Who Put That There...

I was driving along all merry and content this morning, en route to work, flirting with Buff Neighbour (BN) in his fancy wheels who paced me for 8 km on the N1.
Fun times...

Now, my little car, she has no stereo... because I’m flat against nourishing SA’s crime problem with yet another set of speakers and front-loader. Three times is sufficient enough thanks.

I’ve made alternative arrangements and prefer to plug in and listen via the ‘lil ipod.

This also gives me an excuse to blatantly ignore bikers, “because I couldn’t hear them coming”

So with shuffle mode on, and massive flirt in progress, I sang along to some ABBA, Cinematic Orchestra, and all 9 minutes of Greendays Jesus of Suburbia.

FYI – my favourite snippet is 5:28 into the song...

Thereafter came the shocker!

Who the hell put Backstreet Boys on my ipod...

And why could I not bring myself to press “NEXT”...

The Music Video of Your Life...

One of my favourite quotes of all time is this:

Life is a music video; make sure yours is worth watching....

But what would my music video actually entail?

I know there will be NO 50’s stereotyped sequences of pregnant Crashlett, barefoot in the kitchen...

Instead, it will take the form of a cute and crazy looking little girl in a pair of too-big killer red heels, polka dot dress and skinny leather jacket; running around in circles with her hair flaming on fire...

Shot in de-saturated black and white, with technicolor dream sequences, filled with chocolate and candy canes, fluffy things, bubbles and wide open spaces where only tulips grow in black.

And the song that would play in the background? Well now that’s still TBD...

All I know, is that the baseline would carry you off in waves of euphoria, and the guitar riff would electrify your soul...

The Learning Never Ceases...

As I mature I’ve learnt a few things in life :

I’ve learnt that you cannot make somebody love you. All you can do is stalk them and hope that they panic and give in...

I’ve learnt that you shouldn’t compare yourself to others; they are more screw up than you think...

I’ve learnt that the people you care about in life are taken from you far too soon, and the less important ones never go away...

I’ve learnt that you can keen on vomiting long after you think you have finished...

And so the learning continues....

Driving Miss Daisy Batty

The boss  encountered car trouble this morning, so being the good citizen I am, I offered to lend a fake nail clad hand.

This involved me dropping IT off at the “one stop car shop”, during lunch to fetch their wheels.

Now, I’m usually up to assisting in such regard, but please people, when you get into my car – at least know where it is that you want to go.

It makes life easier If I can input it into the GPS and have Basil direct me via the bustling streets of the CBD at lunch, when everyone but their great aunt is on the road.

Do not –  I repeat, do NOT get in my car then  ohh and aah about which roads it is that I need to drive down, up or around. Not when the city is made up of one-way confusion zones.

Even better – when I ask where are we going – just tell me. Don’t say “no it’s ok – I will direct you”. Already I’m starting to wriggle in frustration.

So I spent 49 minutes of my precious lunch hour, driving around the CBD, in somewhat circles, because you couldn’t remember which road it was we were supposed to turn down! Aaaggggrrr!!

The actual distance it should have been was 1.6km. Instead, I clocked up 49 minutes of round-a-bout site-seeing.

And the absolute kicker... the bit that boils my blood over is this:

I raced back immediately to work, cracked open my lunch and was not even half way through inhaling my food, when you walk in, and comment in my vague direction : “isn’t lunch time over?”

Unleash the Cavewoman...

I’m not much of a girly girl at all!
In fact – I view myself more as a tomboy in heels. (heels only when necessary), otherwise I’m quite comfy in jeans, footie boots or playing in mud. Toit leather jackets suit me far better than dresses ever could...

But that’s not to say that I’m opposed to good hygiene and common decency to match my socks should I choose to wear any.

Nope......

But my ego is a little bruised and fragile, and I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to feel this way.

I have an acquaintance, from who I get the distinct feeling – thinks I’m superficial.

His perception oddly hurts!

Why I give a shit – is beyond me. Feel free to shed some light here readers....

