Tuesday, May 18, 2010

I Can See Clearly Now

I saw a clairvoyant today. It was an appointment sponsored by Meggy [after shoes I can barely afford food, let alone personal help] for helping her move. So I went to see Robynne [note compulsory extra letters for flair and mystery].
My future looks quite bright. Very bright, in fact. Did I need someone else to tell me that I will NOT die fat, alone and unsuccessful? Yes, I did. Right now it served simply as a nice little booster for a little girl feeling quite down and out.
But I am not going to believe every single word she uttered. Instead, I have kept the paper on which I jotted what she said, and we'll see what happens, shall we?
I can tell you, however, that there IS a future husband! Yes, ladies and gents, Lize is going to find someone stupid enough to actually 'for better or for worse' her. AND have kids [hopefully in the very distant future]!
Also, if you drive a charcoal grey car: lock your doors.
If you are a girl friend of mine and are not married: do not have unprotected sex.
If you do any action sports, be careful.
If you are blonde and your name begins with C, take care of your stomach.
AND if your name begins with N, A, T or S: hurry up with my good news already!
Don't get freaked out if you are any of the above. I am totally kidding.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Everything is Average Nowadays

Photo by Skillie.
Nina is officially in Taiwan. But that is a destination with quite the story behind it.
On Thursday night I threw a surprise retirement [read: farewell] party for her. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to organise a surprise party for someone who is sitting right next to you ALL THE TIME? Never ever have I ever told so many fibs, and there was a moment of panic when I thought that I actually could not get everything done on time, but it was worth it. The other problem [besides for catering, gifts, timing, planning, alcohol and and and] was that Nina knows a total of, like, three and a half people in Pretoria, so I had to invite all of my friends instead. But we did it. People actually pitched and Nina was actually surprised. So, Thursday was sehr cool. But Friday? Oh no.
Lize wakes up with quite the hangover. Whilst on bed [still in clothes from night before], I get a call from Supersport. Some of you may have seen me present on Varsity Cup? Well, my next gig was the FIFA Soccer World Cup. Yes. Me. I was the only girl, the only freelancer who would be presenting World Cup matches for Supersport. Added to this major career move was the fact that I would be doing news bulletins for four radio stations, a total of 3 million listeners. I was a bit excited.
Supersport: Lize, you're not going to love me, but I'm just the messenger.
Immediate reaction is panic, but I calm myself down and think, 'Maybe my clothing sponsor has pulled out. I can deal with that.'
Lize: ?
Supersport: You're no longer on World Cup.
Lize: ?!
Supersport: We think it would be better to take one of our guys. Someone who knows the sport inside out.
This sucks so royally. I did not want to write about this, but I'd rather do it this way than have everyone ask me about it individually when I do not appear on their television screens as threatened, and re-living it over and over and over again. So the last two days have been spent in a state of epic depression because I will definitely never ever make it in this industry, and will someday die a doggy parlour waitress who is fat and eternally single. Added to this was the frustration of executing the final steps to ensure Nina would be getting on her plane to Taiwan.
Lize: Excuse me, is there an Absa in this mall?
Mall info woman: The bank?
Lize: No, the ice-cream parlour, obviously.
So I spent my hangover in Absa and Forex, being annoyed by people because it is not bad enough that my entire career has just gone up in flames, everyone has to suck too. Blind zit the size of Kenya on my chin also not helping matters at all.
And then, of course, saying goodbye to my amazing friend. Nina and I quite despised one another at first, but it took just one Howard Roark album launch, an all-nighter and many stimulants to have us realise that we were destined to be BFFs. After one last cigarette and a shot of Kleine Keiler in the airport bathroom, we said goodbye. There were many tears, but I did it. This go-to gal got her friend on that plane, and now it is time for Nina's adventures in Taiwan. Painful as it was to say goodbye, I am excited for her.
After saying goodbye I walked through the airport for approximately 3 days [slight exaggeration] looking for the parking lot that contained my car, unable to decide which is worse; walking around crying with make-up streaming onto my collarbones or walking around with sunglasses indoors. It was The Hero and The Mermaid to the rescue though, and The Hero, as well as my mother, told me something along of the lines of 'the sun will shine again tomorrow'. To this I replied that I bet it wouldn't, that tomorrow would be rainy and miserable and I would die in my sleep of sadness and fail.
I am tired beyond belief after a day of helping Meggy move into her new place, driving a bakkie that is a full-body workout with every gear change, after getting into bed at 4am. But the sun shone today, and I did not die in my sleep. So, at least for now, my story will be continued.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

