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Showing posts from 2009

Thanks for the memories...

In just a few hours I will be saying goodbye to the ‘office’ and hello to the holidays. I am very relieved that extended retail hours are over and that all that is left to do for 2009 is eat, drink (get a spraytan, pack for a ten-day cruise) and be very very merry! What an incredible year 2009 has been... over the past 12 months I have gone from a newlywed to a not-so-newlywed – grown to love my husband more than I thought was possible and adapted to the new set of responsibilities that come with turning a household into a home. I’ve cultivated new friendships and renewed old ones, I’ve been forced to face my weaknesses and discovered strengths I never knew I had. This year I learnt that sometimes the worst experiences are worth going through, if only to show you that you can get through the toughest battles in one piece. I’ve learnt that blind loyalty can be, just that – blind. And that friendship is less about unconditional love and more about loving people no matter what the

Cruise control and adventures in getting ship-shape...

Every year as boots make way in my cupboard for flip-flops I promise myself that by the time bikini season rolls around I would have gotten rid of the extra rolls around my mid-section. Every year, as I put a dent in my bank balance by stocking up on new workout gear and protein shakes, I promise myself that the hail damage on my thighs will not still be creeping out the sides of my cozzie by December... And every year as I subject myself to bikini shopping (in changing rooms with mirrors covering every angle and showering me in the meanest light possible) only to find that once again I have failed to get 'bikini-ready.' The difference this year? I have to be on a cruise ship for ten days with 2,999 other people in bathing suits, 1,499 of whom are bound to be women in bikinis... and at least 499 of whom are bound to be under 21 and firmer than a brand new Sealy Posteurpedic mattress. My 'new and improved' (wish I'd thought of it years ago) strategy?  I'm n

25 signs that you might be a grown up...

1. Your potted plants are alive and you’re considering getting a puppy. 2. You watch the real-life news more often than E!News. 3. You keep more food than wine in the fridge. 4. 6AM is when you get up, not when you go to sleep. 5. You hear your favourite song on Jacaranda FM. 6. You watch the Weather Channel and wear a moisturiser with an SPF in it. 7. Your friends marry and make babies instead of margheritas. 8. You no longer go on Spring break, you do spring cleaning. 9.  You actually know what to wear when the invite says 'smart/casual' 10. You're the one calling your complex’s security guards because those darn kids next door don't know how to turn down the music. 11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you. 12. You don't know what time Fontana’s closes anymore. 13. You would rather have a new dishwasher than a new pair of Nine West slingbacks. 14. You serve your friends salad with their dinner rather than a stick of celery in

A pot of gold at the end of an hair-raising rainbow...

It has been sooooooo long since I bought a product that actually lived up to the promises on the packaging that I'm in a state of shock and awe.  Yesterday I let my hairdresser take advantage of me and convince me to buy a little pot of hair stuff for R241.00... you see, I was desperate. Despite my cold turkey success at not using my straightening irons for two whole weeks, my locks were still lack lustre, dry, dull and doing a pretty darn good impersonation of a frizz-bomb. Note to brunettes everywhere: while being blonder may seem fabulous, the effects of peroxide are far from fabulous –unless of course the Courney Love/scarecrow look is what you're after. [bear with me, I have a point, and I promise to get to it] Anyways, after trying every 'off the shelf' hair glosser/serum/mask/repair treatment that I could get my hands on at the supermarket I was at my wits (or should I say 'split') end. So, in a last ditch attempt to save myself from a year of scrap

'tis the season to be jolly (bored)

Extended trading hours have begun , from today until Christmas eve, Sandton City, the shopping mecca of the Northern suburbs is open 'til late. Just in case there wasn't enough time to bankrupt yourself over the festive season, the clever folks in retail have managed to give you even more hours to shop in. [Oh, how I wish there was a sarcasm font] And, should you decide after a delicious dinner with even more delicious wine that you wish to do a little Christmas shopping – you can! Yip, because we all know that good judgement and that third glass of merlot go hand in hand. Anyways, in honour of my being required to man the gallery until stupid o' clock, I've decided to put a little twist on an old classic. No explanation necessary. On the first day of Christmas Sandton City gave to me a (fabulously kitsch) sequinned black tee; On the second day of Christmas Sandton City gave to me Two turtle doves (well, pigeons actually, they’re like the rats of the North) a

