Saturday Night

I originally thought that my life was rather sad earlier on, but now I'm actually just grateful that I am sitting at home on a Saturday night.

I'm working really early tomorrow morning. In fact I just set my alarm clock for 04h30. Lovely.

I could have pulled an all nighter, but I've done that before and it killed me. Never again.

I visited Blondie 2 today complete with flowers and donuts. Actually the donuts weren't a planned thing, but bakery smells are one of my favourites and it lured me inside. It wasn't my fault. I promise. Handy though - nothing like fattening but delicious comfort food after an operation.

It has been Laguna Beach Weekend on MTV and the two of us cuddled up (I was petrified that I was going to move too vigorously and hurt her stitches) all day and watched the show. It actually irritated me so much but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the drama and just had to know if LC was going to get back together with Jason or not. Oh My God!

They are so bitchy, shallow and superficial, but it's so entertaining that you can't help yourself. It also made me feel normal, human and intelligent. OK fine, it also makes me a little jealous of their gorgeous clothes etc...but still...

One of the guys threw one of the girls a surprise birthday party and afterwards he said: "Not telling my best friend about her surprise party was one of the hardest things I have ever had to endure in.my.life! Oh my God!!"

Blondie 2 and I killed ourselves laughing. Dude. People are dying and starving and THAT was the hardest thing you've ever had to endure. Seriously deep.

Man it was fun.

I got home today, poured myself a glass of Amarula Cream on the rocks (I had a craving) and mom was making a traditional South African dish called Bobotie. I cannot remember the last time Bobotie was made... Years have gone by I think. I've never really been a big fan of the dish, but tonight I particularly enjoyed it.

I have been uploading photo's onto Facebook, twittering, blogging, googling...you know? Just an average Saturday night :-)

It's nice actually...being at home on a Saturday. Either I'm in denial or I'm getting older, because I don't think the 16 year old Blondie would have been too impressed with that...it's a decade later and I'm looking forward to getting into my pink pj's, snuggling in bed with a cup of hot vanilla tea and my book and having an early night.

Sweet dreams

x

I'm PHAT!

I had one of the best weekends. I'd like to say that I partied it up VIP style until I pissed champagne, but instead I didn't move. Ok wait, I did but only for three reasons.
1. To go to the loo.

2. To go to the fridge.

3. To collect deliveries of health food.

I was exhausted on Friday - well, you read below so I got home and chilled. I watched TV and finally dragged myself to bed. On Saturday morning, I showered and instead of getting dressed, I got back into my pajamas. I can't remember the last time I did that!
I didn't get out of my pajama's until Sunday evening, when I showered and then put a new pair on. Lovely. I literally sat on the couch, alternating between writing on my laptop and watching the idiot box I lovingly call the TV.
Honestly, it was just the best. No make-up, no hair products and pure laziness. God it felt good.

I received an email from a pseudonym [of course] and it hit a nerve. It really, really did. I probably shouldn't be sharing this (considering that some of you know who I am) but I have had it and my blog is my place to vent. I just need to get this out!

The email basically says (in a nutshell - because it's a few paragraphs) that they can't understand how I'm in the industry I'm in when I am not "fat" but chubby. I'm not a good role model to women who want to get into this industry and blah blah blah blah.
{It did go on to say that they love my work and that they think I'm a natural talent etc...
Um...Thank you for the backhanded compliment then .}

I am fucking hurt. I should just shrug it off, have a good laugh (maybe a little cry) and then go about my merry way.

Let me set the record straight.

I have been diagnosed with sugar intolerance. I am border line diabetic and am doing my best to not become diabetic. Basically my body doesn't know what to do with sugar and instead of turning it into energy, it turns it into fat. I am left feeling lethargic and I'm left gaining weight.
I am not obese. I am just not your skinny size 0 and quite frankly I would never want to be.

