Take the leap!

Happy Leap Day/Year to all. I thought it was any ordinary day until I read a tweet by Pongracz saying how lucky we are to have an extra day in the year to make memories, and that we should toast to it. I was going to attempt to be healthy at my braai tonight and forgo alcohol, but how could I ignore such an optimistic life-enhancing zealous tweet. So purchased a bottle of bubbles at lunch and am ready to jump this hump day.

So I went to this shoe shop today to fetch my favourite favourite sandals in all the world. My little gorgeous pink babies from Aldo have lasted me 3 years. I have walked them to hell and back, wearing them from everything to festivals, weddings, beaches, volcano climbing (yes, I did that once), promenade walks and Tiger Tiger. Last week, those poor lovely things, finally (I knew it was coming), literally snapped in half.

I was recommended a shoe shop. I took them to there. I paid a hefty amount and what I picked up this morning made my jaw drop...

What was a beautiful, thin beige sole, was now a revoltingly thick, heavy, flip-flop-type black rubber sole, which I am convinced was constructed out of an old car tyre. My delicate, exquisite sandals now resemble the frightening offspring of a croc and a strop. Any hope of wearing them to the wedding this Saturday has been dashed. If I dance too fast they'd melt. I'd have grip on an ice rink in those things. Anyone need a giant eraser? Tyre patch? A ping-pong bat?

F***

At least I won't ever be struck by lightening..

Tonight's bubbly is gonna go down even better.

Had a hunch...

 WHY when you've been suffering for days and you finally book an appointment with a doctor, specialist, psychologist, physio, proctologist (hypothetically), whatever... that the morning of said appointment you wake up, and you feel absolutely wonderful. Stupendous. Like a million ZAR. The healthiest, strongest person alive. Midas.

If you had a sore throat, you feel like you could dominate the local karaoke bar. If you had a boil (sis), it's (hopefully) mysteriously vanished. If you had a sore ankle, you now feel like you could run up the 2430 metres above sea level to Macchu Picchu. (I'm choosing not to revert back to the proctologist comment.)

This whole week have had pounding head and sore ears due to severely aching back and knotted neck. Finally decided must pay visit to lovely physio for checkup, and... what do you know, I wake up this morning feeling like I've drunk the elixir of life (and not those 4 glasses of bubbly someone I was forced to drink last night).

Am attributing this to the fact that it is Friday and perhaps subconsciously one is automatically less tense on this excellent day.

But despite all, am very much still determined to get a massage, so have purposefully re-angled my screen (to cause significant neck strain). At one point was even caught banging my head against the keyboard in trying to find my headache. And have been sitting in particularly odd hunched-over positions all morning in a pathetic attempt to make back seize up again.

Realised how visibly absurb I looked when the IT guy shouted from across the office: 'Morning Quasi.'

In the spirit of things, I leave you with a joke for the day:

What's wrapped in plastic and hangs from the top of a bell tower? 

The Lunchpack of Notre Dame.

Le weekend

Was going to write and tell you about how I came home on Sunday to find that some bird (no feathered friend of mine) had assumed my bedroom to be some sort of public ablution facility, and kindly flew through the window, promptly shat himself on my fresh clean linen, polished tiles and even on my poor teddybear's head, knocked over a lamp or two (as you do), and shed a few feathers for good luck. But then I decided that no one particuarly cares about my woes with nature. So, instead, I'll tell you about Saturday:

I went to review the new Societi Brasserie in Tokai. It's lovely. You really should go. Given you might not be able to try 4 different dishes, plenty of Champagne, two puddings and dessert wines for free. But it'll still be cool. Just not as cool. Sorry. This is one of our starters: a goat's cheese and watermelon salad with mint-vokda dressing... drool, ogle, pass out etc

 
And one of our mains: a mushroom risotto... shrooms, parmesan, 'nuff said

I would've photographed the chocolate nemesis and cheesecake, but that would've meant sharing them, and I wasn't prepared to do that physically or photographically. They were just too good.

After what felt like 4 hours, now drunk, fat and ready to roll (literally), we decided to visit Queue Shoes and blow the money we didn't spend on lunch on something else. (How mature.) Unfortunately the second we arrived, friend and I fell in love with exactly the same pair of pink, suede heels, sent from heaven. On a velvet shoe pillow. Yes, we bought the same pair...

Arrived home so excited about new purchase that we sported them round the house simulatenously drinking pink bubbly and eating pink cupcakes in pink boxer shorts. I have photos. You'll have to kill me first.

