Archive for the ‘Personal ramblings’ Category

Year two: cotton and zombies…


2011
02.28
Zombie warning signs: convincing

Yes, that means you!

In these trying times it’s important to be prepared for every eventuality. We all need a bit of a fortress, a metaphorical Fort Klapperkop to hide in after a crappy day, a hidey-hole that protects us against the stresses and trials and tribulations of modern society. And the greatest of these three? Zombies.

Zombie voodoo dolls

Don't let the sweet little heart fool you!

Zombies aren’t known for their finesse, so it’s best to use a very straightforward way to warn them off. Red is a good colour, bold and eye-catching. Cotton is absorbent – you don’t know when things might get splattery.

It also helps to have a partner in imagination who understands exactly what’s needed to keep the brain-munching masses at bay. Hence this sign of epic geek proportions. Zombies stand slack-jawed in awe. Of course, they might try their luck by scratching at the surface a bit… Which is why there are bullet holes. And some gore. And just for in case they didn’t get the message… Toss a zombie voodoo doll into the mix!

I’m gonna go geek out a bit more now… And stick some pins in some brain-draining zombies…

PS: Kristia and Jian, they can be made to order! :-)

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Now open wide…


2011
02.16

Work from Animalarium: Monday Matticchio

Now imagine we're in a dentist's waiting room, and cats were allowed... Pretty much! Check more awesome work at Animalarium by clicking on the pic.

Today, Bryan Adams and my cat saved my life. (Oh, the drama!) For the first time in my 30 years, I had to go to the dentist for a filling. A teensy, tiny filling – but one that nevertheless needed a needle. And if you know anything about me, you know that I have a debilitating fear of needles. Some of the standout moments in my long list of needle-related incidents include:

• Being betrayed by my parents as they lift my unsuspecting self up so that the pediatrician can stick a needle in my butt
• Having a nurse lie on top of me to hold me still so the doctor can get some bloodwork (in matric, while deathly ill with glandular fever)
• Collapsing my veins (three times) while the Liberty Life nurse tries to get blood for my dread disease policy (useless, I got duped into it, and I’ve never got a policy since)
• Ruining my husband’s jacket with tears while the dermatologist removes a “dodgy mole (it turned out to be an unhappy hair follicle) from my arm (yes, he was there to hold my hand)

So yes, needles. An hour before my dentist’s appointment found me schnarfing rescue remedy while getting increasingly panicky. Driving there I could barely focus on the road. And then I tried to distract myself by reading a magazine in the waiting room – no use.

Which is where my cat came in. People say you should go to your happy place in times of stress or fear. So I gave it a shot, flicking through various scenarios in my head and finally settling on Her Royal Highness Queen Peroni in one of her favourite positions: purring a mile a minute on my chest, every now and then delicately stretching a leg and flexing her pretty pink paws so that I can tickle between the pads. She does this usually when I’m trying to read, and it’s terribly cute and strangely calming. So I’m thinking of Queen Peroni, and it’s working… Kind of. Because every now and then her truck-engine purr sounds strangely drill-like, and every now and then the little pink paws sprout needlelike claws…

Round about then, the dentist came a-calling, causing an involuntary spasm of my tearducts, which he kindly ignored. I stumbled onto the chair… And this is where dear old Bryan Adams came in. As the dentist took my cheek between thumb and forefinger, vigorously shaking it in preparation for the needle’s entrance, I closed my eyes and started singing at the top of my lungs – in my head. “I got my first real six-string… Bought it at the five and dime… Played it ’till my fingers bled… Was the summer of sixty nine…” Word for word, beat by beat, totally ignoring the goings on in my hard-done-by mouth. And it worked. It really did.

I have my husband to thank for this piece of advice. It also works for air turbulence, I’ll have you know. Give it a shot.

So although I won’t call it my most fun experience, I survived it, stumbling out there with the vague fear that drool might be dripping down my chin.

And I am no longer a filling virgin, more’s the pity. Or as a friend sneakily commented, “it takes a filling to no longer be a virgin.” True that…

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Tripping on the rose-petal path…


2011
02.15

Italian Illustrator Barbara Pala's awesome work

Italian illustrator Barbara Pala created a range of awesome cards featuring some weird and wonderful couple combinations - suitable for any day, not just Valentine's. Check out more of the awesomeness by clicking on the pic.

