Oh you do, do you?

“Don’t judge me…” says my friend as we are driving along on our way to breakfast. “No sure, who did you sleep with?” I laugh and wait for her to tell me. “No man!” She shrieked outraged but also laughing at my reaction. “I go for Botox…”.

“Really?” I said, and thought to myself jeepers miss money bags “Isn’t that ridiculously expensive?” “No not that much, R600.00” Really? I thought, that’s not bad at all, considering a fucking half a head of colour and a cut costs you R900.00 these days.

So Botox has become relatively affordable… If you, like me have been living in the ark, this is news – I had no idea. “I go ever six months or so, and I don’t use much, it’s not like it’s my whole face” It lasts for six months? Where have I been? Or have I always had a warped perception of Botox and how it works.

So let’s do the math, let’s say it costs you R 600 and the effects, which are paralysed facial muscles, last for six months, which means that you are “investing” R100 per month in your youthful appearance. I’d say it was quite worth the money spent, and I suppose prevention is better than cure.

It all sounds perfectly reasonable to me, but still I can’t see myself having it done. Why, I wondered… A little voice in my mind quipped “Do you want to be like THOSE fake women with no expression… Wha wha wha” Then I shushed the little voice, I had not even noticed that my friend of 10 years had been using the stuff. I guess perhaps it’s because I know her really well, so I can read emotions and reactions in her voice and eyes, without the aid of a furrowed brow. She is definitely not one of those stereo typical, duck mouthed, and plastic pumped creations.

Do we play into the hands of feminist fundamentalists, the same women that make stay-at-home moms feel shit because they are not climbing the corporate ladder, the same women who make swimwear models into brainless bimbos just because they make a career out of modelling bikinis.


Why shouldn’t we use the recourses available to us, and why should we feel subject to judgment when we do make use of them? I believe that moderation is the key, and maintaining a healthy perspective will make the transition into old age seamless and graceful. I’m pretty sure Sofia Loren has used more than spaghetti to stay as stunning as she is, yet she doesn’t look like the crazy deformed cat woman. She still looks creepily much like the 1990’sversion of herself.

It’s your choice what you need to do to maintain yourself, however do keep in mind, I’ve been told that once you pop, you can’t stop…



So many thoughts and ideas course through my mind on a daily basis, like little people at a train station, they stand on the platform waiting for the next electric bolt to come past so they can catch a ride to the current thought in my mind, which gets displayed like a large screen in times square in front of my mind’s eye.

Buy Coldplay tickets… Exchange the bra I bought from Woolies…Call Fran…I’m hungry…How much water have I had today…Who decided which side of the road we should drive on in South Africa…They guy on my September Cosmopolitan calendar is not hot enough to be on a calendar…Conan was really good but quite 80’s…If we are made from the same matter as star dust why can’t we float…etc.

There are frequent travellers like” I must drink more water” they get on the train many, many times a day. I get so tired of thinking that, when I notice I’m thinking that I feel like jumping out the window.

I also like to run through my little “to do” lists frequently, I sometimes feel that if I could only stop making lists I could actually get the things on the lists done. I have had my Nike + connection thingie for my iPod for 3 months now… I have not yet calibrated it with my shoes – Nor have I gone for so much as a walk. Never mind a run.

Procrastination, they say, has saved many people from rash actions and decisions… It has turned me to stone. One has to wonder what it is that makes one procrastinate, is it fear of running out of things to do, fear of accomplishment? Is it fear at all? I would rather colour code my magazine collection than go shopping after I’ve gotten home from a day’s work.

I have found myself making up excuses like “I have to wash my hair” to avoid having to leave the house to have drinks with my friends. I would much rather, dare I say, exhaust the hard drive.

I can’t quite put my finger on it but I suspect that this sloth like “I want to be alone in my nest” behaviour must have something to do with my daily thoughts, or the weather… global warming? A tropic mind disease?

I think we are over stimulated by all the daily activities that we face, “what’s on your mind?” over here… and tweet about that there… “Like” this and win a portable water cooler… All these prompts have my mind rocking itself back and forth in the foetal position.

Combine all those thoughts, “Do I “like” the portable water cooler?” “I must tweet about the shoes I’m wearing today” then add in the thoughts that you need to think “Am I hungry?” “Am I cold?” then throw in a tad of business calculations, a splash of worry about where you’ve parked your car… If that’s not enough, why not chastise yourself for not exercising or perhaps wonder about what to make for dinner tonight… It genuinely leaves you with just about enough energy to wash your hair, and get into bed.

