A fresh and sparkly clean slate

I have moved to Joburg. Yip. Bet you never thought you'd hear that come outta my trap!

Incidentally, neither did I. But, this much is true - it's the best move I ever made. A totally fresh start. But fak me moving city is not for ants introverts. For a start, you have to be a yes man. It's the only way to solidify your totally awesome presence in a colossal city, and the only way to meet new potential life-long friends husband/s. Which means minimal nights embedded in fluffy couch in new flat, with the Mouse Cat, painting toenails, entranced by the tele and inhaling hot chocolate. It means work - gym - rave - repeat. ;)

So. What's been happening? I now work for a food magazine. I love food. However, my passion for magazines continues to decrease, while my waistline begins to increase. The counter is constantly lined with finger-lickin' saliva-inducing nosh fit for a king me. You can't say no. As a result, have upped my gym routine from 4 days a week... to every day of my life... since the gym culture in Joburg is somewhat inspiring, at the same time as it is intimidating and pressurising. You feel bad if you don't go. But bad when you do go - because her waist is about as wide as my wrist.

I now live in a quaint little flatty-wats with my wonderful and most bestest Bree and, due to absurd car insurance increases when we moved to Joburg (obviously), we mostly dine on tinned soup and power through the our complimentary booze cabinet (which the previous owners left behind) before we head out at night. Then hope to God a strapping young suit in private equity will offer to buy us drinks, or a bottle of Veuve (which happens... often!). Oh, how I love Jozi.

I also happen to live all of 10 metres from work and could practically pole vault into the office, if my heart so desired. I have to pick very carefully which 15 seconds of which songs I will listen to en route. In my quest for the job of my dreams, have applied to get my PGCE so that I can teach little kiddies.... Stay tuned.

This city, for now, is my playground. I am in my late 20s and it's high time I made the most of it. So watch out Gautengers... this Jolly Olive is here for a kiki.

Watch this space for many Veuve-induced shindig stories. I have many already... but thought I'd ease back into my antics, for new readers/followers who don't quite know what I'm capable of.

The Spill

My Saturday morning fail:

Was driving along, on the highway, in a typical Capetonian hurricane-esque torrential downpour, the gale-force winds threatening to blow my tiny batmobile into oblivion, holding (and trying to enjoy) my enormous ice-cold freezo, hot air blasting from the vents to fend off the unheard of 12 degrees outside, music blaring...

(This music to be exact:)

.... when I decided to give my freezo and little swirl to mix it up. And then it happened... the lid fell off.

OMF.

I was driving in the type of rain that makes it impossible to see through your windscreen. I could've been in Russia for all I knew. So on top of driving at snail pace and squinting to make out what was ahead of me, I was now quite literally covered in FREEEEEZING freezo! All over my clean jeans. All over my nice new top. In my new boots. Over the steering wheel, all down my arms and on my hands. And no, I hadn't just spent the last hour getting ready for a farewell, which I was about to arrive at.

I looked about in a panic. For a tissue, an old napkin... anything with absorbant capabilities. I saw a grubby balled-up piece of tissue, stuffed into a cubby hole. Figured it was from the last bout of flu. Gagged a bit, and decided to pretend I'd never seen it.

Then I felt behind me... and my hand fell upon MY GYM TOWEL!

Spent the rest of the drive trying to wipe everything up. Ended up holding up traffic, and was stuck with a completely brown-soaked towel and a very sticky me. Arrived at farewell with unsightly and very questionable brown splodges on my pants, and emitting fumes of coffee.

So NOT cool.

Penne for your thoughts

 Flatmate and I got home after a strenuous hour of conteporary choreography only to find we hadn't really thought much about what we were going to nom for dinsy. I looked in the fridge. Saw a tumbleweed. Closed it again.

Eventually I plucked up the courage to reopen it, grab its very few random contents, and this is what we came up with. 

We fried up the last of some shrooms in olive oil with Portuguese flavouring salt, just coz it makes 'em taste oh so nommy...

All we could find in the pantry was two bags of three-quarters-empty pasta, so we just combined the scraps and put a mix 'o penne and fusilli on the boil.

I had some leftover broccoli... she had some leftover asparagus... 

Put 'em together and what 'ave you got? Bippety boppety a bunch of health greens!

We found an avo. Perfect. We diced it up...

 She had some old withering rocket lying around that still had a hint of a definite crunch left on it.

We found two leftover pots of basil pesto.

I had a sprinkling of Parmesan lying around

We combined it all into the most fabulously drool-worthy...

 Mind-blowingly delectable...

Broccoli, asparugus, mushroom, avo, rocket, Pesto and Parmesan penne-fusilli pasta!!

WoWwwwweeeeee I shall be makin' that bowl of green goodness again and again. 

Now to think of a name...

Jessto's Besto Pesto?

The Mean Lean Green Machine?

Don't Spend a Penne?! 

The Green Footprint?

Don't be so fusilli!

Greenies?

Sunset splendour

"The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of colour – 

oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples…" 

 

 

"It was like magic!"

So we were sitting at the table on Sunday – a lovely long Sunday lunch at River Cafe. Me and my British people. Drinking rosé, nomming steak and chips, enjoying the sunshine. These kind of afternoon distractions are good for me at the moment. 

