Marshmallows & Merlot

There's an old saying that goes ' dress for the job you want, not the one you have' and yesterday I took it to heart and went shopping. An hour or so later I emerged with two new pencil skirts, a suit and a few little camisoles. I drew the line at buying shoes and trousers – I'm not about to apply the same approach to my finances and spend the salary cheque I want, not the one I (don't often) have . You may be wondering why I would be wanting a different job to the one I have. It's a good question... at the moment I'm my own boss, a consultant-at-large. I wake up when I want to, head home when I want to and divide my flexi-time between selling diamonds and art. The problem is it's not a full time job – it's part-time and freelance and unpredictable. When it's good, it's Jimmy Choo good, but when it's bad it's plimsole sneakers from Pep bad. Commission is great when the sales are rolling in but is just plain sucks when nobody's b

Firstly, let me apologise for my absence from the blogosphere over the past week. It's been a chaotic, emotional and very surreal past few days... I've been dressed up at a wedding, dressed down at a hospital and in varying stages of distress since Saturday afternoon. Over the past weekend, in the period of 36 hours I attended an exquisite wedding, witnessed one of my very best friends become a mom and dealt with the shock of my grandmother being put into an induced coma and onto a ventilator in ICU. It really is quite surreal going from visiting a loved one in a coma, to visiting a friend's beautiful newborn baby, back to the ICU again for the afternoon visitor's slot and then home to cook dinner/do laundry/make the bed like any other day of the week. You see, even in the midst of chaos and sadness and celebration the world keeps turning, your car still needs a petrol top-up and your maid continues to send you please call me's when the washing powder/tile cleaner

I am officially the proud owner of my very first dishwasher. So long to chipped nails and chipped plates, farewell to Sunlight dishwashing liquid and grubby scrubbing sponges, adios nasty bits of old food clogging up the plug hole... and hello freedom!  After years of stubbornly refusing to get a dishwasher (it seemed unnecessary for a household of two and I'm a bit of a martyr when it comes to chores) I have come of age as a Sandton housewife. I no longer have to manually wash my own cups and plates and smoothie-caked blender. Oh no, I have a machine that does that *huge self-satisfied grin* because hubby found a way to buy it without needing my consent or giving me the chance to refuse, he cleverly disguised the dishwasher as a Valentine's prezzie and every girl knows never to look a gifthorse in the mouth.  Now before I continue – I can hear all the women in the Great North going 'aaaargh, I can't believe she fell for that. What next? A new vacuum cleaner for Christ

I am looking for the perfect ending to a thai-themed meal (that I'm planning to lovingly prepare in my prettiest pink apron on Friday night)? Suggestions would be much appreciated as at present it looks like I'll be serving my guests something *shock, horror* that comes in a plastic tub and was bought at a store because I just can't think of  a traditional Thai dessert.  (I even tried engaging @jamie_oliver via Twitter for an answer, seeing as I'm using his recipes for the first two course... but alas! no reply) I keep thinking that I can't think of one because there isn't one to think of... the Thai people don't look like they indulge in full fat carbs overloaded with processed sugar . I'm pretty sure chocolate brownies with whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings don't share kitchen counter space with fresh limes, ginger, coriander and jasmine-infused rice. See my point? Anyway, you may be wondering why I am so concerned about solving my desser

My first noteworthy Valentine's Day memory was hatched at the tender age of 11. I was in grade 6 (or standard 4 as it was called back then) and had only just started to think that (while most of them were still gross) one or two of the boys weren't that bad to look at.  I wasn't one of the popular girls, I didn't have need for a training bra just yet and my mom still wouldn't let me shave my legs – so, you see, I was hardly, strutting around the corridors making twelve-year old boys stammer. And so, when Valentine's Day rolled around I wasn't expecting roses or chocolates or declarations of love from secret prepubescent admirers... At best, my older brother might have taken pity on me and sent a little heart-shaped chocolate on a stick. Imagine my surprise when I returned from second break, strolled up to the site of my next class only to find a mini-crowd of my peers hovering around the spot where I'd left my backpack. One of my friends bounced up to m

Sowing In Tears   ( TGIF Today God Is First Volume 1 by Os Hillman) "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy."  - Psalm 126:5 Psalm 126 describes an interesting process that goes against our natural tendencies when we are taken into a difficult period in our lives. Whenever we are hurled into a crisis that brings tears, our tendency is to retreat or recoil in fear and hurt. However, there is a better way that God tells us to handle such times of travail. Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. "He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him" (Ps. 126:5-6). God is telling us that if we will do what is unnatural for us in these circumstances, He will make sure that what we sow in tears will return in joy. This is one of the most important lessons I have learned when faced with difficult circumstances. Rather than sit back and allow self-pity and discouragement to consume us, we shoul