I am literally tired of thinking, I wish there was an off button. However it seems that if you push thoughts or feelings away they just come back with more of a running start and bash into you even harder to try to get your attention.

Meditation…Calm your monkey mind… Yes. That is all fair and well, if your monkey mind, is in fact a monkey mind and not an elephant mind with monkey agility.

This week I have decided to give myself a break, I am going to let all my thoughts run buck wild, wild and free, I am going to think those thoughts and let them wash over me, tumble me like a big wave…

However I have made some rules (Give me a break, everybody needs rules, even free running thoughts, running like wild naked things on a beach in Brazil)

My first rule is –  No Twitter, not even once, for a whole seven days.

My second rule, as you could have guessed is – No Facebook, nothing, not one ounce of facebookness.

Then, strange as this may seem, my third rule is – No Groupon. I have decided that I will have a Groupon free week, as I tend to pick little arguments with myself about why I should or should not buy a laser peel facial for ZAR 162.00, no more fighting with myself over nonsense.

My aim this week will be to think organic thoughts, thoughts thought freely and without prompting. Thoughts born of a mind with space to think. Who knows what great thoughts might come forth when there is more space to swing a proverbial cat. I’ll let you know if anything mind-blowing happens during this little experiment.

The McConaughey debate

Now, as with many delicious things, the name is hard to pronounce and people say it in different ways, there is the way I say it “Mac-con-nah- hay” (The right way) or the way my misguided friend says it “mac-gonna -hey” or you also get  “me-gonna -hue” and “Mac-coughney-hey” (The worst by far).  But as the saying goes, a rose by any (other) name would smell as sweet.

I watched the Lincoln Lawyer last night, our Matthew’s latest movie. He plays the role of a defence lawyer on a mission, his gangster lawyer swagger makes him sexy, but the movie has more to offer than just his pretty face… The plot is interesting and even old Ryan Phillippe (Whom I will admit I wanted to marry when I was 16, all because of cruel intentions) plays his part very well, and I for one hope to see him in more films in the future, kinda missed him… He is like the guy from Shakespeare in Love…. man, come on, his name was…. Joseph Fiennes.

However, I have digressed; we are talking about Matthew now. He has an excellent build, he really does have a nice body, and he does lots of sports so I assume he is naturally fit. While watching the film it occurred to me that he does not however have a generically handsome face, he has a rather odd mouth, but a gorgeous smile.

Upon closer inspection, he doesn’t have a specific facial feature that stands out, but it is the combination of his skin tone, nose and mouth, and his brow that make him perfect-looking.

My view has been strongly opposed by some of my friends, who simply think that he is nothing special, I must however point out that one of these girls think the Pete Doherty and Mick Jagger are to die for. Others prefer the more classic boring looking boys like Freddie Prince Jr or Michael Owen or Ronaldo… Myself I am more of a Johnny Depp kind of girl, and ashamed to admit perhaps even Nate or Chuck Bass. (But that’s because of the outfits in Gossip Girl)

Whatever your view is on Mr McConaughey’s physical appearance, no one can argue the fact that he has a feel-good factor going for him. He seems like a nice guy and he makes great romantic comedies and is very well paired with the beautiful Kate Hudson, my personal favourite with the two of them is Fool’s gold however how to lose a guy a 10 days was also very cute.

All in all I think he is pretty cute, then again, I think Jude Law is sexy, so who am I to judge (apparently)…

Check out the Trailer for Lincoln Lawyer

A Thought for Friday

So many things went down this week… We had the Local Elections on Wednesday, some people are happy about the results and some are very disappointed. The Stormers finally won a game this morning and loads of people are happy about that. The ugliest hat in history (PRINCESS BEATRICE’S HAT) fetches a price of £20,000 on EBAY – personally I think this is atrocious.

And in other news, we could or could not have the rapture taking place at some point (the time is speculated to be 6:00 pm) tomorrow, and folks have been getting pretty serious about the whole thing – God save us.

