Oinked

I love living in Tamboerkskloof. Not only does it take about fifteen minutes to get to work (and that's in traffic) but the Milner Farm means that on some mornings – like today – I spot the family of pigs taking their daily constitutional around the neighbourhood.

Seriously, can you think of a better way to lift your mood first thing on the morning on your way to work, when you've got toothpaste on your shoe or your hair is flat or there was no milk for your Special K?

I can't.

In other news, the beginning of May has seen me trying desperately to up the ante on my healthy regime. How's this for a good start:

Monday     
Dancing (two hours)
Tuesday     
Pilates (one hour)
Wednesday
Dancing (1.5 hours)
Thursday   
Killer abs (15 minutes)
Cardio (30 minutes)
Lunch hour swim (40 laps – or 38 or 42, I lost count somewhere)

Not bad hmm? Also I have a new philosophy. It's called 'What Would Kate Do?'. Because clearly in order to be loved and adored by millions, fall with your derriere firmly in the butter, and always have shiny, bouncy hair, one needs to conduct oneself in a certain way. Therefore before I do anything from now on, I will first imagine how Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Cambridge would proceed.

And smile. And ... wave.

I think I could be good at this.

Goodness nothing like a spate of public holidays to ruin your blogging productivity. Not that I'm complaining, despite everyone else jumping on the 'Shoowow, I'm, like, so over all these public holidays, bru' bandwagon. Sure there was the weird limbo feeling when you didn't know what day of the week it was, and there was the severe unproductiveness of me on the days that were working days, which means I'm a little behind on deadlines, but the extra few hours of sleep/snuggling up in bed and watching Fringe were worth it.

Still, glad we're back to normal today. Well, technically, I was back to normal yesterday, what with coming in to work and going to gym and whatnot, but today makes it official.

It's been raining in Cape town, Kate and Will are hitched, Osama is sleeping with the fishes, and Vivienne Westwood's penis shoes are on display in London.

In short, all is as normal and well as it ever is on this ridiculous spinning not-quite-spherical ball we inhabit.

Welcome to May.

You know it's Friday when instead of a tea craving at 9 am, you get a little 'I feel like a gin and tonic' twinge.

And yes, I truly believe that's because it's Friday, and not evidence of my latent alcoholism.

And because I can NEVER get this out of my head until I infect everyone else with it, I'm afraid I have to say: It's Friday, Friiiiday, gotta get down on Friday, yesterday was Thursday, something something, tomorrow's Saturday, oooh yeah, riding in our drop top, I can't drink yet but I'm going to party like it's 2026 and I can ... oooh yeah.

Okay I'm done.

ARGH I've been blog fiddling.

This is how I used to be with my childhood bedroom – everything would be fine and familiar and then one day I'd walk in and think 'I hate the way this looks' and start moving my bed and my little desk and everything around and pulling posters off the walls. Then I'd rearrange everything until it was Just Right.

Hey, I never said I was a normal child either.

Anyway, I think the reason I've been a scarce blogger of late has something to do with the fact that every time I open my blog page I want to start fiddling with fonts and adding new gadgets and ripping my poster off the walls. Or something.

Unfortunately, given that I have the design savvy of a Venezuelan beaver, my fiddling tends not to win any awards of the aesthetic variety (comedic maybe).

Anyway, just warning you, dear readers, in case you arrive and everything's turned magenta and is in Comic Sans (okay no I'm not that bad, I promise). Or, you know, if someone felt like it would score them major karmic points to redesign it for me...

Either or.

Sorry dear readers, there didn't seem to be much call for a Weekend in Numbers post yesterday, given that most of it was spent in bed with Boyfriend watching the entire second season of StarGate Universe (yes, I'm a closet sci-fi fan, or Syfy as the channel has been ridiculously rebranded Stateside).

See? Doesn't make for the most interesting post.

Food-wise, my fresh start seems to be holding. The weekend could have been better behaved, by hey, it's the weekend right? You're allowed to relax the rules on the weekend.

Right?

At the very least there hasn't been any bingeing, I've been hydrating like a camel and I've done at least two and a half hours worth of exercise this week already (it's only Tuesday okay?). So not so bad.

Pity I'm officially feeling like a heifer today. Grr. Or, rather, moo.