I have a cheesy streak a mile wide. It’s not a secret, and I’m rather proud of my ability to gobble up copious amounts of cute. I figure it gets balanced out with the flipside of my loves: guts and gore and zombies. So that’s okay.

I’m also the proud owner of a hubby who’s incredibly anti-cheese. It causes me to moan and groan greatly every Valentine’s Day – and always, always I have to eat my words at the end of the day, because he invariably does treat me in some special way. Even if it doesn’t include red roses and cheap heart-shaped chocolates. You’d think I’d have learned to stop complaining. But hey, I love the drama…

It feels kind of obvious to say that people look at love in different ways… But we do tend to forget that our take on the most unpredictable of feelings is not the be all and end all. No wonder self-help books on love languages and the differences between sexes are so lucrative.

I bullied some of my friends (and also promised not to bother them until the next Valentine’s Day) to give me their take on love in a roundabout way: through their favourite love songs, romantic scenes in movies or quotes on love. So here goes the cheese fest!

Kristia

Lars and the Real Girl: “And Bianca loved us all. Especially Lars. Especially him.”

Although it’s a funeral scene, I feel it captures the human need to feel loved. Whether it’s true or imagined, love changes the landscape of our lives, it breaks the tedium of our existence, it inspires art and music and it makes us feel unique.

Most of my favourite love songs are about unrequited love or heartbreak. Considering my romantic history I guess I can understand why. My favourite song of all time is also my favourite love song. Although the song is originally by Ray Charles, I love Van Morrison’s version of it. Go check out You Don’t Know Me by Van Morrison here.

My favourite quote on love was intended as sarcasm and said in passing by a friend that I only met once. I can’t help but imagine that one day it’ll be true:

“Everything revolves around me, revolving around you.”

Russell

My song is Make Your Own Kind Of Music by Mamas & Papas… From the film Beautiful Thing – the best gay teen romance film in the world. There’s a scene where Jamie and Ste have escaped the dreary confines of their East London council estate and are chasing one another through a forest (possibly the Epping Forest), and then they kiss. Makes me wanna cry and laugh and dance all at the same time…”

Graffiti in California

Graffiti girl spreads the love in California on Valentine's Day 2009... Check out more by clicking on the pic.

Cecile

Movies:
Aaah… That moment in Say Anything with John Cusack where he lifts his stereo to play Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes for the love of his life.

“…in your eyes

the light the heat

in your eyes

I am complete

in your eyes

I see the doorway to a thousand churches

in your eyes

the resolution of all the fruitless searches

in your eyes

I see the light and the heat

in your eyes

oh, I want to be that complete

I want to touch the light

the heat I see in your eyes”

City of Angels: Seth: “I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it. One.’

And just about every single quote here!

Top Gun (this one’s just a nice cheesy one)

Goose and his Mrs: Carole: Hey, Goose, you big stud!
Goose: That’s me, honey.
Carole: Take me to bed or lose me forever.
Goose: Show me the way home, honey.

As Good As It Gets: ‘You make me want to be a better man.’

And let’s not forget the cheesiest of them all:

‘You complete me’ – Jerry Maguire.

Talita Mossie Meisie

When Bloom meets Penelope in The Brothers Bloom here
My romantic moments should be sublime and ridiculous. Red roses and chocolate – pfft ag please!
The most romantic movie for me at age 16 was Lady Jane (1986) with Helena Bonham-Carter. It’s an amazing love story… But doesn’t have a happy ending…

My romantic song of choice is always Pink Martini’s Hey Eugene, and the words that always get me are: ‘and you told me you weren’t that drunk and that I was your favourite salsa dancer you have ever come across in New York City…’

Davy-Doo-l-Love-You

This epic scene in Moulin Rouge

Jennifer

Songs: Nothing Compares To You (Sinead O Connor) – makes me think of all the breakups I have had. Do You Really Want To Hurt Me (Culture Club) – makes me think of all the relationships I have had and Woman (John Lennon) – makes me long for… John Lennon.

