Curtain call...

I often lie in bed on a Sunday night, helplessly enervated from the weekends ungovernable antics, and wonder if I even had a weekend, or if it was merely a passing dream – a fleeting moment of unwinding splendour that never actually happened. Because it never feels like it did. The last thing I can ever remember is Friday, leaving work, thinking 'It's the weekend!!' Then black. And then there I lie, in bed, on Sunday, with bruises, bags under my eyes, severe dehydration and an unwillingness to fall asleep as this means I must wake up for work the following morning.

This has become a common occurrence. The weekend is too fast. Luckily this weekend was rather relaxed. The one part that really stood out was my audition to be in Fiddler on the Roof at Artscape. It went something like this:

It was hot outside but that was the least of my worries. My incontrollable sudor was more a result of the fact that when the next lady walked out those big swinging doors it would be my turn. The four people before me had all had gorgeous, mellifluous voices and had all got 'the nod' to go through to the second round. My hands trembling, I stared relentlessly at the piece of music before me, trying to remember the words to the chorus of 'Sunrise, Sunset', relaying the melody over and over in my head. 

The doors opened. She walked out, a smile plastered to her face. 

'I'm in!' 

'Well done,' I respond, not so convincingly.

'Good luck,' she adds.

I walk through the doors, not really sure what to expect. The room is monumental. Surround by mirrors. The Artscape Rehearsal Room. A long table with a panel of five men and women, smiling 'sweetly' yet mildly condescendingly, watch me sidle towards their table.

'Hi, I'm Jessica. I'm trying for one of the daughters in the chorus.'

'Hi Jessica. Won't you stand there in the centre of the room and wait for the pianist.'

I wait. She begins playing, and I sing. At this point I have little or no memory as to what happened during these four lines of song, aside from a brief flashback of some form of theatrical hand gesture (see picture below). Suddenly it was over. Nothing in the room had changed and the panel was smiling pleasantly at me. With a nod they said, 'Thank you, Jessica. We'll see you for the second round of auditions in room 308, please.'

'What, really? NO WAY! No waaaaaay!' I wanted to scream. I didn't, of course. But I raced out and bounced down the corridor to the next room.

The next two hours were spent learning a new song and deciding on whether you were more comfortable with alto or soprano. In fours (one tenor, one bass, one alto and one soprano), you then sang before a room of 70 people, in character of a villager from Anatevka – the fictional town in Russia. This was followed by a very simple Russian dance routine. 

I'm waiting to hear, and certainly not expecting a positive response. But I'm not too fussed. Just to have had the unforgettable experience of the terrifyingly ruthless audition process was enough to keep me reeling for a while, and I certainly won't stop there. Being back in that environment of stage, nerves, make-up, costumes, excitement.. has simply refuelled my desire to be back on stage – dancing, singing and acting... I'll get there somehow. 

Ballet classes start this week. Woooooo

 

Toothpaste turn-off

Lovely boyfriend has gone to Johannesburg for four days. He claims it's 'for work', but I truly believe it's because of the toothpaste I wore to bed last night. Yes, that's right. Toothpaste.

I heard it from my facialist/facial lady/facialiser...? Beautician. Anyway, she told me that using toothpaste on spots is the equivalent to using a serious prescription antiseptic, antibacterial, deep-cleansing, zit-drying-out and pimple-slaughtering machine. So I did. I hoped he wouldn't notice the way I strategically got into bed, as he played on his iPad, and faced the other way. He switched off the light. Phew, I thought.

But then he leaned over to kiss me goodnight... With a mouthful of toothpaste, he promptly turned on the light to inspect. And, alas, there before him lay his still-fluey snotty congested girlfriend with a face covered in dollops of Colgate.

He left first thing this morning.

Road to recovery: bubbly beginnings

So after three whole days strewn across my bed surrounded by snotty tissues, reeking of Vix, mouth wide open (for respiratory reasons), the constant need to switch the fan on or off so as to comply with with my frequently adjusting fever, and ogling over Ian Somerhalder in Vampire Diaries Season 1, I was (quite suprisingly) rather keen to get back to the office this morning. 

Don't let the appeal of 'home' and 'bed' fool you during the week. It's profoundly boring being ill, in an empty house and trying to find something remotely watchable from a monumental conglomeration of shit on TV. And being confined to the house is even more of a problem if you have no food at home, which is why it's a good idea to have a boyfriend who has his own place. A guy's fridge never runs on empty.

