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

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

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

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

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

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

ho, ho, ho

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

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

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

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

Cannot wait to see the movie Black Swan.

Here's why:

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


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

The Weekend in Numbers

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

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

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

Seven work days left and counting...

The Friday Night Staff Party at Karma Lounge in Numbers

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

Number of drinks: foggy 

Number of photo booths: 1 

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

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

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

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

Now this is awesome

Slow days at work make for interesting diversions. Like this one, from wordle.net (clicky clicky).

Basically you plug some text – an article, your inbox, even a blog URL – into Wordle and it spits out these cool word clouds. If you're a word nerd, this is like way more fun than, say, tetris. And makes for a pretty blog post too. This is my blog as a word cloud. I'm loving 'good number one' coincidentally popping up, but I also spy 'afternoon couch', 'cocktails' and 'eatbest' in there. Nice.

The Weekend in Numbers

Number of big sighs of relief heaved on Friday afternoon: one. With the annoying exception of one outstanding feature, crazymanicstressful November is officially over (workwise at least – and still two days before I have to wake up and realise it's 1 December and panic about birthday and Christmas gifts). 

Number of nights on the couch with a DVD and Woolies pasta salad: one. Friday. My celebratory feeling didn't last past about six pm, at which point me and my lame ass hit the couch to finally crash.

Number of critics-said-it-was-bad-but-I-really-quite-enjoyed-it-does-that-make-me-stupid? movies watched: one. Eat, Pray, Love. And yes, I read the book, and yes I loved the book, and yes I enjoyed the movie. So there, all you haters. Sometimes something feel good is, well, just that. Good company too (insert winking smiley here at Miss Lane).

Number of cocktails in the sun on Sunday afternoon: just one, but it was a Jack Sparrow.

Number of impromptu shopping trips after cocktails in the sun: one. To the V&A, ostensibly to Christmas shop for a friend's soon-to-be-visiting-from-the-Karoo parents, but I ended up buying another dress. Oh, Erin, how could you let me? 

Number of Eat Out's top 10 restaurants in South Africa that are in Cape Town: 7, including hat-trick winner Rust en Vrede (best restaurant, best chef, best service). Ah, good food, good wine, good scenery and good-looking people ... you want to live anywhere else why?

Number of minutes of cardio this morning: 40. Yes! Starting the week off right...

A once-in-a-blue-moon appeal

So every now and again I like to do something that I know will shore up a few points in the old Good Karma ledger (does it still work if it's self-serving in this way? I'm not sure. Anyway...)

Awesome blogger and novelist Paige Nick of A Million Miles From Normal is currently in the running to win a charity blogging event. The winner gets a whopping R20k to give to the charity of their choice. Her charity is The Bookery (clicky clicky), an organisation that builds libraries for underprivileged schools (I'm pretty sure all of us word nerds agree this is a fairly worthy cause yes?).

Right now Paige is about 40 votes behind the winner, and she really, really wants to streak ahead. So, follow my instructions carefully and nobody will get hurt:

1. Click this: click me
2. Click on the little thumbs-up icon that you will see in the top, right-hand corner of the screen.
3. Feel good about yourself.

Thanks guys, muchly appreciated.

Attention all Cape Town bloggers: you don't want to miss this

Awesome quote from bookshelfporn.com

Shoowee

It's the final push ladies and gentleman. Only two magazines left, and then this blogger can get back to life as she knew it in October, but better, because it'll be December.

In the meantime, some quickie updates:

• Boyfriend will officially be a Capetonian again as per 22 December. That's only 29 sleeps away. (Yes, I'm counting.)
• I've hung up my dinosaur costume and am the proud owner of a BlackBerry. It's white (I think they call it a Halle Berry – tee hee) and has a pink cover (I couldn't resist). I tweeted from the queue at Woolies last night, BBMed some friends on my lunch break and can check my Facebook page more often than between the Nazi-enforced hours of one and two o'clock at the office. My first grown-up phone...pleased as punch.
• Went to a wedding on an island in the Keurbooms Lagoon in Plett over the weekend. The wedding was beautiful, but getting out of Cape Town for a full 48 hours and spending time with Boyfriend was the cherry on top. Being annihilated by mutant mosquitoes was less pleasant, but my swelling has finally gone down.