Still, consoling myself with these happy thoughts:

1. Going bubbly and oyster tasting with the Luxury Cape Town girls this evening at The Twankey. A little nervous (ever the shy girl), but looking forward to it.
2. I'm taking a random day's leave tomorrow, to go shopping, get my fringe trimmed, have the car washed, run errands, maybe grab a little afternoon siesta before the ballet ... all those little things I never seem to have time for. Cannot wait. A day, all for Jade.

Yet another fresh start

Yes, here I go again.

It's the first of the month, and time to try once more to stop eating like I'm paid to do it competitively.

So far 2011 has not been a good year for losing weight. In fact, it's been the opposite – I've gained a total of four kilos since Christmas. Four! And I can see them. And feel them. Tagging along wherever I go and making my clothes feel like some little demon got into my closet and sewed them all a few centimetres smaller.

It's not on.

So, since the only time in the past that I've managed to lose a substantial amount of weight was when I was obsessive about calorie-restricting and carried thinspo around in my wallet, I think a return to former habits may be in order (only, this time, possibly without the attending crazy).

Seriously, I tried the whole everything-in-moderation, eat-when-you're-hungry-stop-when-you're-full thing. It didn't work. My idea of eating when I was hungry involved two slices of chocolate ganache birthday cake in one day (which I reasoned to myself was okay because really, they were very thin slices, which if you think about it, is like only having one large-ish piece) and two pizzas in the space of a week. Clearly I cannot be left to my own devices.

So, the new rules include:

• Less than 5 500 kJ per day (to start)
• As much exercise as humanly and social-life-ably possible
• Desperately trying to drink my 8–10 glasses of water a day despite the cold weather
• Not keeping up with the boys on weekends, ie no burger and chips and seven G&Ts at Peddlar's on a Friday followed by a braai with the works the following day. It's salad time – learn it, live it, love it.

Here's a secret about me:

I love shoes.

No, you're right. That wasn't much of a secret. Let me try again.

I love buying shoes. I love having shoes. I love looking at the shoes that I have. I love putting them on, even when I'm in my PJs, just to see them on my feet. And then, more often than not, I place them carefully back into their box, cover them with the store tissue paper and pop them back into my closet.

You wouldn't think I was such a Bradshaw by looking at me. Most days I wear a variety of ballet flats or sandals, or flat boots in winter. But there's something about a beautiful pair of shoes that makes me feel like the world could be a better place. I pretty much only get my heels out for special occasions (which is a travesty I know).

I still have a favourite old pair of seriously pointy pumps that I wore relentlessly in 2005, will never wear again, but cannot bear to part with. I have a pair of hot pink satin peep-toes from Nine West that I've worn once. I have vintage black satin cutaways with bronze polka dot bows that I've never worn outside of the house because they are the wrong size but I could not leave them in the shop regardless. And that's only the beginnings. I think I may have a bit of a problem.

But anyway ... here's the pair I'm lusting after at the moment.

They're called Chelsea. (That's the name the store gave them, not me. What kind of weirdo do you think I am?)

Raindrops fallin' on my head

It's a wintery day in Cape Town today. Even had to get my brolly out for the first time.

My brolly and I go way back. Like, to varsity days.Varsity winters are particularly fierce and it survived them all without flipping inside out and drenching me like everyone else's did. It's The Little Umbrella That Could. Seriously. I know its hot pinkness is bordering on the ridiculous, but the fact that I bought it for exactly R29 from a Pep store in an emergency makes it a friggin miracle in my eyes. I'd be muy muy sad if anything were ever to happen to it.

Anyway, looks like the weekend's going to be rained out too. I suppose I'd better accept the fact that winter is on its way and that no amount of moaning from me will change that. And given last weekend's ridiculous out-and-aboutedness, a few snuggly nights in may be just what the credit doctor ordered.

Ever have those weekends that you need another weekend to recover from? This was one of those.

Woke up totally exhausted this morning. Yawn. Am I getting so old that a weekend full of eating, drinking and socialising drains me? Don't get me wrong, it was fantastic at the time, I'm just a bit of a zombie this morning.

Here's the list, beginning Friday afternoon with an editorial lunch:
Col'Cacchio
Barusso's
Oblivion
Beluga
Banana Jam
Peddlar's
Cafe Paradiso
Harvey's

Plus plenty of driving between my life in town and Boyfriend's place in the south. Waking up at 7.30 on a Sunday to make it to my dad's birthday breakfast also strikes me as a leading cause in today's fatigue.

Yawn.

Trying desperately to concentrate on the job bags that somehow mushroomed on my desk between Friday at 2 pm and this morning (a mystery in itself). It's not working out so well.