Amidst all the chaos I found myself thinking about a piece of writing from one of my favourite authors Tom Robbins, and I quote “Our lives are not as limited as we think they are, the world is a wonderfully weird place, consensual reality is significantly flawed; no institution can be trusted, but love does work, all things are possible and we all could be happy and fulfilled if we only had the guts to be truly free and the wisdom to shrink our egos and quit taking ourselves so damn seriously.”

I leave you with this though, on this beautiful Friday afternoon just like any other.



Last night I was walking down the street, barefoot. Every step I took on the wet tar made a strange, cold squelching sound. We have far more strength in us than we could ever imagine, the well is much deeper than you would think. This track is fast becoming one of my favorites, have a listen and take it with you this weekend… Crow like a rooster!

The open road | The path of greatness | It’s at your fingers | Go be the one that keeps on fighting | Go be the stranger |Just put your foot in front the other | Crow like a rooster | Be all and all | Together something | Fear is a danger…I say | Spill out on the streets of stars | Ride away | Find out what you are | Face to face | The windows are the perfect picture | They’re always changing | Go on get lost jump in the waters |When they are raging…I say | Spill on the streets of stars Ride away | Find out what you are | Face to face | Once you’ve had enough | Carry on | Don’t forget to love Before you’re gone | Spill on the streets of stars | Ride away | Find out what you are | Face to face | Once you’ve had enough | Carry on | Don’t forget to love Before you’re gone

The Bobby pin monster

On a morning where summer was supposed to be, the wind was whipping my hair across my face as I stood on the balcony trying to see the sea.

The sea had plans of staying in grey and melting into the sky which was grey too. My eyes were grey, to match my heart and some of the thoughts whipping with my hair, causing a sting that the hair alone would not have accomplished.

What does one wear on days such as these, my best suit of armour was in the wash, and I really just wanted to stay in my pyjamas.

After some tea and some bath, the negotiations start… “I’ll give you one sock for two bobby pins, bobby pin monster.” “What will I do with one sock…? I have many of each pair and you have no need for socks this morning, I say two bobby pins are more valuable than one sock”

“Then, I offer you six tears of frustration”

“I have no need for tears of frustration, I am not negotiating with anyone who will pity me, give me tears of joy, for those I have much need, to bathe in those would curl my toes.. And curly toes I need”

A moment alone, a dream, a lie.

Driving, thats what you do in Joburg. You drive and drive and drive. Drive from the airport, drive to Woolworths, Drive yourself to work harder, drive someone insane. Most of these thoughts occurred to me while being ushered around in a brilliant black VW Beetle.

The shining cimmerian princess and the stock broker frisking the dirty streets of Joburg for proper company. As the world swam by in a rush of colour, it felt like watching a fast moving film reel really close up, while Florance and the machines were castigating our ears and minds we drove and drove.

I was Lounging with my feet up on the seat, I leaned back to reach for the forlorn box of marlboro’s that had spilled from the mess that resembled my handbag. I fumbled cigarette and lighter, my hands shaking in testimony of the night before. That first double drag of a cigarette is always the best, like kissing someone for the first time.

The billowing smoke was causing a haze, I quickly wound my window down, the passing scene sucked the haze out the car to reveal yet again the passing Jo-scape. The cimmerian lit a sin, and the smell filled my body like water rising all the way up to my eyeballs. I read “Sms “BOOBS” to 34573 to win a set of INCREDIBLE ASSETS” , the add on the lamp post spoke to me in a male infomercial voice in my head. Win boobs, really? Jesus…

Every city block we passed seemed to have a suit or wedding dress hire shop embedded somewhere in its structure. We came to a stop at a red robot, I took a long drag, the sin burning in my chest the smoke curling around my fingers like a fast growing creeper. The wedding dress in the shop window came to life, doing a turn and curtsying to me then returning to her original stance.

Who would hire a wedding dress, I was wondering. Why would you hire a wedding dress? – Well the blatant reason would be to wear it to your wedding. Just then I started thinking about that dress as the person wearing it, hired for a special day, perhaps some part of a life time. Giving your best years to one, just to be returned, perhaps rehired in the future. Every time the dress gets tailored to fit the new bride, the next bride… One does that,  gets tailored, over and over again till you cant remember what you originally looked like.

My cigarette was almost finished, I could feel the heat closer to my lips every time I took drag. I hate the last part of a cigarette, I dislike the taste of it, hot and almost desperate. I brought the cigarette to my face, and looked at it for a moment, then to my mouth, I hesitated just then. I didn’t feel like it, but I want the smoke, it is disgusting….

