Okay Wednesday morning, let's work this out like adults

Gah!

Wednesday mornings can be the worst, can't they?

This morning was a prime example.

I snoozed my alarm one too many times, which meant that by the time I got up, someone else was already hogging the bathroom. 'No matter,' thought I. 'I shall make tea instead.'

Headed to the kitchen. Stubbed toe, mighty painfully. Rolled around on the floor, moaning in agony.

Made it into the bathroom to discover it is a Bad Hair Day. Also discovered face wash is running out. Had to attack tube with scissors.

Stared balefully into cupboard 10 minutes later, to find it is also an I Hate My Entire Wardrobe day.

Checked weather. Going to be hot. But have not got around to painting my toenails, therefore must wear pumps instead of sandals.

Drove to work and heard on the radio that Ryk Neethling's ex has written a tell-all book, entitled In the Water They Can't See You Cry. This cheered me up immensely, because it reminded me that the world is a stupid, crazy kind of place, filled with some really stupid crazy kind of people.

Thank you, Amanda Beard. You've reminded me to laugh at myself and my first-world morning problems.

Oh, and at you.

Hands up now, who else is feeling depressed today? I mean, I know for a fact it can't just be me who struggled to get out of bed this morning. Things seem bleak bleak bleak my friends. It's that kind of holiday hangover that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with disbelief at being back on the daily grind.


That's it. I'm starting a new religion, and its primary doctrine is that all weekends should be four days. They should also, preferably, contain chocolate bunnies and sugar-coated eggs.

Fantastic things that happened this weekend include, but are not limited to:

• Spending the weekend at a gorgeous Camps Bay mansion. Now that's a staycation.
• Having a sleepover with Le Boyfriend and another guy, and having them cook bacon and eggs in the morning, and then clean up afterwards. Well trained, very well trained they are. 
• Rehearsing and rehearsing and rehearsing and then performing with On Pointe and iKapa Dance Theatre on Saturday night, in Summer Stages.
• Hearing someone sing 'Can you feel the drugs Fernando?' instead of 'Can you hear the drums Fernando?'.
• Sleeping for 10 solid hours, two nights in a row. 
• Sitting in a hot jacuzzi, sipping a gin and tonic, holding a pink umbrella while it pours with rain around us. 
• Eating chocolate for breakfast.

Happy Easter everyone

Here's to a four-day weekend filled with chocolate.

The weekend that was

Between dinner at The Pot Luck Club and Gallery on Friday night (hands down the best meal I've ever eaten in my life), nine solid hours of gin at Tjing Tjing bar on Saturday night, and a garden party that included Beach Party yesterday ... well, let's say, I don't remember much of the weekend that was, apart from that it was amazing.

A year, six months, who's counting?

So, as of this morning, it's official: I am now heavier than I've ever been in my life.

This I attribute to:

• Slacking off on any real exercise while my knee's out of action
• Eating like a motherfucker
• Drinking like the same

Of course, given that being at my official highest weight ever means I can no longer fit into my jeans, something really needs to be done.

And done today.

I think, if I lost 10 kilos by next summer, I may finally achieve that blissful state of being happy with my body. Six months should do it, right? Therefore, by 26 September 2012, I will be 10 kilos lighter than I am today.

And since I can't go on Jolly Mollies, or get liposuction, or send myself on some three-week detox retreat, I suppose instead I shall go about it the old-fashioned way: eat less, exercise more, try not to spend every weekend at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

Sounds reasonable right? I'll keep you posted.

Sand, sand, everywhere

So in keeping with the idea of 2012 being a year of new experiences, I signed Le Boyfriend and myself up for a sandboarding trip a little while ago, and we finally got around to it on Saturday morning.

Now, I'm not a total clutz, but I'm also not the kind of girl who, when you look at me, you automatically think 'adventure sports lover', so this was always going to be an interesting morning in the dunes. While Le Boyf got the hang of standing up speeding down a dune strapped to a plank quite quickly, I bit the sand at least three times before I mastered it. There's a somewhat amusing video of my more spectacular bail out, too.

Of course, once I'd figured out how to do it, I didn't want to stop. The problem then, is that dunes, unlike ski slopes, do not have chair lifts. Which means that after 20 awesome seconds of hurtling down the sand (upright, for a change), you need to hike your way back up to the top of a soft sand dune to do it again. Which at the time didn't seem too terrible, but your quads know all about it the next morning. I'm still having trouble with stairs. Lord only knows how I'm going to manage my strengthening session at Sports Science at lunchtime.