Movies: Just watched Dirty Dancing again last night. Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Nobody! Also, probably anything by Woody Allen but really just Annie Hall. Recently, 500 Days Of Summer.

Quotes: “The notion that there might be a better or more convenient time to love has cost many people a lifetime of regret.” – Leo Buscaglia

xkcd's honest take on love...

Brutally honest... But true... Check more webcomics by clicking on the pic

The Publisher

Songs: I’m your man – Leonard Cohen, To bring you my love – PJ Harvey, Escape (The Pina Colada Song) – Rupert Holmes, Graceland – Paul Simon, Sundown – Gordon Lightfoot, Droomvrou – Lucas Maree.

Quote: “Ek dink nie ek sal ooit daaroor kom nie. ‘n Mens leer om dit te hanteer. Jy leer om toneel te speel, maar die wond bly dieselfde. Jy leer net om pleisters op te sit – dis al wat jy doen.” T.T. Cloete

Movies: The closing scene on the train in Next Stop Wonderland: the guy and girl don’t know each other and never share a scene… Until the end, when the train lurches and she stumbles against him. And stays right there, with his arm around her.

The wedding scene in Best Years Of Our Lives: the guy and girl see each other at a friend’s wedding months after a really bad goodbye. They stare at each other throughout the ceremony, and afterwards, he walks to her and kisses her.

Tom Hanks’s dad in You’ve Got Mail: “Have you ever known me to be with someone like that (the one person in the world who makes you truly happy)? Have you?”
Hanks in the same movie to Meg Ryan: “Sometimes a guy just wants the impossible.”

Hugo

The end of Great Expectations: Estella: “Can you ever forgive me?” Finn:  “Don’t you know me at all?” And she did…

Meagan

Fools Rush In, where Matthew Perry’s character tells Salma Hayek, “You are everything I never knew I always wanted…”
A Walk In The Clouds – Where Keanu’s drunk and singing under his love’s window…

Love songs? UB40’s take on Can’t Help Falling In Love – it got sung at my wedding!

Washington

Loads of songs! Romeo & Juliet – Dire Straits, Atlantis in jou oë – Koos Kombuis, Engel - Karen Zoid, I drove all night – Cindy Lauper, Brilliant Disguise - Bruce Springsteen, I can hear your heartbeat – Chris Rea, Lost in you – Rod Stewart, Hallelujah – Rufus Wainwright

LA Confidential: Lynn: “You’re the first man in five years who didn’t tell me I look like Veronica Lake inside of a minute.” Bud White: “You look better than Veronica Lake.”

Four Weddings And A Funeral. The girl learned sign language to be able to talk to Hugh Grant’s characters deaf brother… She signs “that’s mice” instead of “nice”, but he doesn’t mind…

Me

There’s a scene in Big Fish that I find really touching. Senior Sandra (Jessica Lange) finds senior Ed (Albert Finney) in the bathtub… And then she joins him. It’s touching and sad and very sweet. I can’t remember exactly what they said, but roughly: Ed: “I was drying out…” Sandra: “I don’t think I’ll ever dry out…” They’re basically saying goodbye in preparation for Ed’s death… But also reliving every moment of their strange romance.

Bon Iver & St Vincent’s take on Crooked Fingers’ Sleep All Summer always gets me. It’s not really soppy love, but rings very true… “I will change for you but babe that doesn’t mean that I will be a better man.”

And then, a quote that just sums it all up… “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

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Yay for bunnies!


2011
02.02

I think it’s pretty clear by now that I have a thing for bunnies. So even though I’m bummed that 2011 doesn’t mean anything particular for me – I was born in a Year of the Monkey, which figures – I’m still thrilled that The Year of the Metal Rabbit will officially start on 3 February 2011. So to celebrate, here are some pretty pics featuring my second-favourite animal (after Her Royal Highness Queen Peroni): the noble rabbit.

Artwork by Dan May

Dan May's contribution to INLE, click on pic for more info!

Artwork by Greg Simkins

A twisted take on Watership Down by Greg Simkins for INLE - click on pic for more info.