This is kind of how I'm feeling today:

If you thought small, terrified and rodenty, then you're clearly not in the same Friday frame of mind that I am.

Let's rather go with something like 'buoyant'. It's Friday everyone. And not only that, it's payday. And not only that, I seem to have a rather winning weekend ahead of me, beginning with birthday drinks, dinner, more drinks, a few more drinks and then, sometime the next day, hangover sushi and shopping.

The only minor thing cramping my style right at the moment is that thanks to espAfrika and the Cape Town International Jazz Festival, I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get out of the parking lot and make it to our editorial lunch in a few hours.

But details, mere details...

I love these (very rare) spells when I have breathing space at work. Everything feels shiny and new.

I have time. To do stuff.

Seriously, this is how my morning went:

• Slept in till seven
• Read a magazine over breakfast
• Faffed about getting ready, so far as to get dressed, change my mind, get dressed again, curl my eyelashes (you get the picture)
• Arrived at work at nine
• Organised folders on my desktop
• Had a chat with a few eds about Cirque du Soleil, potjie competitions and London market jewellery
• Blogged

See? I'm practically a lady of leisure. Also, this afternoon I have a lunch date at The Rhubarb Room. I may even be more than an hour. Ah! Such frivolity.

Speaking of which, TRR is moving to Bree Street soon, so they're having a massive clearance sale. I was actually in two minds about blogging this in case someone gets there before me and snaps up either of these

but really, would I ever hold out on you guys? Anyway, it seems cruel for me to be there the day before payday, what with all the sheer loveliness on sale, but I suppose there's always the poor, abused, credit card.

For shame, Jade...

So, did my plan to cleverly distract you with pretty pictures and internet oddities so you didn't notice that I haven't actually written words in a while work? Did it?

I hope so.

Wow, what a few weeks. Not only am I still adapting to having Boyfriend in the city 24/7 (which is leaving a lot less time for things like laundry, gym and, oh, say, blogging), but things have been rather on the manic side at work. Sound like a bad excuse? You try sending eight magazines to print in two weeks. And no, I didn't have a Human Rights Day. So there.

Anyway, fear not. I am back. And just in time for some miserable Cape Town weather it seems. I have only myself to blame. I wash my car, it rains. I should know this. It's like the urban equivalent of an American Indian rain dance. Only less embarrassing and twice as annoying.

Hmm, what else? Well, For a start I've managed to forget my father's birthday up until the last minute again. How do I do this? I remind myself constantly all through January and Feb and then March creeps up and suddenly it's four days away and I have yet to come up with a mind-blowing present (I don't do socks, don't suggest it). How does this happen? Maybe if I used my iCal instead of a Moleskein... hah! Never!

Speaking of technology, I am loving my (sort of) new iPhone. I feel like such a traitor to my BlackBerry, with whom I have had a short and passionate affair since November, but I can't deny my inner Apple-ness. It's beautiful. (The phone, not my, er, core.)

Hey Gaddafi...

This website made my morning

If you've never been to Sea Captain Date, go ... go now.It's a dating site for salty sea dogs.

I know.

These are a few of my favourites so far. I can hardly contain my excitement.

I'm going to have nightmares about two scoops of chum.

Everyone loves a bad boy. Sadly, Ben didn't realise paedophilia is a different kind of bad.

Nothing like an old sailor metaphor for anal.

Trust me. I'm not hiding behind this other person's shoulder because I'm a total weirdo. Honest.

If you could also buy the beer, that'd be super awesome. I lost my fake ID at McDonald's.

Well, you may have to settle for the oral sex in the car if she's that young...

I have no words.

I'm sorry, but this is the coolest thing I've seen all day

Yes? Yes? You know you agree.

Body image musings

The writing's on the wall?

So I got into the car this morning to Pink's 'Perfect' playing on the radio, which was rather ironic considering I'd spent a section of my morning berating my reflection for gaining so much weight (really, you should see that girl in the mirror: she needs to lay off the calories).

This reminded me of a semi-drunk conversation I had with Boyfriend over the weekend (I say semi because he was and I wasn't). It all started as we observed a pair of fake breasts that was part of the group we were having drinks with (their owner was there too obviously). Being a chesty girl myself and knowing how unwieldy large chesticles can be, I struggle to understand how anyone signs up for them, especially when – as was the case on Sunday – you're already pretty and skinny, aka perfect in my book.

