Thursday, 21 May 2009

Raging over head/ache

It's May. I've shaken out my feather duvet and mohair blanket. I've dusted off my oil heater. Slippers don't get put away and Oscar has started sleeping on my head and wakes me up in the morning by scratching to get under the covers and curl up in my stomach/groin/thigh crook. It's cold and it's getting colder.

Yesterday was a freakishly warm, almost tropical, day. The prom in Sea Point buzzed with strollers, runners, dog walkers - folk making the most of the weather and the beauty of Cape Town. Yesterday, it felt good to be alive!

This morning at about 4am, it didn't. I woke up with a cracking headache, after a spontaneous and soul-filling-lovely evening with one of my closest friends and too much wine. I got up to take a headache pill, realized to my horror that I only had one left, which I dropped and had to crawl around on the floor to find it. Curses.

Not much later, I was dozing, nauseous, praying I'd keep the only thing that would deliver me from evil down, when the sky unleashed it's furry on Cape Town. The heat of the day culminated in the biggest thunder and lightning display I've ever seen. (Okay, heard - normally I would have bounded out of bed to behold the force. Normally, I'm not hungover.)

But, email prevailed and these made their way to me this afternoon.






Sadly, I don't know the original source of the photos and can't credit them.





Friday, 15 May 2009

Motor Skill

This weekend, I need to have one of my tyres repaired/replaced because at some point before last weekend, I drove over something (it's looking like a nail) and by Sunday afternoon my back passenger tyre was pap.

I KNEW something was wrong with my car.

I heard a weird noise, coming from what sounded like my back passenger tyre. I actually stopped the car to check it out. Couldn't see anything, so left it.


Righty-tighty, Lefty Lucy.

So when I pranced downstairs to head out to Ashley's for a Grey's marathon and saw the droopy rubber, I wasn't at all surprised. Luckily, I've had four flats in three years, a few of them within weeks of each other... so I know how to change a tyre. I'm not going to make it into a F1 pit crew any time soon. But this time, (other time), I got my hands dirty, and worked out how to attached all the parts to the jack so that raising and lower the car didn't include scraping my knuckles against the tar.

Wheeling and dealing.

Now, what I know about tyres is: not. much. I know it drives me insane when they do the alignment and they don't get the steering wheel straight. I know that I should rotate the tyres every so often. And I know where to look on the tyre to see what size it is.

BUT

I'm always wary of being tricked into buying things that I don't need for my car! Just because I'm a girl and don't know all that much. (I fear this happened the last time I bought new tyres, and ended up buying two when I only needed one. I'm not going to let that happen again. Bastards.) And so began another Google search for: car tyre/tire puncture repairs. And I stumbled across this site: The Car Bibles.

Hallelujah

Ok. You need to read a lot. And, it didn't say any thing about punctures. BUT it did have a LOT of other info. That may be useful one day. It's all put in layman's terms. There are plenty of well labeled tables and diagrams. And I thought. This is something every driving dame should have in their bookmarks. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Power to the pretties I say.
But look out for those pavements.

Photo: Pictures of the Great Depression

Thursday, 14 May 2009

Emotive motoring

I finally saw the new VW Golf ad last night, after hearing friends and breakfast show DJs talking about it. There are few ads out there that I'm happy to watch over and over and over again. This one is one, and another stellar from O&M. We played it in the office, not a dry eye in the house!

Great work O&M and well done to the VW client for buying into an ad that is at the opposite end of the spectrum from the usual hardcore, adrenorone we usually see from Golf.



Wednesday, 13 May 2009

Peticure

I desperately want to get a new couch, but can’t bare the thought of Oscar scratching it to bits. Yes, he has a scratching post. Yes, I should’ve been a lot tougher on him when he was a kitten. Anyway… I started taking him to the vet to have his nails clipped. It had reached the stage when it wasn’t just my furniture that was bearing the brunt of his sharp claws, but my arms and legs too. You could actually scratch on the words dried blood.

My vet showed me how to clip his nails myself and he’s quite good at sitting still for me while I do it. (Of course, I have him in a crossface, chickenwing hold while I’m clipping, duh.) The little bastard has got clever. As the nail clippers start to close in on the extended claw, he lets out a helpless little meow. Which, of course, makes me think I’m hurting him, and stop what I’m doing. But I’ve wised up, and it doesn’t work any more.

I decided to check “clipping cat’s claws” on Google just to make sure that I was doing it right, aka how far down could I cut without hurting the little tyke (the more I can cut off, the less often I have to do it, natch). Just when I thought I'd seen everything... I stumbled upon Soft Paws:

Image by robbie.

