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Wednesday, 31 October 2012

One of the Boys

Hey Phat Ass
Amongst my list of secret indulgences, Saturday Night Series Watching is wayyyy up there, somewhere between  Smashing a can of Garlic Stuffed Olives and Trawling Through Charity Shops and Second Hand Stores. Recently I discovered a show called Up all Night, about a couple who’s party animal lifestyle has come to a halt with the arrival of a new born baby. I was bent over giggling when I watched a scene where the husband tries to discretely comment on the wife’s sloppy appearance – a trade in of lingerie for yoga pants and loose tops.  Suffice to say, it didn’t go down all that well.
I thought I might bring to light some education on the topic, from the female perspective if you will. First of all, do you remember in primary school when we all had to watch those awkward and embarrassing edutainment TV programs on Stranger Danger and Public Indecency? I will never forget the theme song:
My body’s nobody’s body but mine. You’ve got your own body, let me have mine.”
It’s cheesy. It’s infantile. However, it’s true. And so damn catchy! 
This is my body. With all its beauty and all its flaws. My thick legs, that can JUST fit into a size 14, have carried me through heartache, pain, happiness, disappointment and a mountain of challenges. They are strong. It’s up to me how I want to shape this outward vessel. I do not need a home improvement committee to debate on how I should go about maintaining or improving my body. I do not need a personal trainer, a nutritionist, a dietician or a health guru in place of my boyfriend, lover or husband for that matter. I have lived and learnt from this frame for 27 years, so if there’s an expert in the building – it’s me. What I do need, is someone who will love me unconditionally and encourage my happiness. I need to feel cherished, beautiful and appreciated... when I have these things; it’s a lot more motivating to take care of myself, inside and out.
So what’s the deal with chicks and food for fuck sake? I’m sure you are wondering. And that’s completely understandable – we are wired completely differently. For most women, food is a way to nourish and comfort ourselves. It’s a constant in a very volatile and unstable world. We eat when we are happy, sad, lonely, celebrating, hibernating and exacerbating. It’s emotional, plain and simple. So when things aren’t so lekker... maybe we’ve gone through a big change, we’ve lost someone, we’re trying to cope with issues that we have no way of solving, food is sometimes the way we push all that stress down (literally). Hey, some people dabble in dwelms, some blow off steam at gym; some spend thousands of Rands pimping out their cars – each to his/her own right? EXACTLY
So what’s a dude to do when the lady lumps start getting a little cray cray? Fokol. Love and support, a constant ear to listen and patience are your best friends in this situation and will probably give your gal a sense of trust and new found motivation. Who doesn’t want to look smoking hot for a guy who makes you feel that way all the time? Criticism, sarcastic remarks and plain old dick-headness is going to get your ass replaced, or kicked to the curb... eventually. Here are my top 5 comments that will get you on track:
“I don’t know why, but when you work out... I literally get a semi. You are such a hottie.”
“I love you, just the way you are.”
“You know who I’d put on my celeb shag list? Beyonce, Jennifer Lopez and Christina Hendricks.”
“Have you heard of sex-aerobics?”
“If you ever want to talk about what stress you’re carrying, I’m a great listener.”
Tadah! And on one last note: If you can’t get your head around a few extra kg’s, that pair of baggy pants, no make up Sundays and the occasional bad hair scenario, perhaps you’re with the wrong person. Maybe you should date someone perfect, and see how that works out.
That’s a wrap!
It’s almost the end of the year, which means everywhere you look... red, white, green and gold. Christmas is on its way. Keep posted, next month I’m going to do some kiff gifting ideas to give the girls... but I know LONG term memory is maybe not your strong point. So this month I wanted to say that chucking a soap-on-a-rope in a cardboard bag and scribbling a message on it, is no way to treat a lady. Start thinking of cool ways to present your present (pun intented). Maybe it’s a scavenger hunt to find a few small gifts, maybe the card has a sentimental poem or quote in it, maybe you wrap it in some funky/ funny paper (The Space in Rosebank or Exclusive Books are my fave suppliers) or maybe you want to do something really classy and traditional. They key here is THOUGHT and TIME. Go check out Flowerspot in Woodmead – they literally have EVERYthing you could need for wrapping and decorating a prezzie.

Date Night!
It’s a crummy time of year, we’re all waiting for that bonus (well, those of us who have a job – not I just yet!), we’re saving for holidays and festivities. And why is it all of a sudden EVERYONES freaking birthday? I had no idea there were this many bloody Scorpios and Libras in my life. But you don’t have to ring up exorbitant bills for a date with your woman. Something simple and sweet can totally top a fanschy shmanschy night out. Here are some of my ideas:
A candle lit picnic on the floor of your room
A trip to the planetarium
Hire a row boat at Zoo Lake
Take a walk around some markets – I like Irene and Rosebank. Arts on Main and Neighbourgoods are a little more upmarket and expensive.
Read the paper together at a park
Sneak in a quickie at the Public Library – Just kidding! Or am I? I think they have cameras... ooh, that’s hot.
Go for a hike together – Johannesburg Hiking Club has one every Sunday and they are only around R30 – R50 each.
Between The Sheets in October
DO: Take advantage of the warm weather and have some pool fun! Especially if you can find one with conveniently placed water shoot. Try get in some foreplay time before you get into the water, as it tends to cool us down in all the wrong places if you know what I mean.
DON’T: Put ice up there. Maybe its personal preference but that stuff is like... fu-cking cold. Cold is not what you want. Maybe keep the ice philandering to kissing and nipple play.