An old bunny pin-up image

Playboy Bunnies used to be way more conservative...

Ryohai Hase's Mary musth

Ever woken up and just felt like a bunny? Yep. Check out Ryohei Hase's beautiful work at www.ryoheihase.com

Dawn ng's Walter installation

There you are, walking along, when a giant rabbit catches your eye. Check out Walter's escapades at www.dawn-ng.com

antique bunny-themed nengajō from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston collection.

1915 - Bunny in bed: antique bunny-themed nengajō from the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston collection.

Canadian postage stamp

Bunnies via post...

Awesome dustbunny by Andre Chasqueira

My favourite: a specially designed bunny for dustbunniesproject by good friend Andre Chasqueira. It rocks.

An image by Darla Teagarden

Fanciful bunny flights - the only way to travel. Absinthe Wonderland is one of Darla Teagarden's magical photography projects, check more out at www.darlateagarden.com

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On extra weight and bigger boobs…


2011
01.26

The trials and tribulations of dieting

It also makes you eat more Wilson's toffees

My jeans are talking to me. Dark mutterings. “I know what you ate last summer. I know about the coca-cola flavoured Wilson’s toffees in the boot of your car. I saw that extra spoon of sugar in your tea. You missed your vitamins this morning…”

All set to the glorious B-grade soundtrack of a grater raining bits of cheddar cheese on the Woolies low GI seed loaf that’s soon to be a snackwich. I had a mango too, just for balance. And two Wilson’s toffees.

I should be Muay Thai-ing my ass off right now, but instead, I’m blogging. About suddenly turning 30 and discovering that your body has joined the revolution, turned its butt on all those blissful meals of pasta and pizza and started chanting “down with tight jeans!” And so help me, I’m not turning to kaftans to hide every bump and lump. I like tight jeans. It’s enough that I can’t pull off those terribly short denim shorts anymore.

I’ve been getting increasingly panicky at the sight of myself in the mirror. Whatever happened to being all sleek and toned and happily immune to age-related body issues? It got me so worked up I ate a pack of cheese-and-onion chips.

I was a skinny, constantly active kid with a voracious appetite. My mom used to stuff tins of baked beans into my hands out of sheer exasperation at my constant hunger. (Baked beans are still one of my favourite comfort foods.) Going to varsity, starting a job and just generally being adult brought with it less time for canoeing and mountain climbing and more dinner parties and glasses of wine after stressful days. And before you know it… You’re looking at photographs of yourself in your younger days and going “I had a six pack?! I fit into a size 30 jeans?! Why the hell did I not just walk around naked all the time?”

All of a sudden, shopping for a bikini is traumatic. Buying a tub of Haagendasz initiates a guilt trip that lasts a week. I see cellulite everywhere and I’ve caught myself checking my arms for batwings.

Something’s gotta give. And it can’t be the seams of my jeans.

So someone mentioned the dreaded D-word. I’ve never dieted in my life. I love food. And I don’t even know where to start… So I started with dodgy Chinese slimming tea. From the local Kung Fu kitchen. It tastes like grass, and I share it with a friend who’s equally as obsessed as I am currently with all things body related. We have no idea if it works… But at least we’re not drinking sugary tea or rich coffee.

I’ve managed to stick in more vegetables in my diet. I drink loads of water. I train at aggressively and systematically decimating a punching bag. But no change. Well, not that I can see, or that makes me feel as if there is any difference.

So what do you do? Laugh it off? Buy a bigger jean size? Embrace the curves and wobbles? Go on a hellish diet? Train harder? Figure out that getting old is just one of those things? Find the silver lining? Cos’ there is the teensiest bit of a silver lining to this one… For the first time in my life, due to the bit of extra weight I’m carrying, I have actual bona-fide boobs. It rocks, if you’ve never really had a pair in your whole life, to finally have some. So maybe, just maybe, I can use them as an excuse to put off that diet for a little bit longer…

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Why friends are like worlds and other bits of wedding wisdom…


2011
01.16

A moment at a wedding.

In keeping with the soppiness of this post, now for some gentle creams and lavenders...

