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!

Calm before the STORMERS

Sooooo, to win tickets to the Stormers vs Chiefs game on Saturday 9th at Newlands, you had to tweet what you would put (words and pic) on a poster for the game...

I'm gonna win right?? ...

Right??

Painting the kitchen red

So was all prepared to attempt my first Thai Red Curry for a certain someone. But plans fell through, much to my flatmate's delight! 

Flatmate: "So, er, what are you gonna do with all those ingredients then? I mean they can't go to waste… All that money. And the freshness of the produce... I think it's best if you use them and just cook anyway... I mean I'm sure someone will eat it… … … … …"

Talk about currying favour! ....

Olive: "Alright, fine! I'll cook for you. But your job is wine. Now fill me up!"

Olive's Thai Red Curry

 Fry Thai Red Curry paste (homemade, obvs!) in a little oil, then add tin of Coconut Milk.

 Add chicken and prawns.

 Add 10 000 veges, because we all need our greenery. 

I added beans and broccoli. Flatmate smirked. 

 Let it boil and bubble and conjure up trouble.

 Meanwhile, chop some cori's. Love me some cori's.

Get flatmate to pour you a large glass of wine. And tell him to make himself useful and cook the rice.

Lame-ass Woolies thought it would be funny to only sell peanuts-and-raisins mix. (They had peanuts but only in a bag big enough to sit in, and 3 times the cost. Are they nuts?) 

Next task for flatmate: separate peanuts, eat the raisins, crush the peanuts.

 Simmer... Throw in some coriander. Chilli if you want. Totes up to you. Add some fish sauce (for that authentic Thai twist) and some sugar.

 Put in bowl over jasmine rice.

 Sprinkle with cori's and peanuts. Lots. Coz more is better!

Just because it looks cool.

 

Re-fill wine glass; dig in!

Mother calls – as I'm picking up my fork – for a chat. Told her I was a little Thai-ed up. 

x

Her Anus

Excuse the title. It really is foul. And I'm not a particularly foul-mouthed girl. But it did make me laugh out loud when I saw the sign in Hermanus and the 'm' had dropped off. Not even a halo-clad Pastor in his holy-water Jacuzzi could ignore the humour in that.

Butt anyway...

;)

Moving on.

This naweek am going to stay here:

... at 183 Marine Beachfront Guesthouse.

HOW PRETTY!!

Mental note: MUST PIN ALL THESE PICTURES TO 'BEACH HOUSE' BOARD!

Was supposed to be a surprise weekend. Naturally I let slip weeks ago. Am about as good as keeping secrets as I am at folding fitted sheets.

Plans for weekend:

Whale watching
Weight watching  Drinking and eating
Tanning (yes, I know it's 15 degrees, and raining, but I will sit on that beach)
Reading
Walking
Sleeping
Shopping (for future beach house ornaments)

And that just about does it.

I won't use the cliche 'we're going to have a whale of a time'. But it may be a whale (said in questionable Welsh accent) before I blog again.

Friday morning chat

Mother is actually concerned as to why I am not going to this 'huge festival' with all my friends. I asked her how she'd like to sleep in a tent marinading in mud, while listening to locals bands and watching people get high. She quickly changed the subject:

Mother: So what are you doing this weekend then, Darling?
Olive: Am going to Franschhoek. Lunch on a wine farm, staying on a wine estate. Free massages, free wine tasting, free meals, then off to a wine festival on Sunday.
Mother: All I heard was wine.
Olive: Isn't it great?!

I hear Mother take a deep breath, then again quickly change the subject.

Mother: How is the new flat?
Olive: So lovely.
Mother: How is that little kitten, is he settling in?
Olive: If you define 'settling in' as eating my bedroom door, eating the cupboard door, eating my shoes, knocking over all my bathroom products and knocking a bedside table lamp on to my head while I sleep... then yes, he is settled.
Mother: Does New Flatmate like him?
Olive: I think he did. Until it ate his shoe laces and meowed outside his bedroom door for a good two hours at 4am.
Mother: Have you cooked for him, I think you should? Ask what he would like?
Olive: I did. He asked me to cook the cat… Told him I'd make him a CATserole. (Ba-dum-dum-TSSHSHHH)

Cat-astrophe

Things I've learnt already after having a kitten for just 4 days...

• Do not expect to sleep. He will. On your face. (Or as close as he can get to it, while clawing your hair.) And he'll purr start up his chainsaw in your ear.

• Expect holes in everything. From your pants (after he claws his way up your leg while you brush your teeth), to your duvet, your couch, the carpet, the curtains… and your skin!

• At night: keep all body parts under the duvet at all times, or they will be ripped to pieces. Also – DON'T MOVE. At all. All you will be pounced on in your sleep.

• Do not try throw him off the bed when you are getting frustrated or want to sleep. No, no. He thinks it's a game, and will spring back and claw on to your arm and bite the sh*t out of it. 

• Do not hang clothes on the washing line. He will jump up and hang off it until he has taken off every last sock and pair of knickers.

• Do not leave home. EVER. Or he cries until you get back and you get complaints from the neighbours. 

• Wear protective gloves. A baseball mitt perhaps. Or your hands will be mauled.

But there are, of course, one or two good things...

• Get him a feather mouse to play with and he'll be occupied for hours...

• When he does eventually sleep, and isn't bulleting up and down the room like a mental case chasing imaginary nothings, he is a maybe a little bit cute...

 So, I think I'll keep it. 

And those big green eyes too. 

Now all I need is some sleep... 

Anyone want to catsit for a night?