Tuesday, 23 October 2012

Martini Review - Full Stop

I know - Full Stop... touch and go right? eh, wrong! For those of you who haven't yet visited the new and revamped Full Stop in Parkhurst, prepare to be delightfully surprised! I'd sworn off the place after a certain disappointing Risotto but with the inviting summer garden and a new snazzy menu I've become somewhat of a return customer. Besides - if the gays are doing it, it's worth a drop in innit?

Hazelnut Espresso Martini

I must admit, I was slightly disappointed with the short list selection of cocktails on show - but then again aren't the best menus small on selection but big on flavour? This one seemed like an obvious choice as I'm a sentimental ol gal and this is the way I describe My Guys eyes - Hazelnut Espresso, divine. So how did the cocktail measure up? Hmm, not entirely. My first mistake was thinking that I enjoy the taste of Espresso, which I clearly don't. I found the drink to be a little tough for my personal taste, like if a ruthless businesswoman was a drink - this is her. Coffee lovers will adore the strong roasted taste, I liked the playful nutty hazelnut but that's about it. Maybe best for a hangover pick me up.

1 Olive

Watermelon Cosmopolitan

Some people think the perfect summer indulgence is watermelon in the pool... I prefer a pool of watermelon... COSMO's! Lovely, light summer cocktail. I like em how I like my men - sweet and strong! Maybe a little too sweet for some and you can't have watermelon flavoured anything without it tasting ever so slightly like that roll up bubblegum you had when you were a kid. Unless you didn't. And then you haven't really had a childhood have you?

4 Olives

Tuesday, 16 October 2012

Shoes to Fill

The morning sun has this sneaky way of waking me up. Like a leg leering out the slit of a petticoat, it streams through the gap in my golden tattered curtains on a Sunday, when I have nothing better to do that swim for hours in a soup of slothful stillness.  My Guy isn’t stirred awake by much, and I selfishly cover his face with a thousand kisses until the creases by the corner of his eyes flatten out and hazelnut espresso swirls peer back at me from half under the duvet. I find myself positioning my hands as if they are about to "click" and take a snapshot of this moment so that I never forget it. Click.
The Egyptian cotton sheets we are wrapped in, make me feel like I am curled up in a cocoon of stability and opulence - you know that 'everything is going to be ok' sorta feeling. The truth is that the sheets were a gift from mamma bear and I know there are very few things in my apartment that are, in fact, mine. But, of course, for the delicious creature lying next to me, refusing to let me out of bed.
I put the kettle on and peruse Facebook, my real life Friends List Tabloid. All of a sudden I’m facing a timeline I wasn’t prepared to confront so early in the day, or in my life. With my news feed covered in the confetti of weddings and the coo-ing of baby showers, I can’t fight a niggly feeling that I might have missed my stop somewhere.
We do the word puzzle in the Sunday Times like a geeky cute couple and then decide to walk across the road to look at some of the apartments on show in my hood. It’s one of those warm, idyllic days and the road is lined with Jacaranda trees that stand at either side of us, listening as we talk about our dreams and ambitions. I look up at their dancing woody fingertips and ask that just for this moment, they let me get lost in the ridiculous notion that I may someday be one of those silly girls in a white dress too.
We step into the Architects apartment and give each other a silent “wow”. The price is R1.8 million. Swallow. Another silent “wow”. The New York-esque corner unit is beautiful with its wooden floors, white washed walls, open and industrial flow and vintage fittings. Sooner than I was able to call on logic and all things sensical I’m swept away... passed the brochure that tells of a R4000 levy, passed the hurdles of the first two years of a relationship, passed the first fight we’ll have, passed the confines of bank accounts, passed the tiresome search for my place in the world, passed the place he will one day put his hat up on. And passed all this, I vaguely allow myself to see us having a life together. Maybe, in a place like this.
I smile at myself and my childlike fantasies of playing house. I think back to when I was young enough not to fear this room in my head. When Barbie and Ken would go to The Ball and fall in love again every day. When I married Seany in the Wendy-house at the bottom of the garden and we took care of baby Jesus in his manger amongst a thicket of pine needles. When I was executive director of a million dollar fine dining franchise, serving Mud Burgers and Dirt Milkshakes with Kerri in Grade Two. When I’d walk around in my Gran’s fur coat and my mom’s high heels, ca-thumping with each step as my small and inexperienced feet tested a path I may walk along one day.
I lock the room again, and place the key somewhere high up where it isn’t so easy to reach. I don’t want to be tempted to go inside, not until time has allowed me to fill the space in those heels that still feel miles too big for me. Until the clumsy ca-thumping becomes an assertive click and the ground feels less like a waterbed and more like those gorgeous piney wooden slats lining the floor of unit 412, two streets down from my own abode.
“You're the first person I'm actually scared I could lose, Carly”
I don’t know why I love it so much when he says my name. Maybe it’s the same reason I love that we both hate roller coasters, that he always arrives everywhere whistling or humming a tune or that he says good morning and good night every day... even when we aren’t together.
"I guess the things we are scared of, are the ones most worth taking a risk for."
All my years of harnessing my craft as an actress and wordsmith are put to the test as I deliver the line without wavering. I’m not ready to let him see that underneath them, I’m just a girl walking around in shoes 3 sizes to big, hoping like hell I don’t fall on my face. That I’m as brave as a 5 year old on the first day of school or that in truth, I’m his already.
On the walk home, we pass through a sea of screaming toddlers and I immediately remember the thirteen vodka’s I’d had the night before. The door shuts behind us and we’re lured to our place on the couch to watch the food network and fall in and out of sleep all afternoon. Maybe I’m not at my stop just yet, but what good would this maddening intrepid journey be without a kick ass travel partner to do it with in the meantime.