I'm terrible

I really am.

What other excuse could there be for abandoning the blogosphere for such interminable periods of time?

Apart from, perhaps, ten print deadlines within two weeks of each other (and I don't mean two weeks apart, I mean all within the space of a fortnight).

No excuse, but, my apologies...

Last night's sudden pouring rain was the perfect excuse to head to Bunny's new flat for a movie night. We've decided to watch all the old Harry Potter films as a lead-up to going to see the new one (yes, nerds unite!).

While stuffing our faces with junk food we couldn't help but notice how young the movie's stars are in the early films. Makes me feel a little old actually, having literally watched them grow up on screen. And then I came home to a BBC insert about Daniel Radcliffe's new film, The Woman in Black and wow – the boy's all growed up and with the shoulders to prove it.

Exhibit (a):

Exhibit (b):

 

Anyone else feeling old? Anyone? It's kind of like when I realise that I used to watch the Olsen twins when they were ... well, about the same weight they are now.

I need an interpretor

Last night I dreamed that I was in a porta-loo with three girls form New Jersey, though they assured me their footwear (of the spiked stiletto variety) was from New York.

I've never seen Jersey Shore, but I think these girls would have fit right in.

Is there any deeper meaning here?

The weekend in numbers

Number of days at the office: one. Don't feel too bad for me though – I'm taking a long weekend on the 19th.

Number of times I went for sushi in one day: two. That brought my sushi outings for the week up to four, which pretty much meant that by last night the best I could do was nibble a couple pieces of tempura and call it a day. I never thought there could be too much of a good thing...

Yeah that's about it really. Weekend seemed far, far too short, despite its being filled with lovely things like Breakfast at Tiffany's, plenty of sushi, and tea and cocktails with friends.

Here's to a good week everyone!

Okay so I'm a total food nerd, and (at least during daylight hours Monday to Friday) a bit of a healthy-eating freak, which means I am pleasantly surprised by two developments in our offices.

1. They've returned our water cooler.
   The powers that be had it removed a few weeks ago to, ahem, cut costs. Clearly they've noticed that thirsty employees are not happy employees, especially with summer around the corner, and have therefore returned it to its rightful spot beside the stylists' desks.
   And before anyone gripes about the cost of mineral water and how we should be drinking tap water, well... you just try come drink the stuff that sludges out of our taps down here at the bottom end of town.
2. They've installed a healthy snacks vending machine next to the usual Coke emblazoned variety. It sells things like veggie chips and raw nuts and organic fruit juice. Needless to say, this is quite awesome...

Colon close bracket

• It's Friday.
• Cape Town is slowly creeping into summer.
• I made it to gym this morning (four times this week instead of five, part of a plan to be gentler with myself).
• I'm going to see Breakfast at Tiffany's tonight. I've had it on DVD for ages, but somehow seeing it on the big screen for the first time is very exciting (yes, I'm a dork).
• Had sushi for the second time this week last night. And at Minato. And Papasan (of Douglas Green ad fame) was there!

Colon open bracket

• I have about 20 pages of advertorial to write that I'm procrastinating about. Actually, it's not even that I'm procrastinating so much as the fact that other, seemingly more important work keeps popping up (and I really mean that this time, it's not one of those ocassions when 'reorganise sock drawer' somehow finds its way to the top of your to-do list).
• I'm coming in to work tomorrow.
• I still need to find shoes to match my dress for the wedding in Plett in two weeks' time. What does one wear to a wedding on an island in a lagoon? Heels? Sandals? Sandal heels? Ack...