2011 has run away with me in a tangle of half-formed new year’s resolutions, attempts to keep upbeat when work tries to drain your soul and hopeful moments of connecting with people and furtively following your dreams. Even if said dreams, as my considerably more life-experienced (tee hee) other half likes to point out, are still half-baked and in serious need of a sit-down planning session…

And in between this mess (and one or two incredible hangovers), blogging has fallen by the wayside. A pity, since I missed opportunities to blog about all those marvellous stalwarts: trying to discover the coolest New Year’s parties, the agony of making resolutions, the realisation and subsequent resignation to the fact that you’ll never stick to your resolutions, the zen surrounding January and new beginnings, Nomsa Dube’s mindblowingly facepalming comments about lightning, the drama of trying new things and the sheer bloodiness of making peace with flabby arms. I might still write about the flabby-arm drama… A topic in progress, as it were, since Muay Thai is in full swing for this year again. Batwings, begone! I hope…

Anyway… I actually have come up with a bit of a plan for the year ahead. I’d call it a resolution, but that presupposes the possibility of failure to keep at it… and I really, really want to keep this one. It’s pretty soppy though, so if you’re not particularly chocolate box-inclined, stop reading now and go here instead.

A really laid-back, gorgeous and, above all, touching wedding this weekend planted the seed. Watching the groom emotionally working his way through a speech that had most of the crowd in tears caused a bit of introspection and discussion. In a nutshell, it’s this: loving friends and family. And not just in a way that satisfies your own need to be loved and to give and to be considered important by the people in your life – in a way that makes them understand just how absolutely awesome they are – as human beings. So what if they’re “just” your parents – they’re also pretty damn funny, way more resourceful than you’ve ever been, whizzes at DIY and really, really good at throwing dinner parties/ company bashes/ pity parties/ a Frisbee. Or she’s not “just” a friend who listens to you when you’re mopey and want to spill – she’s also a creative genius with words who sometimes cries while listening to music and has a penchant to pick up strays. (Guys, not animals!)

Purple Chinese umbrellas rock

Why are these pretty umbrellas like true friends? A cupcake for the best answer...

It’s all about making people understand just how important they are: not just to you, but in their own right. You don’t just appreciate them because they’re there for you and make you feel good – you appreciate them because they’re awesome.

If it’s all sounding a bit airy-fairy at the moment, it’s because it still needs some work in terms of execution… Some thought as to how I want to make the people in my life really understand how rocking they are. Hand-written letters? Making them cups of tea when they need one? More regular chats on the phone? Just being there? We’ll see… But this one, I aim to keep.

So, in the spirit of being soppy, I’d like to end off with this quote from Anaïs Nin, that I’ve dragged along with me ever since high school… And that’s become a bit more relevant to me now. (Barf bags to the left of the fridge.)

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

And I guess the whole point is to make your friends/family feel that to lose them means to literally lose a world. So it’s pretty damn important to keep them safe and loved…

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The nightmare before Christmas…


2010
12.27
Sad Santa, all overwhelmed on Christmas... Pic: Meagan Kachelhoffer

Sad Santa...

I’m always woefully unprepared for Christmas.

Mentally, physically, emotionally… I always realize that, once again, I didn’t do what I promised myself: prepare gifts and organise things way in advance to save myself the agony of last-minute scrambles.

But here I go again… courting a headache and psychotic breakdowns in the cattle drive that is a mall in the days before Christmas. It’s a wonder that I haven’t lashed out at one of the frantic and grim and single-minded people that keep on bumping into me. We pinball off each other into stores and doorways and fast-food outlets and gift-wrapping islands in the middle of the main square.

My eyes can’t focus anywhere; they keep skittering off teddy bears and bestseller books and fashionable sneakers and Paris Hilton’s new perfume and Kagiso on the Nando’s poster. And then I catch sight of a face in a store window and do a double take: the ashen-faced girl who looks on the verge of tears really is me. But I shamble on, ‘cos I haven’t found the proper Christmas-themed serviettes yet… Like a Christmas zombie. (‘Cos I have to get a zombie reference in here somewhere, you know…)

The purple bird of happiness Pic: Meagan Kachelhoffer

The purple bird of happiness... Well, it made Peroni happy, that's for sure...