WTF??? I’m all for pet grooming. There was a time when I thought that red ribbons behind poodles’ ears were kinda cute. I was six. But coloured tips for you cat’s nails? What kind of lunacy is that? Those of you who grew up in SA in the 80s – I’m having Knersis flash backs. (He had looooong red talons. Fantastic and evil!)

Not only can you choose from a range of colours; blue, pink, yellow, green, colour combos; white/purple, yellow/green, red/green (on each tip), you can also choose from a range of “exclusive” palettes like: the Mother’s Day combo or the sprightly Spring combo. And if you’re feeling patriotic the Red, White and Blue combo – did I have to say this was an American product? Seriously?



From the testimonials page (with pictures!):
- Suzette claims, "our Milo doesn’t mind them at all." Like Milo had a choice.
- Larry shares, "Bought the hot pink, goes well with her color, she's a blue cream point." Hot pink Larry? Wait a minute... LARRY?
- Tara and Eric, "I have attached a picture of one of my cats, Oreo, with her SoftPaws on. She is practically smiling!" I'm willing to put money on Tara being the brains behind Oreo's latest look and Eric just going along with it. I'm also willing to put money on Oreo smiling as he hatches his latest retaliation plot.

I’m okay with becoming a spinster, cat lady in my middle-to-old age but if I ever resort to this kind of insanity and decide Oscar would look good with Orange claws you know what to do kids.

Hang on a minute; he’s a ginger, so maybe Orange claws would look cute.
Awesome!
I'm. Kidding.

Monday, 11 May 2009

Spring Clean, Sunshine

It's been a crazy few weeks in my world, between work, a wedding, birthday and birth days, a christening and everything in-between, I’ve had no time to potter at home and find my zen.

After 3 days of intense, eerie, thrilling, midweek mist, I woke on Saturday morning to startlingly clear skies, warm-hot sun and a beautiful day. So after schloefing around in my jammies, a couple of cups of tea and rescuing Oscar from 603 (he makes his way up, and stands at the door meowing, thinking it’s home but hasn’t realized that he’s got to go down again – stupid cat!) I decided it was time for to pack away my summer clothes, pull out my winter clothes and get tough on all the shit I hoard and don’t even remember owning, let alone look at!

I tipped out my drawers on to my bed, pulled clothes from their hangers and got busy. Oscar got stuck in too, natch!


A couple of hours, a few more cups of tea and 4 huge shopping bags (filled with clothes, towels, blankets, and general bric-a-brac) later, I was done! I was really surprised that I didn't get bored with the whole indaba. I usually start with gusto, pull everything out on to my bed and 30min later I'm over it! And then, stuff it all back into cupboards and draws so I don't have to look at the mess!

But here is the end result. I estimate 2 weeks before they return to their usual state of chaos...



My favourite new storage items are the white shoe boxes (from Merry Pak) with little windows so you can see your shoes inside!



If you're wondering why I didn't chuck that fugly brown and cream windbreaker with the red stripe on the arm, it's because it's the only really warm jacket I own, and until I replace it, I'm not going without. (If you're wondering why I bought it in the first place, well, let's just say beggars can't be choosers!)

Of course, there are a few items that I can't bare to part with. My Depeche Mode 101 T-shirt (before the days they made fitted girly Tee's). My official-issue London Fire Brigade sweat-shirt, given as a leaving gift. (Yip, I used to work for the London Fire Brigade. No, I never got to slide down the pole. Yip, they really do have poles.) My Henry's Cafe Bar waitress shirt: my first job in London, after swearing I'd never waitress again! And my matric jersey. Aww!



In honour of winter, fast approaching... I removed all the funky bags I had hanging on my coat hooks and tried something new with my scarves. I LOVE scarves. There are more, in the cupboard, hee hee! Scarves make me happy! It's not quite working for me, but I'll live with it for a while and see... (I think I should move the pink-y ones to the middle hook.)



With another chore done and feeling very house-proud and satisfied, I packed the four big bags into my little car and set off to donate the hoard to Nazareth House. Which made me feel even better - there's nothing like a little giving (not to mention recycling) to brighten up the day.

As for my zen, it's back in full force! Woot!



Friday, 08 May 2009

Trading Traditional

A friend of mine got married recently and, for the first time in my life, I was asked to be a bridesmaid! So in the run-up to the wedding (she had only 10 weeks to plan it, and no, she isn’t knocked-up) I immersed myself in Google Image searches (from bridesmaids to dress and all the variants in-between), Vera Wang On Weddings and as many wedding blogs I could find!