Sunday went and played with my new godson, Cosby. Look how oodle woodle noodle shnoodle pookums he is...

Cape Town Tens this weekend. Essentially watching buff men do their thing while sitting in pretty skirts tanning legs and sipping on alcopops in sexy plastic cups. Sounds like my cup of... Brutal Fruit.

Room Service

Drunk dialling has long since been a problem for many a drunken idiot. I'm usually pretty good. I rarely ring males or exes. You're more likely to find me ringing a friend to check they got home safely, or ringing the club to ask if by some miracle they found a MAC Eyeliner lying around the d-floor, or an earring down the loo. 

Last weekend, my friend and I were mystery guests at the Vineyard Hotel, which essentially meant walking around in gowns and slippers racking up a phenomenal bill on room service, bubbly, 5-course meals and raiding the minibar. On Saturday night, after a day by the pool, spa treatments, cocktails etc, we decided to visit our local haunt... grrrrrrrrrr.

Covered in shimmer-bronze, sporting new outfits, stilts (heels) and surfer hair, we hit the town – squeaked a few takkies, drunk our weight in Tiger shooters...

...and finally arrived back to the hotel room at 3am – at which point we decided that it was crucial we eat food. Deep-fried food. Immediately.

Olive: Leave it to me!

I pick up the phone to dial '2' for room service. Unfortunately in my paralytic state I used my own phone instead of the hotel phone and '2' happened to be the speed dial for my mother.

Mother: Hello?
Olive: HELLO!!!
Mother: Olive?
Olive: You know my name? That's AMAZING!!! Hic...
Mother: Darling, what ARE you doing?
Olive: Darling? Er, ok Honey... I'd like to... hic... order some room thervice, pleath.... hic....
Mother: What?
Olive: Two battered fishes and... hic... chips... extra cristhpy chips... oh, and... waaaaater. And tomato thauce. Lots of tomato thauce.... hic...
Mother: It's your mother!
Olive: No not butter. I said tomato thauce!
Mother: Darling, you need to hang up and go to bed.
Olive: ... ... er... Mum?
Mother: Yes.
Olive: Why have you rung me at 3am??...
Mother: I give up.

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.

Festive fun

You see that right there? THAT is my absolutely out-of-this-world, drool-over, lick-up-and-down, rub-all-over-your-face, amazing, mouth-watering, succulent Christmas gammon. Yes, it's no family-sized feast. But have you tried to buy one lately? It was a choice between a whole gammon or two tanks of petrol.

This gammon was so delectably palatable there are actually pigs lining up to become one of my gammons. Randoms knocked on the front door because their noses had led them thus. We all fell asleep after Christmas lunch in a gammon coma... floating away on a gammon boat, in a sea of gammon basting...

Mother rings after lunch. Me, ensconced on sofa, bubbly seeping out eye balls, watching Vivi&Lola do the actions to 'The 12 Days of Christmas' ---->

...while friend Bree attempts to pick stray bits of tinsel out my hair...

Mother: Hi Darling!
Olive (singing): The holly and theee ivvyyyyy...
Mother: What is that?!
Olive: I'm singing carols!
Mother: I thought it was a cat. How was your Christmas lunch?
Olive: Excellent. Can I top you up?
Mother: I'm not there?
Olive: I knew that.
Mother: Are you drunk?
Olive: Just in full Christmas spirit!
Mother: You just sound like you've drunk too many spirits.
Olive: Nonsense. Port isn't a spirit.
Mother: Have you had port?
Olive: After the brandy... Or was that before?
Mother: Brandy?
Olive: I bought it for the Brandy Butter. I just forgot the butter.
Mother: Darling. I think it's time you went to sleep.
Olive: Why, is Santa coming?
Mother: And go get some water!
Olive: But he drinks milk?
Mother: Go to bed! Ring me in the morning?
Olive (singing): Hark the Herald Angels siiiiinnngggg....
Mother: I give up.

Have a Jolly Olly Christmas...

Tomorrow eve shall be decorating Vivi&Lola's Christmas Tree. Finally can release my Christmas spirit, which has been bursting to come out for over a month now. Unfortunately, mother has instilled in me since childhood a perfectionist paranoia about Christmas-tree decorating. From a young age I would sit cross-legged on the floor, with a cup of apple juice, pigtails in hair, and watch in awe as she would asssemble our breath-takingly beautiful tree. She is a Virgo, of course, and picks a perfectly manicured tree and decorates to meticulous perfection. Each year she picks a colour theme. Usually silvers and golds. She puts some cotton stuff over the lights, which makes them look misty and mysterious, sprays the tree with snow and has gorgeous glittery stars and silver baubles...