Add to that the audio… A low drone of screaming kids and annoyed adults and tinny music and beeping cellphones. I usually get home exhausted and upset, to find that I spent loads of money on nothing much and I still don’t have what I wanted or went for in the first place.

There’s not much magic left in the holiday season. But I suppose that, despite all the stress and drama and commercial mania and despite our cynical selves, we did get a few things right this year…

• Jamie Oliver’s roast potatoes. They actually came out pretty damn awesome. All crispy and golden-brown and peppery and… I’m going to make some more right now.

• My two-year-old niece Mea’s face while opening Christmas pressies. She “wowed” at every single thing, even the empty bags and leftover wrapping paper. And she kept on sneaking peeks into packages, she just couldn’t wait…

• Her Royal Highness Queen Peroni’s delight at the purple baubles decorating our lopsided Christmas tree. “Ooh, new toys! All for me? Well thank you very much!” We had to save those fragile little balls on numerous occassions… But if you’ve never seen a cat in a Christmas tree, you haven’t lived.

• A Christmas card arriving in the post from a different continent and much-missed friends. Pasted closed with a Halloween skeleton. Because that’s how they roll…

• Trying to bake ginger cookies, getting them burnt, but ending up with the most awesome psychedelic icing sugar ever. And calling the unsalvageable biscuits Julius Malemas. We decorated them too. But they didn’t get eaten.

Penguin Christmas sock. Pic: Meagan Kachelhoffer

Never trust a Christmas penguin.

• The smell of tinsel, and the immediate wash of memories, making you forget for a little while that you’re actually a grown up and over all this mumbo jumbo joy nonsense.

• Listening to rockabilly Christmas songs that are just so much better than anything Mariah Carey can come up with.

• Spending the whole weekend with family and close friends. And not getting upset or murdering anyone. Instead, just being really happy to have them all alive and well and there… Soppy, yes. I don’t care.

And, of course, Christmas leftovers. Picking over them, groaning at the sight of them, eating them all in the early hours of the morning…

I’ve promised myself that, next year, there will be no last-minute scrambles and no problems and no tears and no trips to malls. And there will be magic. Loads and loads of Christmas magic…

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Ode to the horror of dressing rooms…


2010
11.22

This is me. Shopping.

This is me after a day of shopping and dressing rooms.

I have a theory. I believe that Haagen-Dazs ice cream have a secret department that specializes in creating terrifying dressing rooms for clothing stores. The type of dressing rooms that makes medieval torture chambers look like a McDonald’s playground. The goal? To make you end up at the ice-cream counter, dribbling emo tears into your overpriced cup of fat and sugar.

I should know better by now. I should just learn how to sew. But it’s the start of the Festive Season and I’ve discovered that my collection of so-called party dresses is decidedly sparse. And then I pitched up at a wedding with a dress that suddenly felt like an iron band around my chest, of all places. (I was hoping my boobs had got bigger, but I think it’s just my ribs expanding. Or something.) And I realised I had to get something new to wear.

Cue horror theme music and nails scratching down blackboards and a long, dark teatime of the soul. I’m naming and shaming.

Edgars. Usually a lot of dresses, not too expensive. The dressing rooms actually have mirrors positioned so you can check yourself out from all angles. The light is okay as well. But it’s the one place where you never actually get to the dressing room. The queues are so long and slow-moving that you give up halfway, dump your haul and hit the road. Not an auspicious start.

Foschini. Depending on exactly where in the dressing room you stand, you can manipulate the light. If you stand stock-still, head slightly tilted up, hands on hips and arms pulled back, boobs thrust out… You don’t look like a pasty-pale Dracula with batwings and dark, bruised-looking bags under your eyes. But don’t move. Don’t breathe. Because if you do, the illusion is screwed. Downlighting. Uh-huh.

Truworths. Somehow, the electric light manages to etch every little wrinkle and crease on your body into sharp relief. But you don’t care too much about that… You’re too busy trying to keep the raggedy curtain, often missing a few loops, from exposing your increasingly shellshocked-looking face (and other wobbly bits and pieces) to the other miserable shoppers in the cubicles around you. And in my case, the curtain also got pulled back by an over-eager shop assistant who wanted to check if I was fine. No, I’m not fine. I’m half-naked. And vulnerable. Close the curtain. Bitch!