Later that night we found ourselves at Steve Aoki in some warehouse in New Town, it reminded me of Harrington street… The loud music was electric, besides from the Lion King intro mind you.

The cimmerian was dancing, some guy next to her, clearly trying to impress her by dancing like a dead body with it’s last fits of life. Shaking my head and smiling to myself, I walked over to advise my client against any investment in such a poor commodity. The tequila had started doing it’s job, and I was feeling oddly mean.

I strategically put my dancing in between her and death, but he was to persist. It made me wonder, we would never make ourselves seem so foolish, and then it dawned on me that this guy was taking such a chance, and he didn’t care to seem foolish, I considered the prize if his investment payed out, very brave.

I remembered the last time I took a risk, the last time something went right… to be gazed upon in such a way, to feel like the sun glows from your skin at a touch. In that happy thought, I was suddenly shocked back into the present, back to the cynical me, when some tart dropped a bottle of vodka on the floor next to me, the alcohol burning disinfectantly in a little cut from one of the shards. Thank god, I thought, because for a moment there I could feel my heart beating.

The hit miss theory

“The Guide says that there is an art to flying,” said Ford, “or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”
Douglas Adams

This quote got me thinking… “throw yourself at the ground and miss”…. right. So flying would be tricking yourself into thinking you are okay with it if you hit the ground, but you are going to make a concerted effort to miss, because if one was not accepting of the idea that this whole “hitting the ground” vibe might very well happen, it is fair to say that “flying ” would not be considered in the first place.

Let me clarify, because I’m even confusing myself now. If you want to experience something and live, you need to take a risk, I believe there is no such thing as a calculated risk, because if you could truly calculate it, it wouldn’t be a risk. There are of course ways of bettering you chances, for instance, I recon you should never  swim in the ocean alone, or walk down a dark alley in Salt River alone, because if there’s more than one person, perhaps someone else will be eaten or stabbed or whatever. So yes, safety in numbers.

But alas, there are simply some things one cannot attend in groups. Falling in love, going overseas, leaving home, eating a BP pie… They are individual things.

Now how do you convince yourself that you will be okay with, oh lets say, breaking your heart, becoming a drug mule, losing your way, or having food poisoning. What, you convince yourself they payout will be worth it, you will be stronger and wiser if it doesn’t work out, you’ll lose 5kg’s in two days… I suppose it’s  not that difficult to convince yourself to leap off a cliff, and honestly, lately I personally have decided to not pay much attention to the consequences, to just close my eyes and hope for the best, and while I have the wind whipping past my face, and I can feel the fall, I just hope to god that if I do wipe out, that I won’t live to tell the tale.

What goes up must come down, they say. Fuck they by the way, if they didn’t say all those retarded things, it probably wouldn’t have to work that way. In any event, it stands to reason then, that what hits, must also miss. Now there is something to think about, you just want to synchronize your hit miss pattern in such a way that you miss the ground when it’s love, and you hit when it’s food poisoning, that way you will be in a reciprocated loving grownup relationship and lose 5kg’s, bonus.

So without the risk, there be no reward, and perhaps without having your heart-broken, you would never have had the courage to eat the PB pie after too much Patrone, causing you to lose 5kg’s, which in turn got you spotted by a model scout at the pharmacy which lead to you going overseas and once there getting lost and being found again by a lover who would cradle your heart, that is until you eat some dodgy over seas pies, gain a couple of pounds and he dumps your ass…. chance… ha! You have to try or you’ll never know.

Who the F@CK is JIMMY CHOO?

Let me just start by saying, that I love and adore shoes, Christian Louboutin, Jimmy Choo, Miu miu, prada, and of course Dior, and secondly that I have mountains of respect for the Jimmy Choo brand, and I’m sure he’s also a very nice guy.

Never before 2008 where all these beauties so close, but yet so far, in the beginning of the year for the first time in Cape Town, Jimmy choo opened shop in the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront mall.

The first time I walked past the shop (sorry… shrine of brilliance) I had memories from sex in the city flashing through my head, I saw choo’s in real life, for me, it was like a national geographic special of shoes in their natural habitat. Yet I felt no need to torture myself, knowing that one pair is as much as 3 months of my salary, so I walked on by, still nursing within me the dream of choo, “one day you will be mine…”

For about two months I had my curiosity chewing at me like a ugly dog, “Just one pair, trying them doesn’t mean buying them, keep the dream alive, set a goal” And so, after having braved Louis Vuitton one rainy afternoon, I finally felt I could face the god of shoes.

