fashion victims

As part of my “take some fucking pride” campaign with myself, I have been taking an extra maybe 5 minutes in the morning to get ready. I can just about wear my pyjamas to work if I so wish, if I'm not out and about interviewing people. It would be dumb to wear my PJs, sure, but the thought crosses my mind every single day, as I awake to this cruel, cruel world.

I once dressed up when I had a hangover. You know, put my face on, threw on some earrings. And I swear my hangover was slightly less excruciating. So, I'm putting in almost as much effort with my general wardrobe in the mornings, as I do when I go out at night this year. No more just jeans and a jersey. And I'll actually brush my hair.

It's funny how our fashion foibles control how we leave our houses. No really. For instance:

I feel bi-polar if I put my bangles on both arms. They must either be on one arm, all chunky, and many, or I won't wear them at all. Martha Stewart has to wear a bangle on each arm, or gets panicked.
I never wear dangly earrings and a necklace at the same time.
I don't leave the house without at least one over-the-top ring on one of my fingers.
If it's white – and I have a lot of white in my cupboard – it's nearly always cotton.
I don't wear a watch anymore.
Pink and red together makes me feel like I'm tripping - in a a good way. If it clashes, I'll probably end up having a productive day.
The only nail polish I wear is red. On my fingers. They've been red since June last year. I'm naked without the red.

I honestly feel very out-of-sorts if this dressing ritual isn't kept to. Perhaps I'm obsessive compulsive. Do other women do this?

In other news, I'm a cheap date now. And 747 is also a cheap date, so really, it's a win-win situation.

For example, dinner at a restaurant last night:
medium rare steak, drizzled in pepper sauce, potatoes, and sauteed veggies A falafal.
Three gin and tonics A tonic water with ice and lemon.
A bottle of Fat Bastard (the shiraz) A tonic water with ice and lemon.
Creme brulee Five thousand packets of sweets, (body parts, fireball jawbreakers, watermelon gummies) and eight chocolates.
Filter coffee Green tea
A movie maybe, something light hearted like Horny Housewives 2 – The Uncut Version A documentary on the Crime & Investigation channel on the abduction of Pakistani children. Depression, how you old friend?

Total: around R500 around R200.

We both having a problem with outrageous sugar cravings and stuff at the moment. Can't get enough, and I'm not a chocolate person. Usually I go months without chocolate quite happily. So this is a bit strange.
This weekend will be the Big Test. It's been 11 days of Sobriety Club. But with housewarmings and dinners heralding on the horizon, the weekend nights are when Sobriety Club will seem overrated.
But I'm feeling so clear of mind and so full of restraint, you don't wanna fuck with me. So drink away in front of me – I can't wait to see what I (used to) look like after 8 tequilas.

dein beginning das 2008

Happy New Year everyone!
I hope it's gonna be a goodie. Without too many glitches along the way.

Speaking of glitches – this year's started with a rather unfortunate spate of the former.
An interesting few days spent on the Vaal River at Moogs' holiday place, with Mr 747.
Moogs' whole family was there, with their tiny offspring. Plural thereof. I settled neatly into the role of being Aunty Peas: “OK, who wants to wear my mood ring kids?”
Me, me, I do, I do!
“OK, go and fetch Aunty Peas a gin and tonic and we'll talk about it.”

Nostalgia, of when I was au-pairing seven children in rural France.

I rather liked being Aunty Peas. I've started calling myself Aunty Peas in the third person now. Even to myself, without even knowing. I've settled into the role of the crazy family flake very comfortably. Although Aunty Peas is dabbling with sobriety at the moment, but [a lot] more about that later.

The kids were cute, and Aunty Peas could hand them back when I was done talking about Barbie dolls and how one needed to do a pooh. (“Ah but Natasha....girls don't pooh. Remember that sound advice from your Aunty Peas.”) We got to sleep on a tent in the lawn – so although not miles away from Joburg in some tropical Millionaire's Mile setting where men in vests discuss their credit limits, ah no. We were in the “wild outdoors.”

Aunty Peas and her lover even took daringly, wild midnight pees at 2:00 o' clock in the morning.

But let it be said, nature is fucking loud hey. Birds frigging tweeting three sheets to the wind, never shutting up, never stopping the endlessly repetitive trill. Dear God, they make a bloody racquet. Aunty Peas is used to other noises, not this natural stuff.

One little dude asked where “my uncle” was - who had left to play golf with Moogs before sparrows had even begun thinking of farting.
“My uncle?”
That man sleeping next to you with the curly hair.
“Oh, right. You mean Uncle 747. He's gone to whack a ball with a stick somewhere, and Aunty Peas is [trying to] lie in.”
Why you lying in?
“Because Aunty Peas is hungover.”
Oh. Can I jump on Aunty Peas?
“My boy, if you do that, Aunty Peas would die on impact. You don't want her to die do you?”
But it would be fun!
“It would be dreadful. I'm counting to three. One, two...and you don't want to make Aunty Peas angry....”

It was nice to chill with Moogs again on his river. So, so nice.
We witnessed a Great Dane taking a well-executed dump in the middle of lawns of Stonehaven Country Estate. Adjacent to the marquee where people we getting married. In turquoise, might I add.

But 2008 started on a very, very serious note. It kind of all came to a head, lots of things. And whether relative to those around me and their responsibility in it, I have things that are in need of desperate attention. Just for me. And Aunty Peas' frazzled nerves. (“Fetch Aunty Peas her little white pills, the t-r-a-n-q-u-i-l-i-s-e-r-s, please my boy.”)

Amongst this public display of being a hippie-centric non-relative aunt.

Aunty Peas has finally had enough of her patterns, and her lifestyle.

A few things need to be fixed. I'll begin with giving up alcohol. I don't know how long for, it could even be indefinitely. I klapped a couple of rock shandys at dinner last night, and was annoyed to find it wasn't cheaper.

To cut a long story short, I am emotionally exhausted. So this year I'm focusing on me. And my peace of mind. And my confidence.

Those are my New Year's resolutions. My backyard needs to be relandscaped.
I'm putting the 'awe' back into awesome; the 'funk' back into dysfunctional.