She Took The Midnight Train Going Anywhere

On Tuesday night, Nina arrived on the Intercrap from Windhoek. Six hours late, and after reading many a tweet about Nina’s ‘Future Husband’ she had met on the bus, I picked her up. As well as Future Husband and his friend, and we went for drinks. Cheers to making new friends! And yes, we approve of Future Husband: he is about to qualify as a medical doctor; he has just spent seven months working at hospitals and animal rehabilitation centres in Africa; he is joining the Dutch air force in August; and he is totally gorgeous- a real Aryan, but with cool scars from cheetahs and such. He plays chess with strangers on the bus, he loves cheese, he counts cards and he really, really looks you in the eye when in conversation.
Alas, the fun had to come to an end as the next morning was an early start. Nina was set to fly to Taiwan on Friday. By Wednesday morning she was still sans Visa and any clue what was going on. I swiftly took the position of personal assistant, chauffeur, mother and friend. I also bunked class for her, but seeing as this happened all the time at Stellenbosch, it felt just like the old days.
It was a day of banks- getting a new card, setting up internet banking, setting withdrawal limits, getting statements, stop orders. It was a day of gathering information- flight details, Wikipedia’ing the town. And then there was misc- photographs, invitation to the country, forex... Five hours later we got back in Peter [my car] and headed off to the Taiwanese embassy. Sans GPS and avec traffic like I have never seen before, we found it, and arrived only three hours after Visa applications had closed. But they took pity on us [I think they could see that I was so hungry I was about to eat Nina] and after something along the lines of ‘you look tired. Sit down and I’ll do everything for you’, Nina has a Visa. Yes, she is going to Taiwan tomorrow. We’re not sure where exactly, but go she will!
So, I [well, we] pulled it off. There were many mini dramas in between, but her big adventure is about to begin. And I got to thinking about this whole ‘go-to gal’ thing. So maybe I am not a professional shrink, or a legal advisor, and maybe my relationship history is one big fail. But maybe, just maybe, I am a good enough friend to be able to help. Not because I can, but because I really, really want to.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Gym... 'As in, Morrison?'

So, I woke up knowing that today is that historical day of the Gym Debut. Yesterday I went gym-clothes shopping. No one warned me that all gym clothing is apparently hideous. Anyway, after much searching [and buying non-gymmy styff along the way], I settled on plain black stirrup leggings which, if I absolutely hate gym, can be worn under normal circumstances too. They call this a 'sound investment', I think.
That was about the most interesting part of yesterday, after which I came home to finish my assignment. And in the few hours I sat in front of my laptop, I received approximately three million phone calls. When did I become everyone's go-to gal?! Okay, I get that you might call me to find out how much cover charge is at whatever gig [even though I never pay cover and even though you have Facebook!]. But now people are calling me about all sorts of other problems for advice. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my friends dearly and would love to help. But asking ME for relationship advice?! The love of my life is GAY! Okay, so he was my standard six boyfriend and I very stupidly thought we would be together forever, but still. I have more failed relationships under my belt than John Mayer has one-night-stands. And money!? I have never managed to get by with my allowance until the end of any month. Ever. You could pay me double, in February [of a non-leap-year] and I still wouldn't make it to March. I budget for shoes before electricity. So, much as I am both flattered you would come to and desperate to help you, my best advice would be to do what Lize would NOT do.
Anyway, so this gym debut. Everyone on Twitter kept telling me that it doesn't matter what I wear. That, my friends, does not compute. I'm not going to try exercise in Burberry tights and high heels, but I would like to look at least a little bit cool [in an effortless kinda way] while I get all sweaty. I mean, my odds of dying alone are way high [once again], and what if I actually do meet someone at the gym [heaven forbid]? If this were to happen, I would like very much for him to be struck by my effortless cool. Something along the lines of white leg warmers, black tights and an oversized Diesel boyfriend jersey, y'know? So, after searching furiously for the perfect, totally effortless-looking oufit, and then searching furiously for the actual gym, I took a dance class and did some work on the treadmill. I felt pretty good afterwards too. Not exhausted beyond walking ability, but kinda bouncy. Endorphins! It's not sex, but I think the gym and I might become good friends soon.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Skinny Love