Tonight I am going to Blakes – that new swanky hotspot on Buitengraght with a real breathtaker of a view and a rather sophisticated upper-class feel to it! And I've heard the food is nothing short of spectacular. I wish I wasn't feeling as if someone had stuffed sponges up my nose and encased my head in a small bubble, but I've been looking forward to tonight's triple date for too long to care. One glass of bubbly couldn't hurt? My medication only said that alcohol MIGHT aggravate/increase the side effects of drowsiness and concentration impairment. What's life without a little risk! And doesn't Champagne do that anyway?!

Snot my day...

This is me. And has been for the last two days. Much to lovely boyfriend's disgust, I too have left a trail of snotty tissues round his house, have gone through two rolls of loo paper in a day from blowing my nose, have cleared out his medicine cupboard and polished off two cartons of orange juice (which, incidentally I couldn't even taste). I have also been winy and teary every time he leaves me on my own (I'd certainly want to get out of that germ pitt if it were me!), kept him up in the night from snivelling and coughing, and demanded he have no friends over because of my dire illness. 

He is now sick. And I'm on the road to recovery. This is how it usually works with us. One gets sick, the other follows suit. Whatever medicine was left I forced down his throat last night.

So I'm back at work today. Still slightly dazed and dosed up, I almost left the house in my pyjamas, holding a mug of Med Lemon before I then realised I should perhaps change and have a shower. However, even after my concerted effort to look presentable (and I think I did a pretty good job) I still arrived at work to a horde of 'God, you look awful, are you alright?' 'Shame, you look terrible, you should go home'. Apparently the flick of mascara, clean hair and a brush of blush did absolutely nothing to lift my sickly, pallid appearance. 

Guess the red nose was a total giveaway.

Yay yay it's CONCERT day!

It's concert day. Woopppeeeeeeee. Yipppekayay! Wooohaaaaa. Yeeehhhaaaaaaa. Zippadeedooodaaaa.

Concert day is clearly good as it means that this Olive gets to make a premature office departure so as to get home before every road, alleyway and highway in Cape Town officially shuts down, and every fan and his dog make their way to Cape Town stadium. 

  (Let me hear a 'Oooooo' ... 'Aaaaaaah')

The unfortunate part is that this guy:

 ...has very kindly decided to stay with us today, tonight.... and the whole weekend!! After arriving at my dinner late last night having almost lost a car door, been blown into a road sign, and flashed my knickers at the car guard (not out of choice), I walked into Blonde restaurant with what was carefully GHD-styled hair, but now a slovenly bird's nest of wiry knots, and bits of paper and sand from the street. If this is going to happen tonight, I am walking to the concert in a disposable windbreaker. Or a hat. A hat's probably more stylish. I don't think they'd let me in, in a windbreaker AND a moonbag: 'Eish, sorry M'am... Wrong concert... Roxette is only on in May?'

Anyway, I was at work at the crack of dawn today. I'm REALLY not a morning person so it didn't suprise me when I was half way to work and I realised I'd walked out the house without any shoes on, and promptly had to turn around and drive home, only to find that I'd left the shower running and the front door unlocked. Needless to say I won't be waking up this early. Ever again.

This guy seems to have as much work as me and must've also gone through 2 bottles of Graham Beck at dinner last night.  

The Cricket World Cup and the Super 15 Rugby have started. This means that if I want to see my boyfriend at all over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to have to accept and welcome the TV as a 3rd wheel in the relationship. Actually, more like I'll be a 3rd wheel to him and TV.

Moon-Gag

Am jiggling in my desk chair after looking at these U2 concert photos from Joburg... Yes, I am going on Friday!! I'm so excited I could perform a flick flack across the office. I have even negotiated to get my ass out of work early so I can stand in this rumoured god-forbideen queue that is apparently going to begin on Thursday night. If this is the case then (with me arriving at 4/4:30) I might be able to join the back of it somewhere past Khayelitsha! 

When I told my Mother I was going to the concert, she showered me in a multitude of questions and concerns. But the one that got me laughing the most was, "Darling, you MUST wear a moonbag!" A mooooooooonbag?!?!?!?!? I get that she's worried about pickpocketers but who actually owns a moonbag. It got me laughing even more when I Googled 'moonbag' (to find a picture for this post) and found that in the States it is referred to as a 'fanny pack'. I'm actually still laughing. 

Emailed Mum this morning to tell her I'd rang the 1960s and ordered a sexy fanny pack just for the show. Thinking I was being serious, she begged for a piccie so I sent her this and promised that, after the concert, it's all hers...