Before I continue, I have to mention that I was dressed more smartly than I usually am when I go to the waterfront because I had come from an interview.

Okay, so there I am, I walk in and… I am greeted by a very beautiful shop assistant, “Good afternoon miss, could I assist you in any way?”,  “hee hee, miss.” i think, “and yes I want to try those in a size 6 please.” oh my god I said it aloud! I almost wanted to close my eyes and wait for a loud noise of rejection, but it never came.

Ten minutes later, myself and a fellow shopper (whom I do not know from a bar of soap) are sipping cuppa-chinos and paging through a catalogue together, the nice stranger told me she was getting married in December and wanted a specific pair she saw on her last trip to London, fortunately they could order them for her. (All the while, all I can think is, wow so this is how rich people get sucked up to on a regular basis, awesome. I’ve never even received post from overseas, never mind ordered shoes.)

Eventually the afternoon draws to a close, and after about a hour of dedicated worship I sadly leave the fabled shrine of Choo.

The next day, armed with a new found familiarity, I decide to drag my mom to go and see the most beautiful pairs of shoes in the world, reluctantly, she lets herself be dragged.

I enthusiastically march into the shop, all my fears of rejection completely forgotten. The same shop assistant, looks away when I greet her like a new friend. “weird, maybe she didn’t hear me” I think, and greet her again, a little louder. Suddenly, she had a look on her face like the giant slab of blue cheese had escaped from the restaurant a few shops down.

Still, not deterred, I enquire after a specific shoe I tried on the previous day, again in a size six. So she puts on her best faux disappointed face and croons “ah no sweetie, we just sold the last pair!” (don’t call me sweetie, do I look like a sweetie?!) Then I ask if I could look at the catalogue and show my mom what they look like in there, so she goes “sorry, we don’t have a catalogue”

needless to say, after that the shrine looked like a Muslim place of worship, after the Spanish inquisition. I had a small tantrum, nothing Hiroshima like, more like the fat man.

My every girls fantasy, the fabled glittering shrine of Jimmy Choo, years of careful brand building by clever clever marketing people, all destroyed in the matter of half an hour, by some spawn of Satan, cow (who herself doesn’t even own a pair of jimmy’s – she told me the day before.)

The whole ordeal left me feeling a bit like Oprah after they were mean to her at Fendi, except I’m not Oprah, and I can’t see anyone from Jimmy Choo, let alone Jimmy himself offering me an olive branch on national TV, oh and priceless merchandise.

So I have a new god, Louboutin, and so far we have a great realationship, I’ve tried them on twice!

Summer in Cape town



No it is not a far fetched story like the tooth fairy, but Cape Town’s weather did go a bit Chronicles of narnia on us, winter has been going on for what feels like a lifetime. Seriously, rain in November, wind? a storm? it’s unheard of, until now.

But it seems like today we are finally getting a glimse of the summer we all know and love. You see the models walking around town, dressed all hip and bohemian like with their books, probably on their way to a casting. Film crews lining the already crowded streets of campsbay with their big yellow kempston trucks. Not a breath of wind. Bliss.

I think I’ll head off to Camps bay beach a little later on, go and stick my toes in the warm sand, go for a well deserved swim in the icy cold Atlantic.

With the thought of the beach, bikinis come to mind. I went bikini shopping earlier this week and found the most… er… interesting, choices. I discovered a dark turquoise Brazilian number, that needless to say, does not have enough material to really qualify as a bikini, its a different species really. Lets just say, you want it covered, not going to work. “Nice to tan in though, and why not? ” I thought then, so yes I now own a bra-kini, after all Brazilian girls have bigger bums than most south African women, so it should cover more on me than it was designed to.

But there are some seriously good stuff this season, just have a squiz at the South African Sports Illustrated swim wear addition 2008, awesome bikinis! Awesome location!

But sticking to cape town, summer also brings frivilous fabulous parties, jazz at blues and gold fish at la med every Sunday. Oh and also more that half of Johannes burg’s population.

This is the most super duper, amazing, yeay, wow time of the year.

Wish you were here, and I’m sure you do too!