Marshmallows & Merlot

As I sit typing this I can't help but be distracted by my fabulous neon pink nails. Yip, be warned, this blog post is going to be about as intelligent as one of Nicole Ritchie's purse puppies. Why? Well, because when I get bitten by a cosmetic brand it's less like a mozzie bite and more like a remake of Jaws (bigger, better special effects and bigger, better carnage). Much like the Bobbi Brown bug I caught mid-2009, another make-up-bag-must-have has crept into my bathroom cabinet and onto my credit card statement.  Who wouldn't fall for a brand that names its colours things like bachelorette bash  and imported champagne? Okay, maybe you wouldn't but I'm a copywriter. Words are my thing. Its like dangling a TV remote in front of hubby's nose and telling him not to channel surf with it. I was powerless to say no... After months of resisting the R89.95 price tag on brightly coloured, square-shaped bottles at every salon I entered to be (waxed, plucked and tor

That's the story of my week and the very reason why I've been neglecting this blog like Lindsay Lohan neglects her 12-step programme. Since Tuesday I have been firmly seated in front of my laptop. I haven't been online shopping or stalking old primary school friends on Facebook, I haven't been doing my long overdue expense report for my accountant and I definitely haven't been tweeting what I ate for lunch. Sadly, the time spent in front of my laptop has not been its usual brand of time wasting, it's actually been *gasp* very productive.  I have been working 'til stupid o clock at night and waking up at even stupider o clock in the morning to meet the several deadlines I've been juggling like a 60-year old circus pro. On Wednesday I had a particularly thrilling day sitting in a factory in Steeldale (on the non-Sandton side of Springs) for nine hours doing an entire website's copy. But that experience in a blog post all on its own. The good news i

and the medal. Yip, the rumours are true – I, the woman who couldn't run around the block a year ago without coughing up a lung, completed her first half marathon on Saturday. With the help of my ever fabulous, as-smart as-she-is-beautiful sister, I completed the 21.1km race through the Knysna forest in 2hrs15mins... and not only have I lived to tell the tale but I'm chomping at the bit to register for next year's race and super keen to try cross the finish line in under two hours. The bug has bitten. I am a runner and my feet will never look quite so pretty in a pair of flip-flops again. Bruised toe nails and nasty blisters are a small price to pay for the indescribable feeling of accomplishment that washed over me like a wave and made me grin 'til my cheeks ached when I finished that distance. While my sister may have thought of throwing me off one of the verges at about the 10km mark – she handles tired limbs by singing, clapping and being way too chirpy... I, on t

and will be back in Jozi town next week. Where am I going? Well, in less than 48 hours I am due to line up at the start line of a half marathon *gulp* and actually run/jog/hobble 21.1kms with my über fabulous little sister. Initially the Knysna Forest Half Marathon was supposed to be the main event and the key reason for flying to Cape Town and roadtrippin' to Knysna. However, I am thrilled to report that the run is kinda the sweaty side dish to the main meal. You see, this weekend just so happens to be the annual Oyster Festival  and the 2010 World Cup final... Oysters + champagne + five whole days in spectacular Knysna + the grand finale to a truly African World Cup + getting a half marathon under my belt + tri-nations rugby (Springboks kickin' the All Blacks into touch) + awesome, once-in-a-lifetime quality time with my sister = a very very very happy Sandton girl.  It probably goes without saying but this little blog is going to be neglected until the Gautrain brings me

No, me neither... I even had to use the Google translate button to figure out how to spell 'Do you speak German?'  in German, which is a pretty tragic state of affairs seeing as my maternal grandfather (Raymond Roderick Ritter) was pretty darn German – he loved a good Eisbein and was the first to belt out a stirring rendition of the Rogers & Hammerstein classic   Edelweiss  whenever he'd had one too many glasses of white wine (it all makes sense now – my tastebuds are genetically programmed to like the stuff – it's not my fault...) Anyways, there's a very good reason that the title of this post is in German – tonight at 20h30 Durban provides the backdrop for the semi-final clash between the Spaniards and the finest German soccer team to kick a ball around since oh, I dunno, heard somewhere that it's the best team in twenty years. Anyway, I do know that  die Deutschen look to be in pretty fabulous form and in a display of  Vorsprung durch Technik have scor

As the title of my blog suggests I like tasty things... yummy food, more-ish wine, mouth watering fashion and truly delicious moments that make life so worth every stale, fat-free, bland one. In this spirit I need you to vote for my über talented friend's entry into the Woolworths ClemenGold recipe competition... As one of Taste magazines featured bloggers she knows what she's talking about... Don't ClemenGold-infused salmon phyllo parcels  sound soooooo worth the spinning class you'll need to (nearly) die in to counteract the several you'll inevitably munch? The Woolworths ClemenGold recipe competition is live on the  Woolies Facebook page  now so what are you waiting for? Vote for this taste sensation by clicking on the recipe image, and then on the ‘like’ button to cast your vote. Wanna know how the A little sugar     blogger came up with the recipe? Check out this  post   The winning blogger will win a R5,000.00 Woolies Gift Card so share the love! 

The Little Black Dress (or LBD as it's commonly referred to by the fashion pack)... three little words that send a wave of comfort through my veins like Horlicks on a chilly Sunday afternoon in mid-Winter. And, with my brother -in-law's wedding fast approaching – the last of the big family weddings – I find myself re-opening the quest for the perfect LBD.  It's all Gabrielle 'Coco' Chanel's fault... In 1926 American Vogue published a picture of a short, simple black dress and a legend was born. The magazine called it 'Chanel's Ford' – Like the Model T , the little black dress was simple and accessible for women of all social classes –   “a sort of uniform for all women of taste.” I like to consider myself a woman of taste (choosing of course to forget that I ever owned peddle pushers , white pleather bell bottoms or that particularly dodgy fringed suede bikini top that looked like it was stolen from the set of the 2000 film 'Coyote Ugly'

Speak to anyone who has known me since my highschool days and they will tell you that Sandton City and I are like Oreo cookies and milk, like sunshine and strappy sandals, like Thelma & Louise. From as far back as I can remember I have orientated myself by looking at the horizon and spotting that little green triangle atop the old 70s Sandton City tower – when I first moved back from London and the powers that be granted me a driver's license I knew I was lost if I couldn't see the triangle.  Sandton City and I go waaaaaaay back... When I was 13 years old I took pride in being a mall rat. My friends and I would get dressed up to the nines in platforms that would scare off a Spice Girl and do laps around Sandton City – from Entrance 12 to the movies to the grassy patch by the old library and back. We tried doing the same routine once or twice at Fourways Mall when it was first built but we ultimately returned to familiar territory. When I was 16 years old and had moved fro

Yesterday I took my car shoe shopping and, like any harmless 'I'll just get the one thing I need' retail-based expedition, by the end of the day I swear my under-sized, over-used Nine West wallet was emitting a faint smell of burnt plastic. The worst part was that I didn't have pretty things in pretty bags to show for the damage incurred by my bank balance. Instead, my car had new tyres and break pads, and Puckles (yes, she has a name) had been balanced, aligned and skimmed. Glamourous? No. Necessary? *sigh* Unfortunately so. Hubby's been saying "We've got to get you new tyres" since Christmas and I've been saying " Yeah, yeah, I'll pop into that Tiger place or the um, Supa-something, when I get a chance" since February. While driving back from a meeting in Randburg yesterday Puckles started making a very unattractive grinding sound (think Cruella De Ville's nails on a blackboard when you've got a cactus juice hangover)