Forever New. Pure bliss and eye candy if you’re just walking in the shop, browsing the merchandise… But I was in for a rude awakening when I stepped into their fair-sized dressing rooms. The lighting. The horror! Since when do I have cellulite on my neck?! Never mind my arms, belly, thighs, calves, feet? Do I really look so tired and haggard? So pinched? And then, to top it all off: at Forever New, suddenly I’m a dress/shirt/skirt size bigger. I haven’t picked up weight, oh no. But suddenly, I can’t get that zip up. Heck, I can’t get it down once it’s halfway up. By now, I’m half sobbing. I’m feeling like shit. I stumble out with an armful of assorted bits of silk and just dump it, running out of the shop.

And then, the last stop. YDE. Why I even bother, I don’t know. First off, I have a butt. An actual butt that follows me around and loves a pair of well-fitting jeans. It’s not an anorexic butt, people. In YDE, my butt goes into shock and tries to creep down the back of my legs and hide behind my knees. What the hell is with the sizing? In YDE, I’m a large. A large fits over my waist and hips. But it’s a bag around my chest. In YDE, I get stuck in dresses in the dressing room, trying to take them off after forcing myself into their choked waists. Because bloody hell, a medium should fit me! At YDE, I look at my frazzled, pale, floppy, batwinged, cellulity, knobbly kneed, baggy eyed, wrinkled, scraggly haired, miserable self in the mirror, and I know people are ogling my pale, stubbly (it was a non-shave day, okay), legs underneath the too high doors and wondering what those whining noises are… I’m squeezed into a high-waisted dress that’s too short and too tight and is probably stuck. And I’m going to have to call the dressing room attendant to get it off.

So I give up. And I walk straight to Haagen-Dazs and buy their overpriced ice-cream and then I buy Pringles just to top it off and I munch all the way home. I’m wearing a garbage bag to the next function. ‘Cos according to those dressing rooms, that’s all I can pull off!

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Things I learned on my Eurotrip


2010
11.07

You save and save and save and then, one day, you’ve scraped together enough of your cents (I haven’t bought shoes in six months!) to go gallivant around Europe… Or at least, Italy and Spain. In their off-seasons, too, but hey, that doesn’t take any of the magic away! It just means that those two pairs of bikinis you packed don’t ever see the light of day… The trip was a kaleidoscope of colours, smells, pictures, tastes and sounds… To write about every aspect of it would just be a massive task. So here are a few things I learned…

A statue in Rome... They're big on angels and pointing!
Rome. The vibe: Historical. Dignified. The soundtrack: Police sirens.

The village of San Donato in Tuscany... Sleepy, beautiful, cold in Autumn!
Tuscany. The vibe: Sleepy. Chilly. The soundtrack: Virgin radio: yay for David Bowie, Hole, Aerosmith and Pink Floyd!

Food, fabulous food!

  • Pizza is pizza is pizza. Anywhere and everywhere. The tomato-to-cheese ratio just differs.
  • When in Tuscany, opt for self-service accommodation. Once you walk though the little shops and cafes, all you’ll want to do is cook…
  • The open-air market in Barcelona is an experience that cannot be put into words. Heaps of exotic fruits, fish, vegetables, gourmet cheeses… You could spend hours browsing.
  • Sometimes, McDonald’s is the only way to go. But if you have a choice, Burger King is way better. And yes, we ate at both!
  • It is possible to get sick and tired of cheese and ham. Even the juiciest parma ham combined with the most delicate of pecorino cheese tastes crap if that’s what lunch and breakfast has been for the past three weeks…
  • It is entirely possible to have a love affair with pasta.
  • The sheer amount and variety of mushrooms in Italy is enough to convince me to move there and live on mushroom pasta for the rest of my life. With black truffle sauce.
  • My personal favourite: you have to actually order a hamburger with tomato on it – it doesn’t come standard. Bliss for all tomato haters!
  • Just because it’s vegetable soup doesn’t mean it’s suitable for vegetarians… The soup we ate at La Toppa in San Donato had real personality – and it wasn’t of the lettuce-stock kind! More the puts-hairs-on-your-chest and warms-up-your-bed personality…
  • Parmesan does not come standard with pizza or pasta in Italy.
  • Neither does a spoon. You know, for twirling your spaghetti around.
  • If the wine comes with tiny shot-sized glasses, you know you’re in for one helluva Greek evening. You’ll also possibly have to replace your fillings.