Abusing plastic to get the 'natural look'

I'm the kinda girl who falls for the 'free gift with purchase' promo every time. Even though I know that I'll never use the (not small enough to be a clutch/ not big enough to be a tote ) silly coloured bag that's free with your purchase of two or more [insert brand here] products one of which must be an (over-priced, you're SO paying for the pacakaging) skincare product scribbled sneakily in small baby pink italic print. I can't resist a freebie and get very agitated when a brand I loyally spend my hard earned moolah on month after month refuses to offer a freebie-type incentive, not even at Christmas... Yip, you read that correctly, not even at Christmas – the time of year that the bigwigs in retail rub their Gucci-wearing paws together in glee as they think of new and improved ways to make you spend your bonus quicker than I can wolf down a cupcake.  I LOVE Bobbi Brown cosmetics... really, discovering the shimmer brick compact and the SPF-15, wa

Up to my elbows in paint...

If you try to give me a call on my mobile phone, and I don’t answer you are met with the following voicemail message “I’m unable to take your call right now because I’m probably up to my elbows in paint...” This morning that voicemail message couldn’t have been more true. At 8am this morning I found myself painting flowers, mushrooms and butterflies on the walls of a nursery school in the township of Alexandra. Myself and a handful of other volunteers from my bible study group were making good on a commitment we made to a community project. Honestly, yesterday I was not looking forward to painting the walls of the school. I didn’t know how I was going to manage it with everything else I had on my plate this weekend. I was pretty grumpy when I got up at 6am this morning and wasn’t convinced that I’d be able to get the job done, get home in time to shower and change, so that I could make a midday work appointment. How silly I was to have let being busy steal the joy away from tak

'Ten-tastic' weekend reading...

Ten things I wish someone had told me when I was a student Ten simple style rules Ten superfoods Ten things you shouldn't buy new Ten reasons to update your facebook status Ten reasons to love Bangalore It's a random selection, I know... but the joy of  Google  is its ability to fill your head with all sorts of useless information from food to fashion to facebook.

Warning: (Diva-licious) tantrum ahead...

I am SO over schedule clashe s, diary disasters and being double-booked. Silly season just got super-silly and I am feeling underwhelmed, overwhelmed and, quite simply, 'whelmed' in general. There are just not enough hours in the day and not enough days in a week... and I am having sense of humour failure. SERIOUS sense of humour failure. Note to self: Next year I am losing my diary for the month of December. I will not book anything in advance. Basically, for the duration of December 2010 I will be off the social radar.  The problem is that when I committed to certain things months ago I didn't know that everything would collide and that the unplanned, uncontrollable stuff would storm in like a hurricane and cause my best laid plans to disperse in a million SMS/email/phonecall directions. Within the next 72 hours I have far too much on my plate and I really don't know how I'm going to juggle it. You see, there is nothing negotiable. Nothing I can cancel.  H

Thursday thought...

"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it." (C.S. Lewis)

You say stiletto, I say a small dagger

with a tapered blade. Confused? Well, so was I. Let me explain...  I was rather bored this morning and was playing around on Google, surfing the web and looking to top up my brain’s ‘useless information’ folder. For some random reason I decided that I needed to know exactly what height of heel constituted a ‘stiletto’ and so I typed ‘stiletto definition’ into the search engine and hit go . The first search result? well it wasn’t Choo or Laboutin as I expected but rather this: ‘S: (n) stiletto (a small dagger with a tapered blade).' Apparently, the style of shoe loved by woman around the globe and the cause of many an aching sole is also a name used to describe “a short knife or dagger with a long slender blade of various designs primarily used as a stabbing weapon. Its narrow shape, ending in a rigid pointed end, allows it to penetrate deeply. Most stilettos are not suited for cutting, even with edged examples. A typical early stiletto was a one-piece cast-metal handle a