But enough with the whining. Sandboarding was, all in all, really pretty rad. Radder still, was showering afterwards. A windy day in the dunes (yes, okay, and tumbling down them with your ankles over your head a couple time) means you have sand in all kinds of special places, where one should never have sand. Getting undressed (which I did standing in the bath) produced my own personal beach. I'm pretty sure there's still a grain lodged somehwere behind my right eyeball, and I keep accidentally winking at people while trying to dislodge it.

After my Pity Party Tuesday, it's now officially No Negativity Wednesday.

And in keeping with the theme of today, I have decided to spend the day looking on the bright side (regardless of how annoying I usually find endlessly optimistic people).

So, today, instead of being frustrated at my inability to find The Perfect Flat, I will instead focus on being happy that I can finally afford to live on my own, in somewhere that isn't a hole.

Instead of being all bleak about my knee injury, I will instead be happy that's it's fixable and doesn't require surgery.

Instead of being bleak that I couldn't make quiche last night because I seem to be the only person who doesn't know that shortcrust pastry comes frozen and needs to be defrosted before being used (Jade's foray into cooking), I will instead be happy that it means I'll be having quiche tonight instead. (I realise this quiche obsession seems a tad odd, but someone made it for me, it was super delicious, apparently it's super easy to make, and it will mean that I have officially cooked something other than popcorn or toast in 2012. So there.)

Still creaky

Okay so I was going to post today about the absolute awesomeness that was Two Door Cinema Club on Saturday night (also, the absolute drunkenness) but since you've probably read about it on every other Capetonian blogue there is, I've decided instead to have a little pity party.

Yes, lucky you.

Remember how I said I had to stop running because of the pain in my knee? And how super bummed I was? Well, it now seems my double-jointed hyperflexed spastic joints have absolutely nothing to do with the pain after all.

Hooray!

Not so much.

Turns out that my tiny little bit of running training was, in the words of Dr van der Merwe at Sports Science – that's Dr Knee to the rest of the medical profession – 'a little too much, too fast'. Which is ridiculous, because, really, if I had been building up any slower, I would have been running backwards.

Anyway, he gave my knee bits a squeeze, declared I probably had garden variety runner's knee as a result of thinking I was an athlete when I so clearly am not (no, not his actual words) and then dispatched me for an MRI to confirm. And while I was having a jolly time in my MRI cage and enjoying a little lie down in the middle of the work day, it never crossed my mind that when we looked at the images later he would say:

'Oh. You've done some real damage there. See that dark spot? Your bone is bleeding.'

Yeah. I didn't know bone could bleed either.

'So that's bad?'

'It's pretty bad.'

'So no running?'

'No running.'

'So no gym?'

'No gym.'

'No, um, no dancing?'

'See that dark spot there?'

'Fine.'

Pause

'How about Pilates?'

'How badly do you need to stretch Jade? How badly, really?'

'Fine.'

Sucks to be me, right?

Anyway, so now I have to see a biokineticist three days a week for six weeks, and try to conceal the fact that I need to rehearse for our show in April (and, oh yeah, perform in the show) which will require a vast amount of pointing, jumping, stepping, bending and generally throwing my body around all over the floor.



Note Boyfriend had just informed me that apparently bleeding of the knee bone is somewhat common. He also reminded me about the 30th birthday party we attended laaaast Saturday where the host tried to kick the chandelier, tore all the ligaments in his knee and will be on crutches for months. And then he reminded me about his colleague who on Thursday tore her meniscus playing action cricket. So I guess the message there is, Dutchman up Jade. A little bleeding bone never hurt anyone.

Creaky me

So as if having a spastic knee weren't bad enough (and it's pretty bad, considering my MRI in March is going to cost me around two grand), I have now also definitely pulled my hip flexor.

This is a problem for a few reasons.

One It hurts. I consider pain to be pretty up there on my list of priorities.
Two On Pointe's next show is on 7 April, which means I have about six weeks to get it sorted, otherwise there will be no chasse-coupe-jete-rolling for me, oh no there will not.
Three In order to fix the problem I'll probably have to resort to rest and/or physio. But given the four kilos I appear magically to have gained, not exercising doesn't seem like an option any more. As for physio, well, let's just I reckon after the MRI, my MSA will be O-V-E-R.

Yoikes.