She's delighted.

Day break

Apologies for the lack of post today. I was enjoying this unparalleled view...

...from this simply gorgeous hotel (The 12 Apostles)...

...and enjoying some of this...

...for the Red Carnation Hotels press lunch. After chatting nonstop to people I've never met, I'm now trying to get all the work done that I left behind for my delightful excursion, but am struggling...

I think I'll go home now. But just to let you know – the Azure Restaurant at the 12 Apostles has a new chef and the food was simply superb. And the best part was the hotel's new carpets designed by Paul Smith! What a great day

The very heart of it

Yes, unfortunately that is me. The biggest knock-knee'ed over-zealous spread-legged co-ord ever to stay up on two skis. And beaming with self-pride, of course (evident from raised victory arm)...

The only problem is I am now unrealistically stiff. Obviously my very strict (and highly advanced) daily gym routine has done bugger all for me, since today it actually hurts to breathe too deeply. I'm thankful, however, that I didn't perform a very-painful-looking face plant like my friend in her attempts to get up on a wake board (she also referred to each attempt as a new round of enemas!). It certainly did 'wake' her up, so there's one literal meaning to the sport.

So it was a great weekend full of booze, braai, watersports and a lot of laughing in Breede, but I'm happy to be back in a insect- and boerewors-free environment, with clear tap water. After three washes, I finally managed to remove the small family of wildlife that had taken up residence in my hair.

And today is one of my favourite days of the year (I'm sure you can all tell from the fuchsia-coloured font), partly because I'm a hopeless romantic (much to my boyfriend's dismay) but also due to the fact that until two years ago I'd never been hitched on this dreamy day of hearts and love and spent each one in a restaurant inhaling chocolate opposite my mother, surrounded by sickeningly loved-up couples snogging incessantly between courses. 

Here are some piccies to get you in the V-day Vibe...

And with that: A Happy Valentine's Day to all, and to all a hot-date night...

Ps - Hope everyone is wearing red in support of the Heart Foundation

You never know what might happen... (and an ode to a top dog)

At last. Lovely lovely fantastic Friday! And I am finally off to Breede River for a much-needed (and well deserved) two-day hiatus. 

It's only one weekend but naturally, being an overly organised and very efficient young woman, I've packed everything I own so that I'm fully prepared for anything the weekend might throw at us. There could be a fierce blizzard on the first night with temperatures dropping below minus (despite reports that it's going to be unbearably hot this weekend); the house could be blown down in gale-force winds and we'd have to pitch a tent and bath in the river and make a mattress out of clothes (I certainly don't have a shortage of those); my toiletry bag could fly out the car window on the way there and I'd need a back-up. There could be mosquitos. There could be bears. There could be a sasquatch. I might burn myself on the braai, cut myself on a beer bottle; the Queen (on a spontaneous minibreak) might arrive for a braai and I'll need a dress; a neighbour might decide to throw a themed cocktail party; and it's always nice to have a change of bikini!

You just never know.

Anyway, am all packed... Hope there's space for everyone else's bags in the car....

Unfortunately I am feeling uninspired and a bit low today today after my darling dog, Mutley, was put down this morning. So I leave you with this poem...

Have you a dog in Heaven, Lord?
And do you pat its head?
Does he sit up and beg each night
before he goes to bed?

Does he look up with shining eyes
when he sees Your smilling face?
Does he wag his stubby little tail
when he wants to run a race?

Have You a dog in Heaven, Lord?
Is there room for just one more?
Cause my little dog died today;
he'll be waiting at Your door.

Please take him into Heaven, Lord.
And keep him there for me,
just feed him, pet him,l ove him, Lord,
thats all he'll ask of Thee.

Hungover and out

Am incomprehensibly hungover. This does not bode well for me considering it's not Friday yet. But at least it's a consequence of the perfect hot date at Bukhara, which involved a myriad Pongracz, Butter Chicken and Garlic Naan. My computer screen is too bright. Will anyone notice if I wear my sunglasses?

I have porridge brain so, while I pop out to buy an Energade, am just going to leave you with this classic classic 'Royal Engagement Facebook Fail' video, which really gave me the hangover giggles...

The good, the bad and the romantic

So yesterday this is what happened to me in the space of 20 minutes during my lunch break: 

I was in a huge hurry so I attempted to squeeze my little Yaris (aka Batman) into the pathetically miniscule parking space in Wembley Square, which is always free owing to the fact that no one can actually fit a normal-sized car in there. I should've taken stock of the multiple scratch marks already ingrained in the corresponding pillar, but it was too late and I knocked my wing mirror, leaving a deep gash in it. 