This old merry-go-round in Florence was magical...
Florence. The vibe: Sassy. Cosmopolitan. The soundtrack: Them damn church bells! Pop music in the stores, street musicians wielding double basses on the squares.

  • Fresh bread plus olive oil plus rough salt equals me putting on several kilograms in short order.
  • Beer is an universal language.
  • Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough: I’ve found my price.

Sounds and silence…

  • It’s impossible to sleep late anywhere in Italy. (Or Spain, for that matter.) The church bells play tag across the big cities, and in the smaller towns you usually have two – out of sync, obviously. So midnight comes twice, staggered about five minutes apart.
  • The police seem very active – at least, there are a helluva lot of sirens going around. Cop cars, motorcycles, motorboats, and old fogeys wielding shrill whistles… The voice of the law is a constant presence!
  • Nowhere is as quiet as a tiny medieval town in Tuscany at round about five in the afternoon…

Hotels

  • If there’s a toaster on the breakfast buffet, you’re staying at a five-star hotel.
  • They usually tell you that your breakfast wasn’t included in your booking when you’re halfway through the Nutella tower and on your fifth croissant.
  • Most of them have free Internet access. Brilliant.
  • Some of them allow smoking in the breakfast room/restaurant. Not so brilliant.

Travel

  • Pedestrians have right of way. Anywhere and everywhere. It’s weird not to hear cars hooting for the people randomly wandering in front of them.
  • If you value your sanity, don’t ever drive in Florence.
  • Water taxis are the coolest invention ever.

Venice... Where light dances on water.
Venice. The vibe: Frenetic. Run-down. The soundtrack: Classical music. Ze violins!

  • Gondolas are overpriced and overrated.
  • Vespas and Mopeds are everywhere.
  • Getting lost in Tuscany makes for a magical ride.
  • Travelling by train makes you feel like you’re on the way to Hogwarts. Sort of.
  • Lufthansa is the crappest airline in living memory. More on this later.
  • It is not a good idea to drink your bottle of water in front of the security guy who took it out your luggage and wanted to throw it away.

People

  • That Scotsman in Rome? He’s the best tour guide you’ll ever meet. With the sexiest accent.
  • Everybody loves South Africans. It’s weird. But customs hates us.
  • Most foreign travelers who want to come to South Africa lower their voices and go conspiratorial when they ask you about the “crime” and how “horrible” Jozi is. They really think they’ll die the moment they set foot here.
  • Greek taxi telephone operators are consummate charmers. I’m going back to find that man…

A market in Barcelona.
Barcelona. The vibe: Gaudy! Energetic! The music: The green parrots in the palm trees and the soft elevator music of the tourist bus earphones.

  • Americans… Are weird. Especially Americans who’re crazy about golf and go teary eyed when you talk about Gary Player.

Coming home is, in a way, the best part of travelling. Your own bed, your own garden, the prospect of a long, hot bubble-bath and her Royal Highness Queen Peroni making like a dog and rolling around for an extended stomach rub. And, of course, having a truly South-African experience in the form of some meat on the braai. The perfect place to start planning your next trip…

The Costa Brava experience

Begur, Costa Brava. The vibe: Relaxing, rich. The music: Madeleine Peyroux, Antony And The Johnsons, Shakira on every Spanish station in existence.

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Advice that you really should take…


2010
11.01

A friend passed this on… And it’s something that rings very true for me. Call it a new quest for November! I’m too often guilty of not living in the moment, not appreciating the right now, wishing for something different. A bad habit. And this is good advice.

The best advice I've received in a very long time.

Advice your mother should have given you.

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