This launched us on to the winding road to Loving Yourself Just The Way You Are, a place I think is somewhere south of Oz and just to the east of Never, Never Land. But Boyfriend beileves it exists. He maintains that if you're healthy (that is, not overweight or obese) and you have the added bonus of knowing that someone loves you and thinks you're perfect in your current state, it should be your goal to accept yourself as is. Love yourself even. And ditch the hang-ups.

I have a sneaking suspicion this philosophising was directed at yours truly. I'll probably always think of myself as the elephant in the room, and pick apart everything from my calf muscles to my hair to my stubby eyelashes to my – in my opinion anyway – overly enthusiastic mammary tissue, and this makes my man very, very sad at times (and annoyed at others ... sigh).

It's a completely foreign concept, the idea of not verbally abusing that girl who's trapped in my bedroom mirror, wearing my clothes and, frankly, not coming up to scratch in the looks department.

Still, it's an idea.

The weekend in numbers

Number of post-work cocktails at Neighbourhood on Friday afternoon: two, plus a few of their legendary curly fries. It seems after five o'clock on Friday all resistance crumbles. And I'm totally okay with that.

Number of trips to the airport: zero. Now that Boyfriend is moving up in the world his company has a shuttle service ferry him from flight to flight, which means I'm going to be spending a whole lot less time lurking in stop 'n' drops. Headed home for a quiet movie night after a long week.

Number of sweating cyclists who zoomed past as we sat on the side of the road in the shade drinking: thousands. I've never watched the Argus before, so was kind of a novelty worth getting out of bed before 9 am for. Everyone kept talking about entering next year, that it's 'just one of those things you have to do at least once'. To which I reply, really? Really? Who says?

Number of gin & tonics consumed at Peddlar's after watching the cycle race: two. Look at that self-discipline. And only one at the Brass bell after that (though tackling Boyes Drive in the dark was still rather scary #nervousdriverwhennotcruisingaboutintown)

I did it!

I went for a run at 6.30 this morning. Well, to be fair it was more of a run/walk. Okay maybe more like a little bit of running, followed by heart palpitations, followed by speed walking (but with the chicken arms and everything).

Just look at me go...

I must admit, however, that this fit of enthusiasm probably had less to do with actual conscientiousness, and more to do with the fact that I desperately wanted to wear my new Adidas trainers, which I bought the weekend before last already.

It just goes to show, give a girl the right footwear and there's no telling what she'll accomplish.

This is not me. Sorry.

I've been seriously neglectful of this blog lately.

Seriously.

My sincerest apologies. You know how the excuses go... Work is madness, life in general seems to be crazy lately.

I will be back though. With a vengeance. And any other movie quotes I can think of.

Don't know if it was Pilates last night, the cooler morning today or just that I've shaken off whatever nasty bug was clogging up my system, but I finally feel back to normal this morning.

As in, compos mentis, which is something I haven't felt since somewhere around Friday lunch time. It seems blood donation, lots of wine and G&Ts, 35 degree heat and a tummy flu sent me into something of a delirium the past two days. I can't quite recall everything I did at work yesterday...

Anyway, back to normal now, and just in time for RamFest this weekend too.

Are you going? Are you bringing blow-up animals for the river? Are you listening to Funeral for a Friend on repeat so you're well prepared to bellow along at the top of your lungs on Saturday? Are you already stocking up on cases of beer and Woolies prawn cocktail chips?

I am.

See you there.

Hmmm, had a bit of a false start to the week. Left the office around lunchtime yesterday and high-tailed it home to bed. This blogger was not feeling so well...

Yet though I'm about 85% back to being up-and-at-'em today, still not really feeling like doing much more than heading home and hiding under the covers.

You know those weeks when everything can so aptly be described as 'blegh'? With a side of 'meh'?

That's me this week.

The weekend, though it had its strong points, was a bit of hokey one. Suffice to say the lovely time I was supposed to have with Boyfriend didn't quite work out according to plan. That plus the fact that's nothing too much is inspiring me at work at the moment, and I had to skip class last night thanks to being in bed sick ... well, I'm not the happiest of campers.

Reckon the bleghiness will go away on its own before RamFest this weekend? Or do I need to take action?

Dear stress, I think we should break up...

It's only Monday and already this week is starting to feel like the last – that is, stressful.

I haven't had time to pee, let alone post a weekend in numbers for your guys (and I know you've been anxiously awaiting it, haven't you?).