Well, wine is a good distraction. 

Anyhoo...

So the conversation was flowing (as was the wine), when suddenly someone exclaimed:

"Did you know there was a Magic School in Cape Town?"

My eyes turned to saucers.


Olive: "WHAAAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?"


Immediately my head was filled with broomsticks, enchanted ceilings, bearded wizards, charms classes, defence against the dark arts lessons, talking paintings, wands, capes, quills and chocolate frogs... when:

"Jess, a school for magicians. Like David Copperfield. Not a Hogwarts."

"Duh. I knew that."

Whoops.

My bad. 

Centre Stage

One more day till I'm back in my favourite place in the world. No, not New York. Not London. But centre stage. At Artscape Theatre! Beneath the dazzling spotlight. Dancing alongside my fellow Jubber students. It's been too long and last night's dress rehearsal felt so wonderful and fantastic. Our costumes are looking bright, sparkly and beautiful. Our hair... well mine is a work-in-progress. Was trying to explain to the Ping about my on-stage 'do, when bloody autcorrect messed it up:

My message –

"Oh my God Ping! Our hair is so amazing. You have to do a plait down one side, then twists round the other side all going into my bum!"

MY BUM?

Er, my BUN.

Luckily I saw it before sending it unlike some of the other fabulous autocorrects I've had recently. Apart from my flatmate who messaged me that she was 'shitting in traffic'. I was invited to a dinner with my best guy friend and I wanted said flatmate to come along. So I messaged guy friend:

Me: "Is it ok if I bring my flange?"
Guy Friend: "Your FLANGE? Er, by all means!! Love me some flange!"
Me: "Omg no, I meant can I bring my flatware?"
GF: "Flatware? Well I think I've got enough!"
ME: "OMG STUPID AUTOCORRECT. My bloody FLATMATE!"
GF: "Well, why didn't you just say so!"

Anyway. I digress.

So we gathered in the Artscape rehearsal room, kitted out in pretty flowy sequiny water dresses or bright sparkling red fire dresses, hair in plaits and twirls and 'bums' and started to warm up...

And then there was the stage. Oh the stage. And the lights. And the harmony and flow of all our hard work and a fabulous piece about the elements.

Come watch us in Showcase of Dance on at Artscape from this Wednesday. Tickets on Computicket: http://online.computicket.com/web/event/showcase_of_dance/702111043/0/52327707 for R80 evening shows or R65 for matinees.

We're totally in our element. :)

Back to the studio

It's been eons. I apologise.

Life got filled up. With attention-seeking cats, long-distance survival, meeting deadlines, planning holidays and daaaaancing. Yes, I'm back baby, after a year and a half of these feckless and dysfunctional things they call knees. However, in my mind's eye, I saw myself leaping gracefully across the studio and acing the routine first time. But this complete co-ord had totally forgotten how to learn a routine, let alone repeat one. And I watched myself bumble and flounder about the dance floor in the mirror, until I felt a strong and particularly painful pull under my ass cheek, which rendered me immobile for a week. So much for my star comeback. Pathetic.

Anyway, as the weeks have passed, I'm getting there. At least I thought that until yesterday I almost knocked someone unconscious with my totally-out-of-line axis leap. My fellow dancers are all learning now... to leave me enough space to perform a sequence of flick flacks and host a small gathering.

So there was this night. A couple of weekends ago. I hadn't been out in a while. You know those nights where you just know. Something great is going to happen. Whether it turns out to be a 5 o'clocker at some crusty Eighties club (which is how my night panned out), someone face plants, your best friend goes home with a seedy foreigner, or you meet an international celebrity (not a local one, because there is seriously nothing less riveting)... You just know that 'tonight is the night'. I slipped on my full-sequin gold dress and arrived at the 30th shimmering like a disco ball in the evening sun. I strategically placed myself next to the Champagne-pouring table during the speeches and befriended the rather fetching 'pourer' – fetching because he promised to 'fetch' me first with each new bottle he opened.

There's no need to tell you that the night took a turn for the… fantastic!! And me and the Pop (featured above) share brilliant flashbacks of a pole-dance sweat-inducing performance to 'Summer Lovin' on the Deco 'stage' at around 4am. Hot stuff? This was sweltering stuff! Literally. Realised I'd shed my make-up, the day's hydration and any leftover dignity on the dance floor, so we escorted ourselves out.

So that was a goodie. But the following day consisted of me trying to hold a mildly coherent conversation at a brunch – I was about as engaging as a dish towel – and then napping through Les Mis due to my lack of siesta.

We have just booked flights to Zambia for Easter. Another big family holiday planned by The Mother. She is far too excited.

Mother: Darling!
Olive: Mother...
Mother: I'm SO excited. It's going to be so wonderful. The animals, the Zambezi, the Vic Falls, the boat rides...
Olive: ...the Gin & Tonics!
Mother: Is that all you think about?
Olive: Gin-erally!
Mother: Well I've booked us a cruise on the Chobe.
Olive: What Chobe doin' over there?
Mother: Really?
Olive: Sorry.
Mother: And we can have lunch at the Livingstone...
Olive: ...I presume.
Mother: I'm hanging up now.

Anyhooos stay tuned! Exciting things in the works!