So what if I choose to indulge in some of the rarities of female obsession that us woman (the better sex) are afforded.

Like the occasional massage, manis and pedis, GHD’ing my locks (see how I now use that as an actual verb/action – bliss). Besides – I’ve lived with men who owned a GHD before I ever did.

Stellies art students are a different breed!

I’m a woman – not a cavewoman!

I’m allowed to shave my pits. (although I personally feel this should be a general societal expectation, not an option)

I’m allowed to have false nails. – In my case they are maintenance free.

I’m allowed to hide a blemish under a mountain of MAC on a “fat day”.

I’m allowed to smell nice – although I’m yet to meet a man I’m keen on who ever compliments on this.

After all – the trackie pant and frizzy hair look went out in the 80’s... (fashion police – please do not repeat this monstrosity)

With my ego bruised, I went in search of the advice of Metro Man, although only with a pinch of salt – as he rarely deals in anything but extremes.

His professional opinion: I’m not superficial... I’m just well groomed.

Well then it must be so.... (haha)

After all – do you want to date a cavewoman, or do you want to date a woman...?

Final Arguments; as they say in the courthouse:

If you saw what I look like when I wake up – you should be thanking the creators of MAC, GHD and Treseme.

Tina Turner and the morning Afro have NOTHING on me....

Tarting Up at the Office...

OK here’s the thing – I love to sleep. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before.

If you’ve seen my bed, clad in woollies imported 500 thread count sheets and down duvet – you will understand! Trust me – you will!

This invariably means that I race out of bed at the very last minute on most days.

Come to think of it, if I could go to bed fully clothed for the following working day, I would – especially if it would save me 5 minutes of staring into the darkness of my cupboard, wondering; black... or black india... hmmm – decisions.

Now you understand why I pee in the shower. It saves precious precious time.

(see Early Morning Multitasking - 9 March)

As you can imagine, my morning routine is a feat of timed precision.

Skilfully crafted to minimise effort – and designed to ensure that I get to work 52 seconds before my boss each day.

The insight I wish to share here is this: I don’t put on make-up in the mornings for work.

Why should I?

Not if I’m going to spend my days in the office surrounded by the fairer race of equally unconcerned lasses.

I only primp and preen in front of the mirror with a flurry of brushes, powders and puffs  if I intend to see clients first thing.

Instead I let my skin breath for a good few hours each morning, and then at 12:30 daily, I waltz on down to the ladies,  make up bag dragging in tow.

I don’t take 15 minute smoke breaks every 15 minutes, so why can I not be afforded the luxury of extended bathroom breaks. Who cares what I do in there....

And besides... the lighting in the ladies domain – is far superior to anything I have at home.

It’s like it was designed for this very purpose.

So I take my 15... and treat myself to some “me time”....

But this unfortunately does not limit the remarks or snide comments that only women can engineer, nope – it fuels them...

The standard remark: “And who are you tarting up for today?”

Crash: myself...

Vote Sushi for Productivity....

Had lunch with my family from the office today... Sushi!

Ok - so the 3 of us have lunch together almost every day... who's counting!

Today the plans began with back and forth emails of "the countdown begins" , "only 2 hours left" , or a personal favourite "I've hit #11"

#11 is in reference to a list of things that ring oh so true in life.

At #11 it reads: You never quite know when it's going to happen, but there comes a certain point in a day where you know that you are just no longer going to do any more work....

I should probably mention - that these mails started circulating at 10am...

Lunch involved copious amounts of terrific sushi, sharing with Metro Man as we are both averse to avo-covered sheep. They are horrid.

Glamour Girl loves sushi - but doesn't eat fish. Yeah - work that one out on your own...

Someone made the mistake of ordering a pink cocktail equipped with little umbrella, and as the rest of us have no ability to deny any drink that is served with an umbrella, we followed suit.

It's amazing how a little time out of the office can brighten ones day, and encourage productivity - upon return to the office, I archived my e-mails, and organized my iTunes album!

Now that's what I call productive!