The only bright side is that I have my evenings to myself again, after writing, submitting, rewriting and resubmitting some freelance work last week (which not only took up any and all free time I had, but also taught me how badly I handle even the most constructive of criticism).

I'm feeling like a big old elastic ball full of stress and adrenalin at the moment, which is so not my preferred state of being.

And that's all I have time for kids...

Goodness I'm tired.

What a week.

Nearly glad we didn't snag U2 tickets, because I don't think I could summon the energy (I know, sacrilege right?)

Anyway, more from me next week, when hopefully work simmers down to a mild panic.

Shelving my cynical nature for a moment to post this:

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone
(and someone in particular)

Also, loved this post secret pic. I don't drink coffee, but I love the sentiment.

WIAT

Seriously guys, you can play along if you like...

WIAT...
1x cup of tea
40g HiFibre Bran with 125 ml fat-free milk
1 x cup of tea
3 x Woolies plain ricecakes with marmite
3 x Ryvita with cottage cheese and black pepper
20 almonds
1 x small apple
1 x cup of tea
750 ml water

See? I don't do too terribly at work (my day also included a one-kilometre swim by the by). It's when I get home, hungry, and start snacking that's the problem. Case in point – the four slices of toast with cheese and three shortbread fingers I consumed for dinner last night. Bad form Jade.

Look, I'm famous

Wrote a little bucket list over here today. Enjoy reading about my unlived life...

Yes! Look! Creativity!

Supreme jealousy

Was in the kitchen just now preparing my lunch of cardboard Ryvita and cottage cheese, when one of our art directors just casually mentioned that she's not in the office tomorrow – nor the two weeks after that. The lucky, lucky girl is hopping a plane to Istanbul tomorrow, and shortly after that heading to Florence and Milan, for a little solo holiday.

I could die of jealousy at the moment, because
a) I've never been to either city, but would love to see them both.
b) I haven't been on holiday – to a foreign place at least – for a year, and someone with itchy feet like mine gets serious withdrawal symptoms.
c) Loner that I am, I find travelling alone to interesting places very, very exciting and soul-nourishing. Elizabeth Gilbert, tell me how I can make it happen for me...

So anyway, given that I'm not independently wealthy and am tied to the office for the next six months at least, is there any generous millionaire type out there who wants to make my day and offer to fund a round-the-world trip?

Anyone?

Crickets. Damn.

Up The Creek, baby...

As awesome as a long weekend is, taking leave on a Friday inevitably means piles of work awaiting you on Monday morning.

Since I have deadlines coming out of my ears at the moment, I shall have to forgo a proper post today.

Instead, here's my weekend at Up The Creek, condensed for your reading pleasure, into a word cloud. Enjoy...

Click to enlarge k?

Okay so anyone who knows me knows I love to bake. This was evident from the number of birthday presents recently that were in the baking/tea drinking vein.

I just need put it out there first: I don't bake very well, I just enjoy it (especially the eating the fruits of my labour part, although I would never actually bake anything with fruit in it).

Anyway, the lovely Dorothy Black sent me this link to some beautiful cupcake designs. Man, some people know their way around an icing gun. These are my favourite so far:

A housewife's work is never done, and it's okay to get confused sometimes.

Holy smoke, the detail!

Bad batz maru is hands down the most awesome grumpy penguin in the world.

Cookie monster cookies. Can it get any better?

Okay I don't want to sound like a grouchy old lady here, but I'm having a case of ... well, I suppose it's more road annoyance than road rage.

I myself am not the world's greatest driver – not by a long shot. I don't always stick to the speed limit, I have been known to treat stop streets as yield signs when there aren't too many other cars around, I always go through orange lights and I had that quite spectacular near-fatal accident not too long ago.

But still. I am getting really hacked off about people going through red lights.

Accidentally, once in a while, if you're stuck in the middle of an intersection ... whatever, it happens. But people seem to be doing it consistently these days. As though a stop light simply means 'Keep going, you won't have an accident until the opposing lights turn green. And hey, if you're still 100m away when the light turns red, maybe just hit the gas so you go hurtling past it at breakneck speed. Rules of the road? Whatevs.'

But when I'm standing on the side of the road waiting to cross, and the light has gone RED and the little blinking man has gone GREEN, your pedal-to-the-medal road hog behaviour means you nearly killed me you fucking asshole idiot in your dirty tinpot Nissan with its smashed headlight. And leaning back in your seat and leering at my skirt does not me want to rip your eyeballs out any less.

Okay, maybe it was road rage after all. Can pedestrians get road rage?