A (not so) Jolly Robo-Olly

So what I thought was shaping out to be an invincible body part... those poor, unfortunate knees of mine are right back at square one after a measely 12-minute run.

Initially, thinking it was just temporary strain, I gave good ol' knee surgeon a buzz.

Doc: Hi Olive
Olive: Doc! So I was running... er, and now my knees are sore again. Should I just ice 'em and hold off for a day or two?
Doc: Are you experiencing serious pain, or just discomfort?
Olive: Well the serious pain is pretty discomforting.
Doc: So there is serious pain?
Olive: I would go with 'a rhythmic throbbing'. I wince if I walk too fast. I'm sure it's nothing.
Doc: That's bad. Let's get you in for an MRI. Might be a cartilage problem that is causing your tendonitis to recoccur and not heal, and a bla bla bla bla bla could cause a bla bla bla and I think we should check your bla bla bla and shave off a bla bla bla (knee jargon)....
Olive: MRI? Cartilage? ARE YOU GOING TO SHAVE OFF MY LEG??!?!
Doc: Yes, shall we schedule an amputation for Thursday 2pm?
Olive: I'll amputate your face.
Doc: You ask me that everytime! Now look after yourself until I see you.
Olive: K... (sad face)
Doc: No dancing.
Olive: K... (even sadder face)
Doc: And no heels!!!

Olive: Well there goes my social life.

Have requested application form for bionic knees.

'The universe may not always play fair, but at least it's got a hell of a sense of humour'

Wooooo. I have knees again! And can finally walk around without looking like I was dropped on my head as a child. And I didn't even realise they were better until I was unconsciously rocking out (as I do) on the elliptical trainer to Christmas tunes (too early?) at full speed ahead, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down... then pumping iron, and I came out sweating and pain-free! And – for the first time in 3 months – I felt like I'd actually had a proper workout, rather than a stroll round my living room. I sure showed my knees a thing or two.

Mind you, after two excruciatingly painful injections... if they weren't feeling better by now someone would've had to answer to... my dad (I generally try and avoid confrontation) ---> Dad is furious after funding my knees, and he shouted down the phone last week: 'Why not just get a new bloody pair. It'll probably cost the same!' Poor physio and surgeon got the brunt of my frustration. My liver got the rest. As a result, have had healthy week of early nights, no alcohol, lots of exercise, lots of being lost in thought (aka being antisocial), and lots of fish and vegetables – who knew that the cost of a microscopic slither of salmon (about enough to satisfy a small fruitbat) was directly proportional to my monthly electricity bill. Needless to say I now eat with the lights off.


Weekend awaits... As done my couch and Season 4 of Sex and the City (by now you must've realised that I'm having an affair with the SATC boxset). Am saving and keeping healthy. Plus I have the energy levels of a brussel sprout. I'm that boring person this weekend, with takeaway boxes strewn round the house, eyes glued to the tele, hanging on to Carrie Bradshaw's every last word...

A few SATC quotes to take into the weekend with you:

“I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it. ”

“After a while, you just want to be with the one that makes you laugh."

“I like my money where I can see it, hanging in my closet.”

“Do any of you have a completely unremarkable friend or maybe a houseplant I could go to dinner with on Saturday night?”

“The most important thing in life is your family. There are days you love them, and others you don’t. But, in the end, they’re the people you always come home to. Sometimes it’s the family you’re born into and sometimes it’s the one you make for yourself.”

“Maybe you’re only alloted a certain amount of tears per man; and I’ve used mine up.”

Charlotte: “How are you gonna swallow all those?” [referring to Samantha’s handful of pills]
Samantha: “Have we met?”

"Will you please not use the f-word in Vera Wang?"

Miranda: "After years of odd men, God is throwing me a bone." 

Carrie: "And possibly a boner as well."

*Coldplay*Coldplay*Coldplay*

So it looks like we'll be heading back for Round 2 of injections. Fabulous. Wooopppeeeee. Am ecstatic.

NOT.

Still recovering from the extreme trauma of the first one, and now to have it again in the other knee!! It took so much out of me (on top of 7 tubes of blood), am going to have to spend the next few weeks building up my stamina again.

How to do that?

"REST!" says Mum, Surgeon, friends, and every other person I've ever met.

I had to look 'rest' up in the dictionary this morning. Something about 'putting your feet up... not going out...' Sounds absurd. But it's come at a good time since every man and his dog is going to Rocking The Daisies this coming weekend, leaving me alone in Cape Town. What am I supposed to do? Sit home and knit?! Hoping it's warm enough so that I can go 'rest' on the beach. Or in a bar, whatever...

Summer is on its way and I'm not allowed to exercise (bar cycling). Am still carrying lots of winter wobbly bits due to hot chocolate overindulgence – this calls for emergency tactics: an additional cycling session a day starvation. Need to start saving for Christmas presents anyway.