I am an odd girl. I say this not because I think it makes me sound cool and -interesting, but because of one phenomenon. You know when girls are sad [because of boys], they just sit in front of the telly [or in bed] and eat ice cream straight from the tub [after tub after tub] with a spoon whilst throwing bits of bread and other dry, carb-loaded food at whatever sop is on screen? Well, I do not. Firstly, I only like the Woolies Madagascan Vanilla Bean ice cream, and Haagen Dasz. And secondly, I do the opposite. When I am sad, I do not eat. Well, hardly. Talking to a friend about my recent heartbreak-causing event a few days ago:
Me: My appetite is mucho absento at the moment. I don't know where it's gone, but I think it should stay there.
X [he's not my ex, his name starts with X]: I lost 8kgs in 2 weeks with my last break-up.
Me: What?! Yes! I'm excited now!
So, my heart sucks but soon, hopefully, my body will not and I will be wholly love-handle free. See, I am fairly thin and all that, but my love handles irk me. They are bigger than my boobs. This is NOT right.
Anyway, tomorrow I make my gym debut. I went to a gym once to sauna, and another time to join. But I have never really utilised the gym for its exercising purposes. I have an invite to Virgin Active and tomorrow morning I am taking a dance class. This is way overdue. I used to do horseriding [which is obviously not oodles of fat-burning, muscle-toning exercise judging by some of the whales who submit their poor horses to carrying them, but it is more than most people think], and that was enough for me. But these days, shopping is my cardio. Yesterday, shopping for Mum's Mother's Day present, I go looking for this pashmina I have been eyeing out for weeks now. It is not there. So, in a frenzy of desperation and self-loathing for leaving it so late, I whirlwind into every other store until I find something similar. On the way I buy stuff for myself too, obviously [I am starting to realise that I have one times gross spending problem.] So, finally, I rush back t my car and start wrapping it hastily [as am now quite late for lunch] only to discover it has a hole in it. Run all the way back to store.
Me: Sorry, this pashmina I just bought has a hole in it.
Assistant: Really?
Me: No, I just felt like running all the way back here because, as you can see, I need the exercise.
I don't why people think I am joking about such serious things! Like when I expressed my shock last year on Twitter when a Stellenbosch student died of swine flu, and some chick replies with 'Really?!' No, I just like to joke about death and such. I phoned his parents too, to see what they would say. Daft cow.
But I digress...
So, maybe it is time I find another kind of exercise. Em has told me more than once that I WILL be fat someday when I'm older, so maybe I should shock my body with exercise now, before it's old and dies of heart failure at the sight of a dumbell [or whatever those are called]. I agree with Kate: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. I like skinny, and I am never going to have big boobs [seeing as all my weight just sinks down to my love handles], so I may as well by boobless with killer legs, rather than boobless and kinda squishy. Ick.
So, stay tuned. I have a funny feeling that I will be in much pain on Wednesday, and you will hear about it. For now, I'm off to go buy gym clothes. Now that DOES excite me...