Driving myself a little crazy

Can't remember if I beeped my car this morning. Common sense tells me that I must have, purely out of force of habit, but OCD wants me to walk back to the lot at lunch time to double-check.

Grrr.

Can it really be Thursday already? This week seems to be flying by, although that may be because Boyfriend only left on Tuesday, so Monday almost felt like a part of the weekend for me.

Probably a good thing that he left – for the past two days I've been hobbling around massaging my thigh muscles with a hand and wincing, a la Doctor House. this because of a powerplate class I did early on Monday morning. Here was me thinking I'd just stand on the thing for an hour looking silly and wobble away some fat but NAY my friends, it's actually quite energetic, made all the worse by the fact that because of the vibrations, doing one squat is like the equivalent of 70 as far as your muscles are concerned. And I am not by nature an enthusiastic squatter, or lunger for that matter.

Still, I may keep going. At this rate I'll have buns of steel within a month.

The weekend in numbers

Calories consumed: millions

Dresses bought: two

Pairs of shoes bought: two

Lame chick-flicks watched: one

I blame all of this on the fact that Boyfriend was here (as in, in Cape Town) but away (on his company's annual team-building/year-end function weekend in Elgin).

Although, on the upshot then...

Cosmo articles finished a week early: one

Alcohol units: one (or however many a shot of Jack is worth. I suspect some sadists/VBP count it as two.)

I was run over by a train

At least I think so. What other possible explanation could there be for me feeling this way?

Oh. Wait. It might be last night's red wine. And maybe the Jager. And the tequila. And the martini. And the lethal chocolate cake shots.

Yeah, could be those.

In about half an hour when I sober up, I am going to feel awful.

All I can say is, thank god for Barusso's. If it weren't for leftover pizza for breakfast, I doubt I'd have made it out of bed this morning.

And...

....I have a hangover. From four measly drinks. Not even – two drinks and two shooters. This is ridiculous.

I've had just under four hours sleep. For most people, this isn't too big a thing, but you need to understand that I clock at least eight hours most nights. I mean, four hours is less sleep than I've gotten at some trance parties, which is really saying something.

Picked Boyfriend up from the airport last night and we spent the rest of the eve having a very late and mostly liquid dinner at Peddlar's with his workmates, who're all down for the company team-building weekend away (which, yes, means I am robbed of a full 72 hours of Boyfriend time).

Woke up at sparrows to get back into town (Boy lives in the south – laadidah), hit the gym and still make it into work an hour early so I could get some stuff done before the passive aggressive cleaning lady starts vacuuming my feet.

Also before we all troop off to the funeral of a close colleague, who recently lost her (blessedly short?) fight with cancer. Thank god I don't wear mascara, because I can already feel this is going to be waterworks central. A strange phenomenon for me, who usually only cries in sad movies with the appropriate tear-jerking soundtrack. Does this mean I'm not quite as cold-hearted as my own mother once told me I was?

I'm sorry to get all heavy...

... but sometimes I hate keeping up with the news.

This morning I woke up at sparrows so I could get to work early in order to leave the office this afternoon in time for a wax, where I will pay someone enough to feed an impoverished family for about a week so she can rip my hair out by its follicles. I weighed out my cereal for breakfast, because my biggest goal in life isn't staying alive, or eking out a living really, but to lose weight and look good. And at the moment I'm in the process of editing a high-end lifestyle magazine in which we showcase watches that cost roughly the same as sending a child to school for a month.

Elsewhere in the country, a family woke up after having had two of its members shot, one fatally, and its youngest daughter raped in front of her father. Another family of five, including two boys aged eight and two, didn't wake up at all, having all been shot in the head by the same drug-crazed gang members that traumatised the first family. I'm almost not sure who I feel more sorry for. Probably the first family, because they have to pick up the pieces and try to remember what everything was like before it didn't hurt to be alive.