Was a lovely weekend. The most exciting part was when I finally bought the pair of pink skinny jeans from Forever New that I have been eyeing for a stupid amount of time. I have wanted pink skinny jeans since 2009. So you can imagine my elation. I proceeded to wear them the entire weekend and now have hastily shoved them in the wash so they're ready for Coldplay on Wednesday. They are so hot I'm half expecting Chris Martin to spot them in Golden Circle and hoist me and my pants up on stage. I think they'd fall off if he even just looked at me. Ah the rich and famous... I want one.

Below is the song I am most excited for, but during which will also probably have a little drizz due to the memories it holds. Luckily I don't think I'm the only one when it comes to Coldplay songs who might shed a tear or four.

I was actually at this concert – it was the Brit Awards 2009. Yes, I got a press ticket, and yes I went alone. And yes, I finished the free press Champagne in the first 25 minutes:

Happy feet

I had a lot of free time over the weekend, which was spent applying Caribbean Tan (with remarkable expertise I might add, bar my unmistakeable 'carrot fingers') and painting my toenails a blinding shade of pink to match the pretty summer weather. Monday morning – arrived at office in brand new Luella sandals, my feet of vision of bronze and pink. Hard work paid off when feet were offered a well-paid modelling job on Good Housekeeping mag, so will now be spending this evening getting free pedicure and prepping feet for shoot. Always wanted to model... Let's just call this my 'foot in the door'. Or at least a 'step up'... Am really going to put my best foot forward tomorrow.

Unattractive Geyser Man arrives this morning, 20 minutes late, making me irritable and late for work.
Ugly Geyser Man: 'What seems to be the problem?'
Olive: 'Apparently my geyser is leaking somewhere. I think it's a load of bollocks really. I haven't noticed any water anywhere.'
UGM: 'Let's take a look see.'

He climbs up ladder into enormous hole in my ceiling, which I never before noticed. I hear a scream.

Olive: 'WHAT IS IT?! RAT? A DEAD BODY?! WHAT?'
UGM: 'Christ!!! Your geyser has burst. It's flooding up here! How did you not notice?'
Olive: 'Unfortunately I don't spend much time in the ceiling.'
UGM: 'We need to fix this immediately.'
Olive: 'I need to go to work.'
UGM: 'You need to replace these pipes or you're going to be swimming to bed tonight.'
Olive: 'At least that's one of the forms of exercises I'm allowed to do with my bad knees!'


UGM didn't find my jokes very funny and eventually convinced me that this HAD to be dealt with today and that I'd have to come back in my lunch break or my building would be under water by the end of the day.

UGM: 'Put that in your pipe and smoke it!' (The pun being on 'pipe')
Olive: 'Touche.'

We parted on good terms after I realised he had a sense of humour.

Knees are in a lot of pain after God-awful injections yesterday. Lovely friend (who lived in Bangkok for a year) came for support and proceeded to squeeze my hand and educate me on the different versions of Thai salads as they drew blood then re-injected it into my patella tendon. There was so much going on I don't think anyone took any interest whatsoever as to how much pain I was in...

Olive: 'IT HURTS!'
Friend: 'And then there's the salad with paw-paw...'
Surgeon: 'Just a little to the left...'
Olive: 'YOU SADIST!'
Friend: 'Or you can use sesame seed oil...'
Surgeon: 'Right there! In it goes.'
Olive: 'OOOWWWWWW!!!!'
Friend: 'Or you can sprinkle peanuts on top.'
Physio: 'I've had that before...'
Friend: 'It's great isn't it?'
Olive: 'OH MY GOD!'
Physio: 'And with paw-paw!'
Friend: 'Yes, paw-paw.'
Olive: Well I'm f***ing SORE-SORE... Can we quit talking about Thai food and focus on me! I'm in pain, I'm dying... ... I'm...'
Surgeon: 'All done.'
Olive: 'Oh.'
Surgeon winks at me: 'Not so bad, was it?'
Olive (in her head): How would you like me to stick a bloody great needle into your knobbly knees and move it around until I found the most painful spot, you old fart!!!
Surgeon: 'So, who's up for some Thai food?'

We did end up going for Thai last night (er, not with my surgeon). A lovely big bowl of Phad Thai later the colour finally came back into my face. Still in a lot of pain today so feeling tres sorry for myself. Special Vivi & Lola even went and got me a freezo to cheer me up...

Have a great weekend all! I'm pretty sure you know what mine will entail by now. If my knees will permit it...

Stairway to heaven

Knees were on a smooth road to recovery when all of a sudden they swerved off that path... and on to a speaker.