Hugely irritated and rushing to get back to work in time I raced inside to purchase my favourite muffin from Vida (which, incidentally, they didn't have, much to my annoyance). In my hurry I slid along the newly polished floor and lost hold of my Blackberry, which flew into a wall, consequently leaving a long scratch/crack down the screen. 

Now vastly frustrated I got to the Vida counter only to knock over the entire display of mini ice-cream tubs (in my rush to pull money out my wallet), which come tumbling down in a heap around me and led Wembley's sophisticats to gaze and gasp in my direction. 

Wanting to escape the public eye, my face now red with fury, I grabbed a muffin I didn't even want and ran out. Just to make matters a little worse I had a fight with my doctor's secretary on the way back to the office who insisted she had faxed me a prescription; however, on the three different fax numbers I had given her to try, I had received nothing. She said she couldn't be bothered to try anymore so I said, 'Well then I can't be bothered to pay you!' She said she'd try again.

After such a tumultuous day, it was nice to work off my anger with a rip-roaring gym sesh followed by a delicious Woolies dinner (wow - roast chicken loaf stuffed with pesto and feta) on the couch. We thought we'd watch Black Swan and see what all the fuss was about. Seeing as I dance and dancing is my favourite thing in the whole world I had been looking forward to seeing it but was warned against watching it on my own since it was 'quite intense' (direct quote). QUITE????!! I've never been so shit scared in my whole life. Whenever a terrifying or gory part came on my boyfriend and I took out his iPhone and played with his new DJ application (really good fun, you can spin vinyls and play with all the effects!). To say it was a 'good' movie doesn't feel right. It's deep and psychologically thrilling but disturbing. Portman is excellent considering the part she was given but it left me on edge and feeling kind of anxious and disorientated. Boyfriend managed to catch me on camera mid scream:

Good news is, this week is only getting better and better. Tonight I am being taken on a date. A suprise date I'll have you know. I LOVE dates. Apart from the fact that I had to ask to be taken on said date, I am still really really looking forward to it. And it should be a good warm up for Valentine's Day's date! Now, what to wear?!

Every year as we approach Valentine's Day I start feeling hopelessly romantic. Anyway – am hoping tonight, or next Monday (whichever really) will end up something like this, except on a beach:

And then, of course, there is Breede River this weekend. Whoopeeeeee. Given my love of dance and new ballet inspiration after watching evil, tormenting Black Swan, I have decided to use this to spruce up my already artful skills as a water skier, which should end up something like this:

It will probably be after a couple of drinks, so how long my swanlike ski stance will last we'll have to wait and see. The guy on the left will be lovely boyfriend, gazing in awe and envy at my dainty delicate frame (maybe not so much after a plate of braai food) and outstanding abilities on a pair of skis.

Have a great day :)

Tuesday, Snooze-day

This is what I started my very slow, sleepy morning off with. Now you want one, don't you? There is no better way to kickstart your Tuesday (or everyday if you're addicted like me!). Get your pert asses to Caturra on Seapoint Main Road to experience and revel in this gorgeously gigantic glass of gratifying, sensationally titillating heaven. They really do make the best freezocino's in the entire world – and you can believe me when I say that because, no matter what country I'm in, I always track down a place that serves them (even in Bali, Thailand, Greece, Spain, Paris, Portugal, Turkey, the States... you name it!). Caturra outdoes them all with its thick, rich, creamy sweet coffee injection... Aaaahhhhhhh (and it's made with powder and water and is fat free! Beat that!).

I certainly needed it to wake me up though. I had a tap lesson till 9pm last night which left me totally wired till about 11pm and then suddenly I just crashed and could barely keep my eyes open! Problem was my dreams the entire night were filled with tap rhythms and beats and time steps and when I wasn't in time I got really annoyed, which just woke me up. But then as soon as I fell asleep again it would start again. I basically spent the whole night concentrating so hard that I woke up even more exhausted than when I'd gone to bed. I need freezocinos on tap today (no pun intended)!

I ran out of face cream yesterday, at both my house and my boyfriend's. It wasn't a great time for such an occurrence since, as a result of my facial sunburn this weekend, my nose and forehead have begun to peel, fairly obviously, in a Chainsaw Massacre kind of way, and with no cream it looks and feels as if I have spent four days naked in a desert with no water and nothing to wash my face with but a facecloth made from sandpaper and gravel. I can't put on make-up when I don't have cream on so am trying inconspicuously to hide my face today. I'm refusing to turn around when addressed or to leave the safety of my computer screen, and am contemplating purchasing a very fashionable, preferably perforated, balaclava during my lunch break. 

