Bounced

So it was just after Christmas when we left Jo'burg at sparrow's for Hermanus for the big Family Holiday. Hungover from excessive amounts of Boxing Day plonk, and so fat from Christmas I would need to be shoehorned into my airplane seat, I popped down to the O R Tambo Mug&Bean to grab a freezocino, intending to meet my family in the BA Lounge. (Step Daddy is some form of Gold or Platinum Executive Club member... red carpets, upgrades etc.) I head up to the lounge, while ice cold freezo works its caffeine magic on my head, and arrive at the doors only to be turned away. 'Sorry, but your father already has two other people with him. We cannot allow anyone else in on his behalf.' Er, what? Unfortunately it was a woman, so no amount of leg or cleaveage was going to get me through. Irritable, I ring Mother.

Me: I'm stuck outside.
Mother: Yes, they won't let anyone else in. Sorry Darling.
Me: Well what should we do?
Mother: Well, we're just helping ourselves to the free buffet... Oooo, chocolate croissants, delish!... Um, so we'll meet you at the gate?.... Ooo fresh orange juice... Bye Darling!

I couldn't believe it! Family was in the lounge, making a large dent in the free buffet, reading the free paper, helping themselves to the free bar, and enjoying the cricket on a free flatscreen, while I paid for my own freezo, my own muffin, my own magazine and sat at the gate humming Christmas songs to myself for 45 minutes.

Needless to say I boarded alone and they arrived late, still laughing about something hilarious that had happened in the lounge, and covered in croissant crumbs.

Me: Where's mine?
Mother: Your what?
Me: My takeaway breakfast!?
Mother: Oh, did you want something, Darling? The food was so incredible. We ate so much.

Me: I hope you all get fat and implode.

They didn't even hear me.

I didn't say another word the whole flight, feeling angry and excluded. And on arrival I said I wanted to drive to Hermanus on my own in my car and they could all go in the hired car. My family felt so bad they took me out for lunch at Bientang when we arrived and ordered a bottle of bubbly. I have to admit – the gorgeous view, mindblowing food and serenity of the setting was enough to calm me down and help me relax in to holiday mode.

Just as I was feeling so great and had forgiven my family... I got back to my car after lunch only to find I'd left the lights on and the battery was flat.

Awesome.

'Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things'

Sorry about the quote. Am feeling very appreciative of all my irreplaceable friends today. Heart you all.

Arrived at the Hussar Grill last night early. "Another rib craving?"  says condescending waiter, who holds a remarkable resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite. Oh God. I wanted to melt through a gap in their pooh-coloured tiles. It became obvious right then and there, as I shrivelled with embarrassment beneath his judgmental gaze, that I frequent that Rondebosch haunt far too often. Given, I have been there once a week for the last month and a half. But who cannot agree that they have THE best ribs in Cape Town? Why not treat myself to a little ribilicious night out every so often (with friends of course. It's not like I go alone. That would just be sad).

But then again – what is less attractive than a chick, face smeared with rib sauce, bits of rib stuck under her fingernails, sticky hands, basting in hair (yes, that happened)... A real dude magnet!

"The usual then?" he continues.
"I'm waiting for friends," I quickly respond.
"Friends?" he looks around, as if my only friends in the world can only be the rack of ribs I consume on a weekly basis.
"Yes, I have friends."
"Whatever you say, Missy. Passion fruit and water?" 

Sanctimonious shithead.

Crapballs, he evens knows what I drink. This is beginning to mirror my visits to the freezo shop. I don't even need to place an order at Caturra anymore, they start making my freezo before I've even paralelled parked.

Missy? I don't like this guy anymore, or his misshapen goatee, and am glad when my friends file through the entrance and we slot into a cosy table for 5.

Next time I'm getting takeaways...

Vivi&Lola and I are planning a monsterous Saturday night out, starting with a very professional, very formal company Loeries afterparty at The Reserve in town. That's just for the free drinks and food, naturally... Then we shall trail Cape Town with our other tag-alongs for the best d-floor on offer and old, seedy men to buy us Champagne. That's normal, right?

 "We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young"

Long weekend!