The party weekend in Langebaan

The memories
'Eliminate the colon. Font differentiation is the way forward'
Deciding to all go to Nepal, to meet the long-dead Tenzing Norgay, apparently the first man on the moon (I think by this stage we were already severely addled)
Partying in the lounge
'Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle, yeah. I'm 30 and I know it!'
Dance pizza
Rolling up to the sokkie in a limo
An introduction to the world of langarm
Getting lei-ed
The breathalyser 'game'
Top Gun
Justin's beach soccer wipeout

The damage
Six names, officially thrown
A couple grand down on the credit cards
One cracked windscreen
A collective R450 lost at the casino, in the space of 15 minutes. 

Never to be repeated
Turning 30 Seconds into a drinking game
'Let's go to Kaktus'
'This place is like a cockpit'

Happy ♥ day

Pulls on your heartstrings, doesn't it? Sorry, you know I love a bad pun.

Love Valentine's? Did you get spoilt rotten by your other half? Is the world all butterflies and unicorns with rainbows coming out of their bums for you today?

Nobody cares.

Hate Valentine's? Are you spouting off statistics about how many trees get cut down so Hallmark can print pink and red cards containing worthless platitudes? Or informing everyone you know about how the origin of this nauseating holiday lies in the death of a Roman priest?

Nobody cares.

Everyone just keep calm, eat a heart-shaped chocolate, and carry on. Okay?

Besides, not only is tomorrow Hump Day, you can probably also smash all of those Woollies pink foil-covered goodies into your face tomorrow for 25-50% off.

Knees up

So, remember how I was all excited about starting running? How fulfilled I felt about having a goal? How excited I was about entering that race in March?

Well, about a third of the way into my Couchto10K programme, and after buying lovely New Balance trainers, my doctor has just told me I may want to forget about the whole running thing.

You see, since I was born, I've had slightly spastic knees (and hips and elbows), in the sense that they bend slightly The Wrong Way (scientifically knows as hyperflexion, or genu recurvatum).

This is a normal range of knee
motion, apparently. Whereas mine goes
an extra 10 to 15 degrees past 0.

It's caused by ligament laxity and, long story short, can cause all kinds of problems, like bone grating on bone because my joints extend past where there's cartilage. It's also hard to fix, because ligaments, unlike tendons (which are attached to muscles), can't be strengthened or tightened or whatever, so there's no real way to correct the laxity.

Not ideal.

Not that that there's any bone-grating action happening at the moment. But in the past two weeks or so, running became somewhat painful on impact, and my interval runs became more like long limps back to the car, which is why I thought I'd consult a professional. That professional has now referred me to another professional, who seems to be Mr Uber Knee Guy at Sports Science.

Sounds like a long and expensive road, but if I ever hope to wear in my new trainers, and one day get to my 10k, I'm going to have to limp my way down it.

Meh.

Up the creek, baby!

A road trip, a pit stop for The Best Pies in the World, camping, drinking, listening to bands, eating, drinking, listening to more bands, spending the day in a river drinking, drinking while you go back the campsite to get more drinks, drinking in the river again, eating some more, watching bands while drinking in the river and eating, passing out napping, drinking some more, watching some bands, eating, drinking ... you just have to love music festivals, don't you?

So what if it was super hot? So what if I felt nauseous both nights? So what if my hair looked like Helena Bonham Carter's after The RobFather sprayed me with his water pistol? So what if my knees and my knees alone got sunburnt while riding my crocodile (this is all starting to sound dirty)?

It was still rad as rad can be. And that's pretty rad.

I have this to say (Peggles, Sleeping Beauty and BestePomp, I hope you're reading this)...

BLAP!

Do the lyrics still shake your fucking soul?

One of my all time favourites from I Wrote This For You. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time.

'And when we speak now, seldom as that is, the old language returns. I wonder if it makes old names make guest appearances in your mind. If you can feel the skin of my neck near yours one more time. Do you reach across the bed for a shape, no longer there. Do you remember it clearly or is it all just memories of memories. Is there still warmth from my fingers tracing the contours of your skin, left somewhere in your body. If you smell the smell of how I used to smell in a crowd, do you think of these things. Is something missing in everyone else's or someone new's voice. Will they never know quite how to laugh or breathe just behind your ear. Do they know what you look like when you want to leave a party, when you've had too much of people. Could they rebuild your body out of clay if they needed to, because they've touched it so many times. Does your back still arch the way it used to when I still kissed you.

Does an old singer sing an old song on an old radio.

Do the lyrics still shake your fucking soul.

Did it sound like this?'