Saturday night: I was a Champagne bottle disguised as a human. Arrived at Tiger after free-bubbly, free-food, free-hot-men Loeries party at The Reserve in skin-tight Kate Moss number, heels and a champagne glass stashed in my clutch. Had asked friends earlier that night at Hudsons to promise me that, no matter how much I begged and pleaded and bargained, they would NOT let me on to speaker that evening. My knees were going downhill and were not happy, and they deserved a bit more TLC from their owner. However, upon arrival on Le Tigre d-floor, I saw the most fabulous thing... A gorgeous little white sparkly staircase had been installed on the floor, leading most magnificently up to the speaker platform itself... Brilliant! Inspired! No more leaping up awkwardly in heels, sitting on spilt Brutal Fruit then flashing knickers to fellow inebriated jammers in an attempt to stand. This was just too inviting... just too tempting. And so... I glided elegantly up pretty staircase to 'stage' and proceeded to rock my socks off for a solid hour, high-fiving the DJ at regular intervals. Bad friends made no attempt to stop me. Bad friends cheered me on and passed me drinks. Bad knees got worse. But good night got great!!

Good night resulted in very bad headache.

Anyway, so three days later and my hangover has finally subsided leaving me with flu, a chesty cough and gammy knees (yum). So am off to see knee specialist on Friday.

Me: 'Is it bad? IS HE GOING TO AMPUTATE?'
Physio: 'No Olive. Relax.'
Me: 'Is this the end of my sporting career?'
Physio: 'What sporting career?'
Me: 'Will I get bionic knees? Will I have to wear Forrest Gump knee braces?'
Physio: 'If anything he'll give you a cortisone injection under both knee caps to help with fluid and movement.

Oh. My. God.

'WHAT?!?!?!?! Injection... under my KNEECAPS??!

The sheer shock caused me to topple off the physio bed.

'Are you f***ing KIDDING?!' I scream from the floor.

Physio not sure whether to laugh or help me up.

I was so pale, physio had to go downstairs and buy me a coke before I could stand up. Told him I needed someone to hold my hand on Friday. He promptly shoved his in his pockets and ended our session... 

A part of me is slightly embarrassed about visiting knee surgeon again. Back in 2007 when I was wild and crazy on the slopes, an unihibited, fearless 20-year-old with no concern for my limbs and life, I tore my ACL in Vail on an evil black-run mogul that totally came out of nowhere. (It was blizzarding and my vision was compromised. Or perhaps that was the wine I'd had with lunch...) Anyway, after my operation, ever so high on miracle-worker morphine (very dangerous indeed to trust me with my own morphine button), I woke up to see surgeon and dashingly goodlooking assistant at his side. Morphine got the better of me...

Me, slurring, eyes half closed: 'I don't think we've met.'
Hot Assistant: 'I'm Von Boorman. I just assisted on your operation'
Me: You're not a boring man at all. Can you assist me in adjusting my robe?'
HA: 'Boorman is my name.'
Me: 'Don't wear it out! You're fabulously goodlooking. Can I have a hug.'
HA: 'Stop pressing that morphine button.'
Me: 'Do I press your buttons?'
HA: 'I think you're being inappropriate...'
Me: 'I think you're inappropriately hot.'

... I attempted to reach out for his doctor's coat, at which point I passed out again, probably drooling, my mum says with a smile on my face. Needless to say, every visit to the surgeon's office after that he'd either avoid my gaze or not attend the session. Hoping he won't be at appointment on Friday. May have to go disguised as a crutch.

Saw Friends With Benefits last night. Absolutely hilarious. But, we all know that that simply doesn't happen in real life. "The perfect man doesn't drink, smoke, cheat... Or exist."

I do now know that I want to live in New York or LA for two years though!... As long as I can take freezo powder and Hunters Dry with me.

Hazy, lazy and crazy daisies

Feel flat and lifeless. Like this guy. Direct result of an entire 5 minutes' sleep last night due to searing leg and butt pain (thanks to retarded knee rehab). Also yesterday's fleeting heatwave meant I had to open the windows. Learnt very quickly that Greenpoint is nothing like Mouille Point ----> tranquil echoes of ocean, seagulls and laughter. Was kept conscious till stupid o'clock by car alarms, engines, cat fights (literal and figurative), and of course next-door neighbour's high heels and her post-night-on-the-town fry-up. Considered joining her for some bacon round 4am. Am so stiff and sleep-deprived today could be suffering from a living form of rigamortis.

Last night was set to do a review of Roberto's Signature Restaurant – exquisite Portuguese spot nestled on the corner of Long and Hout. Lovely summery temperatures meant Vivi&Lola and I discarded stockings and braved [recently de-Wintered] bare legs, and arrived sporting pretty dresses and calf-impaling heels. So excited by the prospect of summer were we that we pretty much polished off an entire bottle of Simonsig before we'd even been handed a menu. Enjoyed an extravagant feast of lobster thermidor and champagne and chatted late into the night about topiary trees, Christian Louboutins, and the mysteries that hail from Brakpan.