It's dizzying, and heartbreaking, and makes me struggle to breathe.

In light of our political climate, and our political nincompoops in particular, I thought my Dicitonary.com Word of the Day for today was pretty funny...

juju

\ JOO-joo \  , noun;

An object superstitiously believed to embody magical powers.

Well. He certainly seems to think so...

NOBODY PANIC

I will be back to blogging just as soon as work settles down to, say, breakneck speed...

Random Friday thunkin'

I have an unexplained bruise on my right hip bone. It's kind of oddly shaped too. In fact, it looks a bit like a blotchy prison tattoo of the Playboy bunny logo. Tacky much? Hope it doesn't stick around.

A blood vessel/muscle in my upper upper, inner inner thigh is twitching from time to time. It's starting to freak me out a little, which is a natural side effect of watching too much House. I worry some important artery is warning me it's about to explode. Also, it's very disconcerting to drive while watching your thigh jump about.

Got horrible, horrible news yesterday morning. The crying kind. What a day Thursday was.

Found out yesterday I won a copy of Paige Nick's book, A Million Miles From Normal after entering a competition on her blog of the same name. Yay me! Second blog comp I've won in the past few months. I'm feeling lucky.

Is this day over yet?

Tee gee eye eff

It's been a very long, very busy, very up-and-down week, and I'm sure we're all pleased as the proverbial punch (how can punch be pleased, I'd like to know) that it's the weekeeeeeeeeeeeeend baby.

My brain feels like it's been on speed all week (job bag, no, tea, no, office drama, no, concentrate – job bag, oh whoops must get to the gym soon, oh look an email, reply, another email, no, CONCENTRATE, job bag, wow I'm tired ... spoon) so pardon the non sequitur (thanks Erin) kind of post to follow shortly, but Me, Jade the eloquent writer is officially on flatline.

Dear Blog
I have been neglecting you. Please don't hate me. To make amends, here's a little round-up of the week so far...
All my love and affection, your wayward writer
Me, Jade

• Work took a right off easy street on to Busy Busy and within the next few weeks it's going to go careering down Manic Boulevard (hence the blog silence). We're bracing ourselves.
• Everyone should read Gareth Cliff's open letter to the government (clicky clicky). Even if you don't particularly like him (I do though), he makes some sterling points. And as he said this morning, sometimes you just gotta say what needs to be said. (Wonder how badly the presidential committee is going to grill him next week?)
• I saw a new Madonna video while hitting my cardio this morning. How many times do I have to say this lady? Flashing so much inner thigh falls under the category of Not Cool.
• Last night I learnt how to change a tyre, jump start my car and a bunch of other things I previously had about zero clue about. Feeling super chuffed, and I don't care if everyone else in the world already knew that tyres need to be rotated and that you have to unscrew the spare wheel before you can take it out the boot (I just thought is was really heavy).

Jingle bells, jingle bells...

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but the problem with working in the magazine world is that you live about two months ahead of everyone else. Right now this means that even though it's not even halfway through October, I'm already getting into the Christmas spirit.

I love Christmas in a big, big way. It's my favourite time of year, and I just don't get people (like Boyfriend for one) who feel all bah-humbug about it. What's not to like? It's summer, it's the end of the year, if you're not on leave you're almost certainly not working very hard, there are parties, there are presents, you can spend time with your family (okay maybe therein lies the rub for some people) and the whole world seems to be more cheerful about life in general.

Sure there are the manic malls, the endless Christmas shopping and the inevitable broke-ass-ness come January, but ever heard of taking the good with the bad?

Anyway, thanks to the December issues being processed at the mo, Frank Sinatra is now crooning carols in my head and I'm thinking about baking Christmas biscuits and making gifting lists. This is also the first summer/Christmas in three years that I'll be home for the holidays, so I'm looking forward to the ole yuletide even more.

Okay, not another word though until Halloween's at least over...