Cock-knockers

Look. I'm so bummed, I even pulled a hipster move
and wrote my emotions on my hand, then took
a photo to show you my angst.

Ever had a day that was supposed to consist of two hours of work, a fancy spa pedicure and a long boozy lunch, but then ended being two hours of work, a monumental fuck-up brought to your attention that's all your fault and will cost your company tens of thousands ... and then a fancy spa pedicure and a long boozy lunch during which you have time to Think About What You've Done?

I have. Thanks today. Way to go messing up what was supposed to be an awesome week for me.

Also, fuck you whoever came up with horoscopes.

That is all.

Gimme! (the pink edition)

Anyone kind enough to buy or steal any of the following for me,
will have my undying love and affection. 

Oh please, Please please please. Just think of all the cupcakes
I'd make for you, in my fancy KA mixer...

Micro pigs are the new pink AND the new black.
But I'm not just jumping on the bandwagon. I've wanted
a pig since I first read Charlotte's Web. I'd like to think
that's how I got my childhood family nickname
'Porky', although it's probably not.

Sorry, just had to nail the cute point home.

Because I'm tired of cheap nail polish.

Yeah, they're not my usual seven inch style,
but they're going to sort out my shin splints,
and they're not exactly the cheapest.

This is going to be a fantastic week

(Well, apart from the fact that my department – which today consists of two people, including myself, due to various others being on leave or in day-long meetings – is deathly quiet with approximately zero work having come in so far.)

The rest of the week is definitely looking up though. Here's why:

• It's a three-day week for me because...
• We're team building on Thursday, which means spa, then wine tasting, then lunch, and...
• I've taken Friday off because...
• It's Up the Creek this weekend. Hello to spending all day in the river on an inflatable crocodile, all night watching live bands, and every minute of the day with a Hunter's Extreme in my hand.

Yes, happy dance indeed. Oh and let's not forget all the marathon and very delicious grooming that shall be going on this week. Nothing this blogger likes more than grooming herself to the nines.

4x4ing is not for sissies

Even if you're not the one driving.

Did 'a little 4x4 trail' with Le Boyfriend and a couple friends on Saturday, in God knows where   beyond the boerewors curtain out Durbanville way. The scenery was pretty. Getting out of the city was nice. The sight of Boyfriend's monster v8 Hilux stretching its legs over all the obstacles and putting everyone else to shame was pretty cool too.

What wasn't cool, literally, was the heat. It's official. I'm not built for warmth. Especially not 40 degree mountain type heat. There was much swacking and also gnashing of teeth. I think we consumed about five litres of water between two of us, and by the time we were heading home, myself and another member of our intrepid band of travellers had been reduced to grunting as a form of communication.

Be proud though – I managed not to get myself sunburnt. So yay me. Suck it, skin cancer.

Spent the rest of Saturday recovering in the cool of Boyfriend's loft on his lovely couch in front of his massive T,V surrounded by its, er, surround sound. In a towel. After a long, cold shower.

I'll reiterate. 4x4ing, my friends, is not for sissies. And clearly I am one. 

That is all, as you were

Back in the black

Well, hello pay day, so nice to see you again. It's been a while. I've missed you. Really I have. I know some people may say I only look forward to seeing you when I need something, like MoroccanHairOil or tickets to Up the Creek, but that's ... okay, well yeah, that's true. But hey. We can still be friends, right?

It's so nice to have a positive bank balance and (nearly) zeroed credit card again. Wow it feels good to have more than two digits at the bottom of my internet banking statement again.

Let's face it – as rad as getting paid early in December is, January sucks a little when you run out of disposable income around the second (especially if you spent most of your remaining ZARs on bubbly – hard to subsist on that stuff, or put it into your fuel tank).

Anyway, today, despite it being the middle of the week, is a good day. Here's to No-negativity Wednesday!

I like to move it, move it

So, be proud, bloglings – I'm on week three of my running programme (yes, miraculous, considering last week was week one, but I need to step up the pace since the race is in, oh, just over six weeks). Hit the treadmill yesterday morning before work and clocked 30 minutes and 3.5 km.

That may not sound like much, but it's a lot more than this asthmatic non-runner ever thought she'd do. And sure that was still a running/walking combo, but hey, I'm proud.

Of course, it wasn't without its moments. Firstly, I figured out why I find it so hard to run ... I've been jogging on my toes all my life! That's what you get for doing ballet instead of regular sports I guess. Oh well. I'm now focusing on putting my heel down first, which means I have to concentrate very hard while running, and look like a bit of a special person.