Fool me twice... well, that's just not going to happen. Especially after yesterday's traumatic news flash that has led to my voluntarily checking myself into procrastination rehab – imagine the (jaw-dropped on polished tiled floor) look of shock on my mid-morning, post-coffee face when I logged onto the Old Mutual Two Oceans website to see that entries for the 2010 Two Oceans Half Marathon had CLOSED. Yip, CLOSED the day before.  Just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating I logged out and logged back in hoping that the nasty word would disappear and make way for c lick here to enter . Alas! It did not and one very sweet, super-persuasive (verged on begging) phone call to the race organisers later I was still not able to enter the race.  Then the weirdest thing happened... I got really, really sad about the fact that I couldn't run 21.1kms on the 3rd of April. The flood of disappointment that washed over me took me by complete surprise – if you'd told me a year ago t

Aaaaaargh! It's the question I dread most at dinner parties. Why? Well, I have this sneaky suspicion that I come across as a flaky artist with the concentration span of a goldfish. Most people have a one-sentence answer like 'I'm a CA [chartered accountant]' or 'I'm in sales' or 'I run my own HR [human resources] company' – proper, grow-up, nine-to-five jobs with a pension and medical aid and the elusive 13th cheque. Note: I'm sure you know what CA and HR stands for. I just include the version of each in case you don't  The typical, post-welcome drink conversation usually goes like this: Pretty Sandton twenty-something who is a friend of a friend: "So, what do you do?" Me: *deep breath* "Well, I'm a professional painter. Not walls, art (trust me, I have had to clarify this on multiple occasions) . And, I do a bit of freelance writing, art consulting and engagement ring design while I wait for paint to dry." Pretty Sa

I find myself in a funny place – in between a rock and a hard place, or (as I like to put it) in between a chocolate croissant and a carrot stick, so to speak. I initially started this blog because my habit of keeping journals in my teens and later writing monthly 'newsletter' emails (in my early 20's) had ceased to exist. I decided that I wanted to rediscover the discipline of writing often, maybe not daily (as I used to) but more often than never .   A blog is a strange animal, it's not quite like a journal that you can tuck away under your mattress. It's out there in cyberspace for anyone who stumbles across it to read. It's both incredible private and unashamedly public at the same time. The chocolate criossant side of it? It's indulgent, fun and when the words are flowing... just plain delicious! Some days I crave it and can't wait to post a new entry but then other days are 'carrot stick' days – boring, dull, too low-calorie to be of any i

Context: My 18-year-old cousin has just moved in with hubby and I for a couple of months while she finds her feet in Jozi. Just had this exchange with her via Blackberry Messenger... Me: Hey cuz. You home for dinner tonight? Cuz: Going for coffee with [insert potential bf name here] at six so I'll grab a bite to eat while I'm out. But thanks for checking beauty queen [smiley face] Me: Flattery will get you everywhere. Have fun. Cuz: What's flaterry ? (yip, spelt just like that) Me: Please tell me you're kidding?! Cuz: No I'm serious Me: [once I've picked my jaw off the floor in disbelief] To flatter someone is to compliment, say something nice. Flattery is usually used as a tool by someone to get summing. And that's the end of today's English lesson. Cuz: Thanks [smiley face] ha ha [ another smiley face] no one in the office knew what it meant either  Note to the education system – just an idea, but maybe you should let the kids read actual, made of

and (just for the record) it's really not amusing. In fact, the irony is about as pleasant as having a sharp stone  stuck in your sock for the duration of an eight-hour hike or being told that the bottle of tomato sauce you just drowned your pasta in is actually uncle Naidoo's super hot ' burn a hole in the table' chilli sauce. Just to be clear... this post will not make much sense to you – my fabulous reader – as it is going to be one of my rare and pretty vague vents (you may remember my 'losing the plot' a few months ago in this  post ). I'm just so tired of the drama, so tired of my parade being rained on and am teetering on the edge of losing my cool. Visions of stabbing someone with my stiletto heel spring to mind. Someone is having a giant belly laugh at my little corner of Sandton's expense and I fear the real test of my resolve has just begun... It's not enough that in the past two weeks I have been subjected to: a routine car service (R849.