My bride had a vision and a fairly traditional spec for her three maids (which ended up looking incredible), so I couldn’t stray from that. But I found things that really struck a chord with me, and even though you’re not going to hear the opening notes of the Wedding March played for me, any time soon, I just wanted to share these:
Now, I’m a Converse girl, and always have been… PLUS heels have never really been my friends (sad, but true). So these totally ROCK!
[From Wedding Paper Divas]



But, the tiny princess in me (that loves all the pretty heels I can’t wear) also loves shoes that DON’T match the dress and are bright and bold and sassy!
[From Wedding Paper Divas]



Still with shoes… this time for the bridesmaids. I love the black dresses (so easy to choose something you can wear again) but even more so, the individuality of each maid stepping to the fore! (Especially the peep-toe reds with ankle straps!)
[From The Laura Kay Blog]

Once I'd stumbled onto The Laura Kay Blog I was hooked! Great photography of all kinds. And I fell in love with the contrast in these pictures:

I would love my wedding photos be full of the unexpected!
[From The Laura Kay Blog]


And then, the tour de force of wedding guests’ gifts: A wedding mix!

This is the BEST pressie for guests I've ever seen! And I'm SO going to do it too... if I ever get married, that is.
But that's a whole other conversation :)


Thursday, 07 May 2009

Running on Empty

I recently did one of those personality profiles at work (you know the ones). I was impressed with the results, it was pretty accurate (ha! the details go with me to my cremation) except one: Roles that require empathy or sympathy may not suit her. My knee jerk reaction to this was: WTF?! I have empathy and sympathy (cue indignant glare and pursed lips).

BUT in observing my interactions with others since, I’ve realized that it’s not that far off the mark. Don’t get me wrong; in certain situations I display huge amounts of empathy. And sympathy. But only when it’s really called for. Most of the time, I’m a hardarse.

I encountered TWO people yesterday, TWO, who had petrol issues. The first, a colleague, had actually run out of petrol (I’m still shaking my head about it) and needed another colleague to drive her to a petrol station to fill a bottle. (She keeps a bottle and funnel in her car; apparently this has happened before!!!)

The second, a friend, was driving us around town last night, and was on reserve. So Nat and I were chatting about needing to fill up last night before she took me home, otherwise I’d be the friend she’d SOS. I said: I’d help her out, natch, BUT I wouldn’t (here it comes) be very sympathetic. (After all, it’s something that can so obviously and painlessly be avoided.) She was shocked! She said: she hates filling up with petrol. I was shocked. How can running out of petrol, or even the potential to be stranded by the side of the road be better than putting in R50?

It makes me nervous, when my petrol gauge needle hangs around the ¼ mark, I get twitchy, check my mileage counter, and pull in to the nearest petrol station. I have never, EVER, run out of petrol. There’s no excuse for it! I think I’ve seen my petrol light once – and that was only because my car was new, and my previous car was old and didn't have a special light to warn you, and I wanted to see the little glowing petrol pump icon.

So, I’m okay with my empathy/sympathy stash being at an all-time low, sorry for you, mainly because I’ll still bail you out if you run out of gas. I’m might not be terribly graceful about it but I’ll still coming running – with a full tank and some chips!

P.S. I do realize that this post might mean I'm the last person you'll call... that's okay too!

Tuesday, 05 May 2009

Time to kill... or getting ready to murder a margarita

I don't really have anything important to say other than it's T minus 30 before I kick back and enjoy the sweet taste of a strawberry margarita, a plate of nachos and the company of great gals I used to work with. We try and get together once a month. (I think we're averaging once every 6 months, on account of working in advertising, The Amazing Race and Cath's Italian classes.)

Outside, the sun is setting and the mountain is draped in gold and a thick mist is moving in from the harbour. The Liesbeek River looks like it's smoking and the traffic on the M5 shuffles forward mechanically as everyone makes their way home or, perhaps, out.

The idea of being part of mass transit has always tickled me in an abstract way. Whether it was pushing through a Tube station in London to slip between the almost-closed doors or driving to work, radio blaring, I always feel a small thrill at being part of a bigger movement. Even if it is just capitalism. I can't explain it. Maybe it's the feeling of not being alone. And I can't help but wonder how many commuters share my routine, my route and I just don't recognize their car, so I don't see them. Sometimes I don't mind just being another number, or invisible. Sometimes it feels good to be just another face in the crowd. Because sometimes just being in the crowd is what matters.

Happy Tuesday!