Secondly, came pretty close to embarrassing myself when my headphone cable got tangled and my iPod slipped off the little shelf thing, hit the treadmill and went shooting off behind me at a couple of people on spinning bikes. Succeeded in the afore-attempted embarrassment when it happened at second time. Doh...

The weekend in numbers

Yes, I'm a bit behind...

Number of nights in: one. Friday night. It's January, after all folks and my bank balance is looking dire, or whatever word means 'worse than dire'.

Number of killing sunburns: one. And I've been so good lately. But I was temporarily separated from my sunscreen during the TotalSports Challenge (do you like how I made it sound like I was doing the Challenge, as opposed to just cheering on a friend?). Oh well. Strap-lined shoulders and red calves are where my tan's at, at the moment. 

Number of Peddlar's burgers after the TotalSports Challenge (and a shower): one. Worth mentioning. They're just so good. 

Number of naps on Saturday afternoon: zero. I tried. But then some woman got stuck in the lift at Boyfriend's flat, and damn near screamed the building down for 45 minutes afterwards. Not conducive to REM. 

Number of times I laughed on Saturday: brazillions. Saw Nic Rabinowitz in Stand Up and Deliver at the Baxter. 

Number of music legends seen in concert: one. Johnny Clegg at Kirstenbosch. You have to love summer in Cape Town, don't you?

RUN!

This isn't me, but damn I'd like it to be.

Went for my first run on the promenade yesterday, which (if you include running on the treadmill on Wednesday morning) brings my total number of running training sessions in 2012 up to two.

Which brings my total number of running training sessions in my life, pretty much, up to two.

Late last year I read about the annual Mouille Point Lighthouse Nite (their spelling, not mine) Race. It's 10 km along the Sea Point prom, from the lighthouse to Bantry Bay or so and back, in a loop. Sounded quite fun, until I reminded myself, 'Yeah but Jade, you don't run. You can't.'

And then I realised I was tired of hearing myself say things like that. Yes I've never really run for more than a minute in my life without getting out of breath, but everyone starts somewhere right? And the reason I think I can't, is because I haven't actually tried. Because, as with so many things in my life, I'm scared that trying might lead to failing, and I grew up believing that failing was not an option. I never tried out for the soccer team, never ran for prefect, never aimed to get a first in a varsity course I vaguely struggled with (in fact I opted to drop out of first year at one point, rather than not get the tertiary education equivalent of straight As), mostly because I was scared of what would happen if I had a dream and it didn't come true.

So I am going to try. Even if it's hard, even if I don't turn out to be gifted at it, even if I suck. My goal is to start training, and finish that race. After that, I'll see if I want to carry on with this running malarkey. But at the moment, it just feels good to have a goal. Scary, yes, the whole whatifIdon'tachieveit thing, but it's a new and exciting feeling too.

Vive la single resolution

So, I've finally jumped on the bandwagon with the rest of the world, and said 'bah humbug!' to NY resolutions.

No more 'I will lose five kilos' (although I will), 'I will make more of an effort with friends' (although I will), 'I will write more' (although I will)...

Instead, I've come up with the resolution to end all resolutions.

Ready?

In 2012, I will ... Spend My Time More Wisely.

Simple, no? Yes. And no. Because it inherently includes the following:

• I will worry less, and dream more
• I will procrastinate less, and do more
• I will watch less (bad) TV, and read more
• I will do less laundry, and socialise more
• I will drive less, and spend more quality time with people who count
• I will stress less, and exercise more

And so on, and so forth. It's kind of an undefined carpe diem moment I'm having. To get the heck out of dodge (aka my boring, stale, tired routine) and do more of what makes me happy, which is what a handy sign on our office inspiration wall so helpfully tells me every morning.

The Birthday Comedy of Errors

Having a birthday on 1 January is a blessing and a curse. The night before, it's extra Champagne for the birthday girl, and no cleaning up the next day, which is all great, but you do tend to begin your next year of life with your 'morning after the night before' head on, and there is double the expectation that people normally carry into the whole NY palaver.


So the birthday began with watching Le Boyfriend (saintly, he is) tidy up the house we were sitting, before we hightailed it to his flat for a quick nap, which turned into a longish sleep. I then zooted home to my parents' place for much bestowing of love and smiles and presents, only to have something of an upheaval with my father because, contrary to my wishes, he had organised a family lunch for the occasion, at a place and time of his choosing.

