampened towel, lying in front of a fan going full blast, with the lights off (because everyone knows light energy and heat energy go hand in hand).

There was also one very exciting development over the festive season that makes things like going back to work, writing advertorial and having no money in the bank seem like rosy spots on a positively glowing horizon...

Boyfriend is now officially a Capetonian again. Permanently. Goodbye two-year long-distance relationship, hello boring regular coupledom.

On Monday we had cheese and bubbles on Table Mountain like a pair of tourists. Why? Because we can.

Now if only KB would get the frick off the Fresh Drive, the mercury would drop a bit and the weekend would come around again, I could scribble The End on this happy ending and fade to black to Frank Sinatra.