I was not allowed to touch the tree. And as the years wore on and my apple juice turned to glasses of sherry, my pigtails to flat-ironed locks, she would let me help with the lights. Then the next year one or two baubles. Naturally, she would reposition or move whatever it was I so carefully placed where I believed it looked suitable. As a result I lost confidence in my ability to decorate a tree as beautifully as my mother. At the same time, I long to have my own house, my own tree – my own perfect tree that my own husband and kids dogs and friends will look up at in amazement... inspired. And, just like her, no one will be allowed to touch anything. My very own Christmas masterpiece.

Anyway, I may not have as gorgeous decorations as hers, which she buys more of from London each year, but I am looking forward to trying my creative right hand tomorrow night. Or whichever hand is free from holding the mulled wine.

Unfortunately, there will be boys present tomorrow. Males have about as much sense of decoration as a tea towel so I'm thinking of handing them a beer and a bowl of nuts and putting them in charge of sweeping up excess pine needles.

Beanie (my new landlord) is coming over tonight. He told me to make a list of 'the few things' I might need for the house. Thinking of sporting hotpants and heels and asking for a flatscreen. And maybe a push-up bra for DSTV? Also have loads of bubbly in the flat leftover from my birthday, so will pour him a flute just as I suggest blackout curtains, a tumbledryer and a fresh coat of paint.

Perhaps I should buy Beanie a Cap or Head Scarf for summer?

I leave you with photos from last year's Christmas at the Jolly Olive humble abode...

Birthday bum

It was my biiiiiiiiiirthday yesterday!!! I turned the wrong side of 25... It's all downhill from here. Thirty is around the corner and I don't think there's any fending it off. Woke up to discover a very small but very real wrinkle in the centre of my chest, made all the more visible by the early-morning light... Went into cardiac arrest, then promptly raced to chemist, purchased a bottle of Bio Oil and proceeded to pour its entire contents on to my chest for rapid ageing relief. I now keep it in my handbag as a threat to any emerging signs of impending 30s.

Had a great present opening session in the morning... Seems someone enjoyed it even more than I did:

Once we managed to untangle Lyla from all the pretty ribbon, I got up and dressed in all my new Zara attire... At which point memories from the previous night's antics came flooding back in bits and bobs:

• Squeezing 6 people into one car...

• Pulling party poppers at Kitima and causing a bomb scare.

• Almost setting friend's hair on fire due to overexcitement with a sparkler.

• Drinking both of these:

• Being serenaded 'Happy Birthday' by friend at midnight to her iPad guitar.

Head hurt but was off to breakfast with a special someone so showered away the bubbly and hit the road. Scone with jam and cream = perfect remedy, and ideal start to my happy birthday. Can eat more in summer since tummy no longer asphyxiated by skinny jeans, but can now breathe freely beneath flowing floral dress.

Up next, lunch at Manna Epicure. Proceeded to order lovely bottle of pink bubbles to match new coral dress and new pretty pink-gold Micheal Kors watch – which by the way was without a doubt the best present I got overall... and I bought it for myself!! Naturally...

Moving on... Now an egg on legs, decided to try work off at least one crouton from my XXXL Caesar salad, so went for stroll on the promenade, then dashed home to get ready for event number 3, and dragged my lethargic now-double-hungover self to Wakame for drinks with friends.

Exquisite evening, except when new dress blew up and exposed lacy knickers to a humoured audience on the Wafu deck. At least they matched the new wedges. 

Ended the evening with a dinner at Sotano with 19 girls. More pressies, more bubbly, more cake and more laughter meant a VERY Jolly Olive indeed last night as I passed out amidst a mass of wrapping paper, ribbons and flowers. Woke up with face stuck to birthday card... still smiling. Fabulous day. Thanks to all who made it so special. You know who you are.

AA

Sitting at my desk, very busy and important...

VIBTRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE .... VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE

Me: Hello mother.
Mother: Darling! Are you busy?
Me: Believe it or not these are my working hours...
Mother: Well I've just booked our flights for December. Now get a pen, Darling, and write this down...
Me: Can we chat later? I'm going into a meeting.
Mother: We land on the 16th at 12.00 so maybe you could fetch us from the airport and we can go straight to lunch, or you can take us home to drop our bags and then we go for lunch? Or we can get a taxi and you fetch us from home and then we go to lunch...
Me: I really can't talk about this now... I have a meeting.
Mother: Then on the Saturday I thought you could fetch us at 12 and take us all to your sister's wedding and...
Me: I'm sorry, what???
Mother: You can drive us to the wedding...
Me: There's been some mistake.
Mother: But then we don't have to pay for a taxi. It's a free ride!
Me: There's also free Champagne!... And I intend to take full advantage of that.
Mother: Are you an alcoholic?
Me: If you keep asking me that I soon will be.
Mother: Maybe you should go to an AA meeting.
Me: Maybe you should let me go to my work meeting!

Silence.

Mother: Oh bugger.
Me: What's wrong?

Frantic rustling in the background.

Me: Mum? Are you ok?
Mother: Oh God. It must've been stolen...
Me: What?
Mother: Oh no. Oh dear.
Me: Mum?!?!
Mother: I just had it?... Christ!

Mother becomes more frantic. She even drops, God forbid, a small swear word.

Mother: How could I be so stupid?
Me: WHAT'S HAPPENED!?!

Mother: I've lost my cell phone!

 Me: Mum... You're on it.


Mother: Oh.
Me: Looks like someone else needs to go to AA. Alzheimer's Anonymous!

Ps: I did it again. I went to gym this morning. See what happens when that happens...

"I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes..."

Christmas!!!!

"I don't want a lot for Christmas... There is just one thing I need... I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas treeeeee..." 

Er, actually I do. What's Christmas sans gifts? And frankly there isn't just one thing I need. There's two. I want a GHD. And a gold bracelet. Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!?! Because I've been asking for the same two things since 2006 yet my desperate pleas have remained unnoticed. Or rather, just ignored. Ok given they don't come cheap but the amount of clothing I have been given since 2006 could probably buy me (a very crusty, very small, 19th-hand) private jet. So a GHD and a gold bracelet are certainly doable.

(Oh, and yes, I did watch Love Actually on the weekend.) 

I can really feel it! I can really feel Christmas! Not so much as I do in London (especially since the Santa I grew up with is British, not Afrikaans, and he eats cookies, not biltong), but I really feel it in the streets, in the shopping centre, on the radio... Mumsy and I have already planned the date and time of our traditional mince pie-making session once I'm back in Joburg, and Step Daddy and I are already fighting over who's going to make the Brandy Butter this year; and there's already a family debate over who's coming to Carols by Candelight and which church service we're going to attend on Christmas morning. Christmas is the best and biggest day of the year in my family. And right up until Christmas Eve we are frantically running around like elves on E to ensure everything is story-book perfect. Which it always is. Bar the lack of snow in SA and the fact that we can't put a wreath on the front door without it being stolen. 

Was contemplating changing my ringtone to 'Rocking around the Christmas Tree', but decided it's about a month too early. And that I wouldn't mind still having friends by New Year's Eve or I'll be celebrating solo.

  

To keep in the spirit of things, Vivi&Lola and I are going to a 'Festive Cooking' course on Wednesday at the SA Chef's Academy!! Am so bloody ecstatic I asked Mum to send down my Christmas Tree earrings and Santa hat but realised it's perhaps a little too over-enthusiastic since the course will probaly primarily consist of a bunch of newlyweds, gay couples and the odd geriatric who really want to learn. We're just there to get pissed and be merry. Am ready to whip up a gourmet Festive Feast while slogging back free Christmas wines and whistling 'Frosty the Snowman'.

It is my birthday first. Maybe I should be focusing a little more on those celebrations!

Decided on weekend to finally clear up erupting skin mass breakout once and for all, so took out a loan and booked a Dermalogica facial – so pricey I was half expecting to be carried to the room on a red cushion and placed in a rose-petal bath while topless bronzed men worked on my face simultaneously performing hand and foot massages and feeding me Champagne through a 19-carot gold straw. This was not so... Five minutes in and my overly sensitive skin (raw from excessive use of prescription zit-eradicating gels) felt like it was had been scraped off by sandpaper then plunged into a pool of citric acid. I lay squealing in pain while flustered facialist tried desperately to clean off whatever she had put on. Everything hurt. Eventually she gave up and I emerged from said treatment room resembling a burn victim – swollen, red, blotchy and puffy, too sore to even smile. My tears stung. Everything stung. And I spent the day lying on a couch behind closed doors spraying my face with a 'soothing spray' at regular intervals, sipping bubbly through a straw. So much for that idea... 

