Saturday, 20 December 2008

Dear Santa

Dear Santa

I know, it's been a while. So how have you been keeping? I hope those reindeer of yours are behaving themselves.

Anyway, it's 'that' time of year and so I thought you might be curious to know what I'm hoping to find in my stocking next Thursday morning. I'm really just trying to make your job a little easier. I've narrowed it down to a little list. Here goes, big guy.

1. Okay, first up I'd like a new car, though if that's a little awkward to pack on the sleigh, I understand. A Nintendo Wii will do.

2. I wouldn't mind some help with my credit card and overdraft, and by 'help' I mean clear. I'm sure a guy like you has some very good contacts and so if you can schnaggle it so that it's all paid up and sorted, I'd be a really, really happy camper.

3. Santa, I really need a GHD. My cheap-ass Clicks hair-straightener is ruining my hair and I have it on good authority that the only solution is to use a GHD, because that doesn't dry out hair. Please Santa, I've been a good girl (for the most part), oh please can I have a GHD?

4. Now here's one I'm sure you've heard before. Please can you drop off a cute little puppy. I'm sure the cat won't mind. She'll get used to it. While you're at it, I may need a bigger garden. And maybe a dog nanny to entertain the pooch while I'm at work (and pick up the dog poop. Gross).

5. Now Santa, I know you of all people understand the importance of travel and so I'm sure you can guess my next wish list pressie. I'd really love a trip to Ireland. Or New York. I can't decide which spot I'd like to visit first, so feel free to surprise me. Either way, it would be much appreciated.

6. This next one is more of a necessity than a 'luxury'. Please Santa, I need a domestic worker / char / maid / whatever the pc term is. Please send me somebody who will wash my dishes, do the laundry, make the beds, wash windows (and floors) and above all, CLEAN THE TOILET (bleuch!). Please Santa. I'm begging you.

7. If domestic help is too tall an order, I'll make do with a tall, dark and handsome, millionnaire volunteer firefighter with a proclivity for washing dishes, doing the laundry, making (our [hee hee]) bed, washing windows (and floors) and cleaning toilets. But I'm not too fussy. If he doesn't speak any English, that's okay with me.

8. I'd also like a new job. Preferably one close to home, with a huge salary and 'negotiable' working hours (ie. 3 hours a day). Can you swing that?

Okay big guy, I think you have enought to work with. Can't wait to see what you drop off. And don't worry, I won't forget to leave out some cookies for you. No milk though. You know I don't drink that stuff. But I'll leave the box wine next to the biscuits. Feel free to help yourself but please don't polish it all off. We wouldn't want you nabbed for drinking and driving...

Best regards and thanks a bunch,
Fluffy Pink Thing
x o x o x o

Friday, 19 December 2008

Watching out for the green flash...

'Headed off to Clifton 2nd Beach after work yesterday for sundowners with friends. Magic...

Thursday, 4 December 2008

Today's little pearl of wisdom

I learnt something quite valuable this morning. I learnt that no matter how rushed you are to get to work, you should keep an eye on the red flashy light thing that tells you when you are low on fuel. Because when you least expect it, you may find yourself stranded on the side of the highway.

Jeez. 'Not a good way to start the day...

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?

The older I get, the harder its becoming to live la vida loca on a school night, and still be a relatively well functioning person the next day. I miss those days when I could party all night long and still make it to work the next morning without looking like I'd been dragged through a dumpster. Regardless, there are times when there is no choice but to put on the big girl panties, bite the bullet and carpe the diem. Whoa, cliche overload. Anyhoo, last night I toddled off to see old-school rocker/crooner Rod Stewart, who was playing at Newlands' Sahara Park. Sure, he's a tad long in the tooth and more my parents' kind of taste, but nonetheless it was a great show.

We sat in the cheap seats. (Read: all the way in the very back.) But that was actually okay. Of course, he played all the old stuff, which was fab. There was lots of singing, dancing, arm-waving and concerty-kinda stuff going on, and by the time the Rodster packed up his stuff and left, we were pretty worn out. We also found ourselves with an insanely large bunch of Irishmen (who are in Cape Town for some or other house-building charity thing). Seriously, there were hundreds of them! And in true Irish style, they were all incredibly festive. And by festive, I mean loud. We had loads of laughs with them (very friendly bunch) and when Rod wasn't singing, the Irish were. I kid you not: it was like being at a football match! 'Danny Boy'... 'It's a long way to Tipperary'... all being belted out at top volume. Luckily, having folks who are both Glaswegians meant I knew the words to some of the songs and so I merrily joined in for a sing-song. Ah, good fun!

Then it was off to Kelvin Grove for a nightcap or two while we waited for the post-concert traffic to clear. Hence, it was a rather late night - not helped by the fact that they closed the gate on the other side of a school field we had to cross to get to the car. I tried to scale the fence but only got half way over. It was quite a drop and so changed my mind and went back the way I came. Needless to say, my 'dismount' was less than ladylike and today I have a couple of whopper bruises as a reminder. Live and learn.

Anyway, I crawled into bed at about 1.30 this morning and when the alarm went off after what felt like very little sleep, I wanted to cry. The powers-that-be at work knew that I was off to a concert, and so calling in sick would've been a little too obvious. Awoooo... I'm really looking forward to home time. I think I may eat dinner in bed. Hey, don't judge me. It's not very nice.

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