It's fabulous Friday! After a shaky start this morning (dinner at the amazing, quaint little Italian Il Leone, accompanied by a bottle of bubbly of course), my freezo sorted out any sign of a hangover and I arrived at work ready to take on the day. Until I glanced at the clock on my screen and realised it was only 9:30 – I feel like I've been here for at least three hours already and was starting to look forward to lunch! Not ideal. I'm thanking my lucky stars that after all the pleading, persuasion and drop-lip I pulled last night after dinner, lovely boyfriend still didn't give in to taking me for a 'quick dance and a drink' somewhere. I was almost pathetically desperate to hit the town – must've been a combination of the heels, the veal, the champagne and the 8th of Italian in me. But I wouldn't have felt too sparkly this morning. But I think it was because I'm heading home tonight (Jo'burg) and I know it's going to be a rather family-orientated weekend, whereas lovely boyfriend is going to be back here with all his best school mates (who are down for the long weekend) painting the town all sorts of colours without his handbreak (that would be me) tagging along. Oh well, if all else fails I shall find somewhere cool to go for the rugby tomorrow night (with my father since he is the only one in my family who cares about rugby in my family) so I can have my routine Hunters Dry wand watch the Stormers annihilate the Bulls – this will have to qualify as my fair share of 'fun' for the weekend.

I had good news this week: I am finally allowed to do what I absolutely love and that is writing restaurant reviews for my magazine's blog. (This means free beverages! Oh.. and meals, of course.) I might also do bar and hotel reviews, and some show reviews considering I have pretty much taken up residence at Artscape since I moved to Cape Town. I also do online book reviews (alert the media!). I would love to post the link for you (of my recent restaurant review) but maybe I shouldn't associate my gorgeous glossy women's fashion and beauty mag with a Champagne-downing, rib-scoffing frequently-hungover rugger bugger with a lifelong dream of being on the stage or in front of a camera. The other day I had to look up what a gilet was. And I don't even use an exfoliator.

Been the insatiable dancing diva I am, I flung myself, far too overenthusiastically, straight into modern dance on Tuesday (having not done it since last year November) and attemped to push myself into the splits after two hours of intense exam work. I am so stiff, even three days later, that I can barely sit down or stand up elt alone walk, and had to ring my flatmate this morning to ask her to pull me out of bed. And dress me...

 This does not bode well for me since I'm signed up for an advanced contemporary class tomorrow morning. Could be interesting.

Have a great weekend. Joburg awaits me. Oh and - ENGLAND WON THE CRICKET!

Back in the game!

I'm back! Sorry I've been AWOL. On Monday I was still feeling the after-effects of Saturday's highly eventful and out-of-control cruise and hotel night. I think it's safe to say I worked my way through at least five bottles of Champagne (to myself) over the course of the day – from 11am until about midnight. I have a distant memory of lying on a flourescent pink lilo, gripping a flute of rose bubbly, and attempting to sing along to a tune that actually didn't have any words, wearing a sailor's hat and a mismatched bikini.

Even after an entire day embedded in the sofa, I still felt like I was suffering from a life-threatening, incurable third-world virus on Sunday evening and lay motionless and mute next to lovely boyfriend as we tried to keep down some ribs. 

So Monday morning I arrived at work pallid and forlorn, feeling as if I hadn't slept since last year November, and had run a half marathon a few hours before. Tuesday, I got philosophical and decided that I wasn't quite satisfied with life – after effects of the alcohol? I don't know – and wanted more out of it, so I began signing up to agencies so I can have my turn in the limelight, which I have decided is long overdue. Wednesday I started to feel human again but still felt like I had no purpose in life. Saturn return? Again, I don't know.

Today I arrived feeling sprightly. Have worked hard and am ready for a drink this evening. The verdict?: I'm getting old. It officially takes me three days to get over a big night. How did I do it  consecutively back in the day? What did I have then that I don't now?

Looking forward to the watching the Stormers thrash the Highlanders tomorrow, and then a relaxing day on Sunday while all the delusional people in Cape Town wake up at 5am, get on a private-part-torturing bike for a stupid number of kilometres and ride till their legs cramp or just fall off. Me, I'll be by the pool with a freezocino :)

Over and out.

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?