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Jou Ma Se Dag

Sorry this post is so late, I have been very busy doing nothing.
So, this was going to be a funny "yo' mama"-type post, but no. I actually think my mother deserves much credit. Not only did I turn out quite well, I am also not the easiest person ever. Arguably. My mother has two Leo daughters who are VERY Leo-esque, and she is a very sensitive, soft-spoken person. Basically, I get annoyed [ergo aggressive, as is my nature] because she gets emotional, which makes her get more emotional, me more aggressive- you get the idea. But I do love her, I do owe her very much [including good skin; as a child I was yanked out of the ocean every ten minutes for yet another layer of sunscreen, and to this day I wear sunscreen every day. Yes, even in winter. Yes, even in winter in Cape Town.] and she is very beautiful [duh.]
That said, I sometimes have my bratty 'no one loves me' moments, especially when it comes to her dogs. She has five, and I love four of them dearly. But then there is BB, which is short for Bella Beautiful. She is not very beautiful. I swear she gets uglier by the day! Every time I think it is impossible, this rat in Dachshund's clothing is more manky looking. She attacks everyone, barks at everything and generally adds nothing to anybody's life. On my first holiday back from university in Stellenbosch, I was actually quite sad to be leaving home to go back to varsity. This is a notable moment in the history of Lizeland, since I got homesick maybe once in my five years of boarding school. So, I'm sitting at the breakfast table.
Lize [avec sorry face]: 'It's pretty sad that I'm going back today. Won't be back in two months...'
Mum [not even looking at aforementioned daughter]: 'What's wrong with BB?!'
Lize: 'Yup, I know. It is tragic, my leaving and all.' [See? Nobody loves me!]
So, BB had to be rushed to the vet, and my stepdad took me to l'aeroport. Turns out when BB got to the vet, she was running around and feeling quite alright again. The bitch hates me, and will do anything to steal all of my well-deserved attention.
So, today I got to thinking about mother-children relationships. The woman spawned me 21 years ago, it makes sense that she would have some kind of connection to me that means that she does, in fact, know best. But a few days ago I texted her something along the lines of 'of all my boyfriends I've had, which one could you see me with long-term? Like, serious, and long long term.' At first she wanted to know why I asked, but I couldn't go into the detail of my countless failed relationships and the fact that the love of my life [grade 8 boyfriend who I was convinced would be with me forever] turns out to be gay, so I just said 'Because.' She's quite used to this answer from my teenage years so, no surprise, she accepted is. And she answered that the person she could most imagine me with is... The Cyclist. The first and last cyclist ever to be my boyfriend. Don't get me wrong, I dig the sport and all that but I will never date a cyclist again. Never ever. Because besides for the 04h30am wake-ups [on the weekend!] to sit in a place where nothing is open [ergo no coffee], and see him for a total of fifteen seconds as he races past, it is like dating a girl. Well, I imagine it is. I have actually never dated a girl. Cyclists are always on diets. And I really do not need to be told 'don't eat that, that's the bad part.' Dude, I know it is. I'm drowning my sorrows in a duvet of fat because my boyfriend's body is a bajillion times nicer than mine [gross exaggeration]. That said, you may also refer to The Jock as The Arse. Sweet Hitler's panties, the boy had a body worth drooling over. The Jock was a nice guy and all that, but ultimately we moved in very different circles, lived at very different levels of ambition [Lize: 1 000 000 ; Jock: 3] and had nothing to talk about. So, we broke up. And he took it really badly, blah blah blah, I felt for the guy but there is little of me [read: zero] that pines for him.
So, the question of whether mum really knows best is potentially unanswered. I can tell you that I will never take shoe advice from her, and that she hates my hair short [while everyone else loves it. Or maybe they are all lying to me.] Maybe sometimes I know best, because surely that connection might go both ways? That said, I owe her a lot. I owe for her good parenting, and where I felt it was not so good, I got material for a 21 year-old textbook on how not to raise kids. Joking! She wasn't that bad. In fact, she was great. And she still is.
So, thanks, Mum. And I love you.