Monday, no-fun-day

This is what I feel like doing right now. Unfortunately if I did, I'd no longer work for a glossy women's fashion mag. Not that I look the part today – combination of far too much rugby, sun, Hunters and sheer weekend frivolity has left me dishevelled, lethargic and leather skinned. Can I go home now, please?

Speaking of glossy women... I realised this weekend I'm becoming too boyish, and am going to make a new, exerted effort to be more ladylike, prim and proper. Saturday night, after watching rugby at Newlands, the boys and I (and one boy's new girlfriend whom I had just met) decided to get some dinner at Kelvin. 

New girlfriend is pretty, in white dress, heels, blonde, big tits. Me - baggy T-shirt, sunburt, flipflops, chipped nail polish. New girlfriend orders sophisticated glass of wine and sips on it daintily throughout meal. I order manly Hunters Dry, drink it out the bottle and am on my second one before she has even added her ice cube. 

 New girlfriend orders small portion of chicken and eats an eighth. I order man-sized rack of ribs and finish them, using my hands, and managing to get basting smeared down my shirt. 

 New girlfriend giggles femininely at jokes. I cackle and joke raucously with the boys, getting questionable looks from other customers. 

 New girlfriend speaks intelligently about her job in on-line credit card purchases. I lose track of this conversation one line in and focus on licking my plate clean.

 But WOW those ribs were good. As was the rugby, cider and a good laugh. 

I've changed my mind. I kinda like who I am.

Looking forward to next weekend as am off to Breede River for a little skiing, tanning and all those awesome things you do in the middle of nowhere with great friends. 

But until then, nose to the grind.

Your mouth's watering now, isn't it?

Bring on the weekend

Well, it's cooler today. Thank god. One glass of Champagne last night and my poor, dehydrated body (after an hour's tap lesson), in sheer desperation, absorbed every last increment of alcohol within miliseconds leaving me feeling embarrassingly inebriated before I'd even sat down for my sushi. The heels were certainly a mistake. As was trying to drive home in them.

I am off to see Handful of Keys this evening, which is fantastic if you've never been. It's on at Theatre on the Bay in Camps Bay – if you love music (through the ages), comedy, piano and singing and intelligent wit, then this show's for you. I'm seeing it for my fourth time and it never gets old. But clearly I am... Who else spends their Friday evenings at the theatre?

See you at Tens tomorrow. I'll be the glazed-eyed groupy.

http://www.capetowntens.com/

 

It's been a while

I haven't written in a while. Probably because I've been trying to keep myself frightfully busy. When everyone else seems to be swamped with plans I feel a strong need to also fill up my schedule till it's teeming with sports, drinks, dinners, movies... Whatever I can squeeze in there really. So that's my next few days. And excited about it I sure am. 

I saw Burlesque last night, which was simply spectacular. Lights, sequins, razzle and dazzle. But it left me sad at my pathetic lack of performing talent and long-lost love of the stage. I drove home with a strong desire to find a stunningly sequined, very revealing, boob-lifting eye-catching barely-covering-anything outfit, and a feather headdress, grab a chair (to dance around, obviously) and burst into song in a crusty pub. I considered The Slug & Lettuce on Greenpoint Main Road, but by the time I'd driven home from Newlands to Seapoint I had exhausted myself with all the planning as to how I was going to become a world renowned solo Burlesque dancer, and have Christina Aguilera as my best mate. 

Tonight I am going to Wakame. For a change. (blatent sarcasm)... It's definitely a weekly outing for me. Well, in summer. But that's because it's fabulous in summer. A deck, cocktails, the sea, sun... And it's also about 10 steps from my front door. Yes, I'm lazy. But also, petrol prices have shot through the roof... so I'll keep organising dinners there until someone realises the true reasoning behind my planning!

I hope you're all coming to the Cape Town Tens this weekend. Apart from a massive beer tent teeming with whopping big jocks, there are great bands and real live famous rugby players actually walking around as if it's their backyard. So I'll be there, Hunters in hand, stalking sportsmen. Oh yes, I'll be watching my boyfriend play too.

Hope it cools down a bit. At this rate I'll be pissed after one drink and prob try steal the mic (and the stage) and finally whip out my hidden bonafide Burlesquian moves... The thought makes me cringe. But it could happen.