Given that I had organised a birthday picnic for 30 people the following day – an event for which I still needed to get into the kitchen and bake and ice a gazillion cupcakes – needless to say this lunch didn't fit into my plans. Regardless, we went, me at 25 years of age sulking like a 12-year-old and having to have Le Boyfriend poke me in the ribs every time I looked like I was going to sass.

My actual birthday evening saw me sweating and slaving at a hot oven (allow me a little sense of the dramatic, please), churning out a small army of perfect, pink cupcakes for the picnic the next day.

Upon which it rained. Cue cancelling of picnic.

No matter, still have Le Boyf's Birthday Surprise Adventure to look forward to this morning!

Oh wait. Cancelled due to rain too.

No matter. Stiff upper lip. Grab my Girl Love and The Fisherman and head to Ratanga Junction for some good old-fashioned tomfoolery and rollercoasters. Fantastic day. Entirely drove the blighted birthday blues away.

Until we got home, that was, and the three drinks I'd had tipped the scales on a nauseous tummy that had been building for a few days, and I spent the rest of the evening heaving over the toilet bowl.

Grand no? Everybody better cross their bloody fingers it doesn't rain on Saturday, when the Birthday Picnic Take Two will be taking place. I will not be amused if more rain should mar my birthday week.

See? Errors, comedy of.

And yet, at the end of it all, Le Boyfriend again managed to swoop in – quite literally – and save the day. My postponed birthday surprise saw the pair of us taking a leap of faith off Lion's Head last night, in a tandem paraglide, something I've wanted to do forever.

Best. Boyfriend. Ever. TM.

Are you prepared for the pants-off-toe-tingling excitement of What I Did On My Holidays?

You probably are. Even if you just woke up.

Because I don't feel like I did too much out of the ordinary in the past two weeks, really. What I certainly didn't do was go to/think about/worry about work, nor did I check a single email. That's what leave is for right?

There was, of course, the mandatory stuffing of my face and glugging of wine and gin over Christmas (okay, fine, and before Christmas, and after Christmas, and for New Year), the result of which is that I'm sure I've gained at least one dress size as well as a phantom pregnancy.

Other activities included but were not exclusive to

• Far too much time in shopping malls (for myself, and for others, I'll have you know)
• Much watching of series and movies
• House-sitting (dog-sitting really) over NYE, and
• The Birthday Comedy of Errors, coming soon to a blog near you

SCrew this work thing, I'm joining the circus

I am a sad horsey.

First day back at work in 2012. Can't help but say, I'm not loving it.

Watch this space, I may give up words and join the circus.

While I consider it, you'll have to wait that little bit longer for my festive season blah blah.

Okay?

Cool.

She'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease...

Adios office

It turns out that you can't make red icing with red liquid food colouring, so what were going to be Christmas cupcakes, are now a pretty pink pre-birthday variety. Gotta adapt yo...

Last day of work today, and it couldn't have come soon enough.

Luckily, everyone else seems to be on a go-slow already too, so today may include eating the cupcakes I baked last night, taking a long lunch for a staff member's farewell, and not too much else.

Suits me just fine. I'm wearing my new stripey wedges from WW, and they're putting me in a very laid-back, holiday mood.

As for my Christmas shopping...
Mum √
Dad ?? Help!
Dear brother ?? Help!
Le Boyfriend √
Le Boyfriend's family √

Sometimes I love having a tiny family, and friends who aren't fussed about Christmas gifts. It drastically reduces the time I have to spend in malls over this period, and gives me more time to go crazy with wrapping paper.

Yikes

Crikey, I've been bad of late. I had this master plan that involved me not blogging at all during November while work was crazy busy, and then coming back with a bang in December, when work slowed down to a crawl and I had time to do things like organise my stationery by colour scheme and alphabetise my Christmas shopping list.

Turns out, the spanner in that wheel was that being promoted doesn't just mean a shiny new payload, it also means more responsibility and a lot less time on my hands in the office (who knew?). And, consequently, a lot less time for blogging and stationery organising and so forth.

But anyway, here I am, with two days of work left before I'm on holi-holi-holiday, and only five days to go before my absolute favourite day of the year – Christmas. (Yes, I'm one of those people...)

So ho ho ho. I hope you have all wrapped and DHL'd your gifts to me already. You know I'm partial to beauty spoils and confectionery. Just saying...

Happy 1 December ladies

It's time to lose the mos, bros.