Have finally accepted Dermo's request to put me on antibiotics. Maybe I'll go back to school for a few weeks too. At least I'll fit in. 

Like Step Father, like Step Daughter

Woke up (particularly hungover) on Saturday morning to a searing sun burn! The room I had somehow ended up in after my night on the town was bathed in light.

Wondered momentarily if I was dead...

I may as well have slept on a frikken sundeck! Looked around for suncream, or a cap, or zinc... anything!... but instead found a pair of shades conveniently perched on the bedside table, and I covered my body with the duvet to protect it from the rays of fire burning through the so-called 'curtains' – which quite honestly must have been made out of cling wrap based on the job they were doing. The good news is, the person whose room I was in definitely wasn't a vampire. The bad news was I was perspiring profusely, which had left a very questionable wet patch on the sheets that would need an explanation.

This was dehydration beyond compare and I crawled into the bathroom and put my head under the tap. Back in bed, pounding head was quickly intensified by my bbm beeping frantically. Step Daddy was in town. Step Daddy wanted to meet for lunch. Christ. I needed a shower, a freezo, an energade and to get out of this hell pit before I incinerated. Now, where was my car again?

A few hours later, I arrive at Basilico, dishevelled, decrepit, dark rings, liverless etc...

SD: 'Don't you look hot... Big night?'
Me: 'It's that obvious?'
SD: 'Do you feel as bad as you look?'
Me: 'Am hanging like a fruitbat.'
SD: 'Me too. Let's drink through it.'
Me: 'Great minds...'

A bottle of champagne AND a bottle of wine later, we thought it a good idea to perhaps order some food, while both simultaneously avoiding calls from mother...

SD: 'You're driving me home.'
Me: 'And you're Spiderman.'
SD: 'If you do, I'll buy you two bottles of Champagne for your girls' night tonight?'
Me: 'Why didn't you just say so?'

In car, playing Coldplay's 'Paradise' full blast, silver-fox step dad chanting the wrong words out the window... questionable looks from pedestrians... etc

SD: 'Woooooooo. This song is amaziiiiiiing. Turn it up!!!! LOUDER! Para-para-paralysed!!!'
Me: 'It doesn't go any higher. You blew my left speaker 5 minutes ago, remember?'
SD: 'Who sings it? Is he really paralysed?'
Me: 'You went to their concert 2 weeks ago. It's paradise...'
SD: 'It sure is!'

We made it to his place unscathed, after much giggling and stalling, where the man he was staying with offered me yet more wine. I chose life and drove home while I still could.

Good times.

The Early Bird Catches Nothing

I'm not a morning person. I never have been and don't think I ever will be. This morning, still dark, not even a bird chirping, I was fast asleep dreaming of my Champagne house with Champagne pool and Champagne husband when...

VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE... ... VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE...

I choose to ignore. But...

VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE... ... VIBRATE VIBRATE VIBRATE...

I look on the phone and see 'Home Sweet'.
Home Sweet my ass.
I answer.

Olive (still half asleep): Really??!?!?!
Mother: Sorry Darling but there's a Kulula sale!
Olive: Stop traffic.
Mother: Shall we book flights?
Olive: It's stil dark outside.
Mother: And the sale's already started! So when do you want to come down?
Olive: When I've had more sleep.
Mother: Come on Darling. What about just before your birthday. I'll take you shopping for presents?
Olive: Book it!

So now I was awake. So I did the unthinkable. I got changed and went to gym. I repeat: I am NOT a morning person. I gym at 5pm. And I don't like change.

Random Gay Man In Pink Gym Top And Spandex: Er, are you using that machine?
Olive: Shhhhh, I'm sleeping.
RGMIPGTAS: Sorry, but if you're not using the machine, can I?
Olive: I'm just having a warm-up nap.
RGMIPGTAS: That's really very selfish of you. I'm calling a PT.
Olive (with the hand gestures and everything): OMG. You wouldn't.
PT: Are you using this machine or can this man get on?
Olive: Man? It's wearing a pink top!
PT: That's very rude. I think you need to give up the machine.
Olive: But I'm using it!
PT: For what?
Olive: As a headrest.
PT: Ma'am...
Olive: Fine!
RGMIPGTAS: Yay!
Olive: Ug, could you BE more gay?!
RGMIPGTAS: Whatevs!