On an exciting note, it's Rugby World Cup Eve!! I shall hang up my rugby boot (takkie) tonight by the fireplace place (heater) and hope to find some biltong and beer (Hunter's Dry) in there in the morning...

The bald and the beautiful

The most fabulous thing happened yesterday. I simply couldn't wait to get into work so that I could tell you guys. So much so that I even came in early (and I'm really not a morning person! Anyone talks to me before 8:30 and I respond with an acrimonious grunt). But in order to fully understand the sheer drollery of this post, you need to (if you haven't already) have read my last post Awkward Moment. So do that quickly, and we'll wait for you...

…

…

Right. Let's hop to it.

So yesterday after an extremely strenuous, laborious workout, I descended the gymnasium stairs, face aglow with perspiration, hair plastered to the back of my neck, provocative under-boob sweat patches, and I gripped the banister for balance as my knees were remarkably shaky after said taxing workout. As I reached the bottom of the staircase and started towards the exit, who else should emerge from the rotating doors but Beanie (!!) – sporting an unattractive plum-coloured wife-beater and far-too-short nut-hugger shorts – and he walked (invisible pineapples under his pits) in my direction. He's still wearing it?! I thought to myself. What could he possibly be keeping under there? His car keys? Leftovers from lunch?!

We made eye contact. I smiled lovingly at the man who offered me everything, and was about to run into his arms shouting, 'Beanie! It's you!', when his eyes moved away from mine and he carried on walking straight ahead. What?!?! How could Beanie not recognise me – this vision of sweat in hot spandex gym kit? I stood still as he walked past, contemplating tapping him on his naked shoulder and confessing, 'Beanie, it's me! I proposed to you, remember? You're pimping out my bachelor pad, remember? You're buying me a zimmer frame, remember??!?!?!'

As he brushed past me I turned to watch my beloved Beanie walk away. And suddenly... he did the unexpected. He slowly reached up... grabbed his beanie, and pulled it off!!! I stared in awe at the mutant before me. My dreams of soft, flowing chocolate-brown hair to match those emerald green eyes were shattered. I had to shield my eyes quickly from the gym lights reflecting off a very large, very round and very shiny, polished egg top before me. Bald? BALD?!

'YOU'RE BALD?' Shit... I'd said that out loud. 
He turned around, 'What?'
'Er, cold!!! Brrrrrr. I'm so cold!' I said spinning around (just in time to hide my face), and I slipped a hoodie over my head and ran out the gym door, leaving my bald, wife-beatered landlord standing dazed and confused behind me...

Moral of the story: never propose to a guy in a hat, beanie, sambrero, balaclava, panama, yarmulke (could be hiding a bald patch), or a fedora (trying too hard). You never know what they're hiding under there...

Awkward moment

Can I vent a little? I'm an active person. By active I mean I gym, I dance, I run, I skip, I hop, I squeak a takkie... Whatever it is, I make sure I exercise every single day. It makes me feel happy. I like to wear heels when I go out. I like to be able to jump around when I'm excited (the child in me) or stamp my feet when I'm grumpy. I like to be able to stretch in the morning while I brush my teeth. When I can't do any of these it upsets me. I feel useless. Immobile. Demotivated. Emo.

Before I start to sound depro (or is it too late) I'll let you know that a charming and rather good-looking young chap in a large beanie (which left far too much to the imagination – does he have hair? Does he not have hair? Is it grey? Is it pink? Curly? Straight?) walked into my flat on Monday night, which is currently on the market, and put in an offer. Not thinking my tiny studio was going to sell at all, I was immediately filled with worry and images of myself sleeping on a bench on the promenade, cuddling a pillow and my favourite pair of shoes. Until he told me he didn't want to live in it and was glad for me to stay on as a tenant. He then asked if there was anything I needed... Me being me, I instantly saw this as an invitation to pimp out my pad and promptly gave him a list of things I desperately required, everything from blackout curtains to new windows, a paint job, more cupboard space and an elliptical trainer (for the knees of course). But he wasn't taken aback, he simply said: 'I'm on it... '
I almost fell over backwards!
Me: 'Will you marry me?'
Beanie: 'What?'
Me: 'Er, I mean... will you carry me... to the couch. I have bad knees.'
He looked perplexed, then he grinned.
Beanie: 'How about I throw in a zimmer frame...'
 
Heading to El Burro tonight. For tequila tasting. Or as my friends call it: dinner. I've run out of pain killers (for my knees), so tequila will do just fine.