Yes. I am in an industry that is image conscience. Um...I've been in it for a few years now so that would make me well aware. I am in this industry because I love entertaining. I cannot begin to explain how much I love what I do and I can't imagine doing anything outside of the industry. I get so excited to go in, do a good job and see how I can improve myself every.single.day!
The fact that it puts me in the public is rather overwhelming for me and I don't really understand it. My man once summed it up beautifully: "This is not Hollywood. We don't have celebrities, but we do have public profiles whether you/we like it or not."

A role model? No pressure. Don't you think a role model would be someone healthy, who has goals and is hard working and ambitious? I don't quite understand...are you saying that I'm not a role model because I'm not stick thin? Well in that case. Thank God!
If you're going to use loaded words like "Role Model", well then, I'd rather be a role model for young women who want to make something of themselves regardless of how they look. I'd like young women to look at me and think: I, too can do it! I too, can dream and have those dreams come true and I don't have to look a certain way!

It is devastating to me because I have put on several kgs and I can't quite seem to fit into clothes I used to. I'm a woman and I am personally very sensitive to this. Ask one woman if weight has ever been a hang up. 99% of women have hang ups about their weight, even Heidi Klum.
Has it hurt my self esteem? Yes. Not drastically but I. am. human. Trust me, I'd love to be the size I was and I'm working at it. Weight gain is quick...weight loss takes effort and it takes time if you want it to be healthy and stay off.
It's not great hanging around skinny girls at these functions feeling like a frump, but I'll never let my weight define who I am as a person.

I am irritated that I have never had to watch what I eat...perhaps to my detriment later on in life considering I have been diagnosed with this condition; and now I am having to. I am not used to having to make a concerted effort watching what I put in my mouth and it has been a bit of a shock. I struggle with it and it is a constant battle considering that I could be the President of the Sweet Tooth Society. No more sweets, chocolate, sugar, bread and so on...

Am I making an effort though? Hell yes! I want to be healthy and I want to do my best to prevent diabetes.
I am working my ass off in gym (boxing) and I am starting pilates/yoga.

I don't need to explain myself (after all of this) but I have had it. I'm tired of being called a Blob by tabloids. Fuck off. I am a person who has feelings.
Quite frankly this email has been the most judgemental, uneducated email I have probably ever received. It hurt me to the core.
I didn't respond. In these cases: "The best response is no response" - more advice from my man

This is a stupid post but it has made me feel better. I'll probably delete it tomorrow afternoon.

Oh and I've lost 4kgs so far, so bite me!

Handle the pressure?

I feel like that father pacing up and down outside a maternity ward. I am anxious and my heart has a very weird sort of beat. I feel like that love sick teenager who has a crush on a boy and waits by the phone. My heart nearly stops every single time my phone rings. I hate private numbers. I generally don't answer them, but I am now. I'm hoping for the call.
"Blogshell...we see potential in you and we're going to give you another opportunity. You've got it!"
Instead, it's the bank telling me I need to pay my credit card or some awful woman calling me to sell me vacuum cleaners. Planet Fitness Gym also called me to tell me all about their wonderful specials trying to entice me to join.
Every private number that I have answered has been everything BUT the call.
I can't take the pressure.
I'm trying to be as positive as possible after a very, um, interesting experience. The thing is, after the taste I got and the amazing amount of knowledge I gained; I just want to do more and more and more.
These are some of the thoughts running through my brain:
Calm down. Breathe. Stop looking at your phone like a crazy woman with darty eyes. Staring that hard at your phone is not going to make it ring. Just relax. What's meant to be will be. If it is your destiny, it will be. They're busy and that's why they haven't called. Maybe it hasn't gone into edit yet. Chill out. What if it has and they are all killing themselves with laughter. Maybe I'll see this on YouTube under the heading: "Funniest clips EVER of wannabe presenters."
Oh dear God. STOP IT NOW! Busy yourself - it's not like you don't have anything else to do! Focus on something else. Why haven't they called. You are pathetic.

And so on...

I feel like the biggest nerd ever. I cannot get over how pathetic I have been over this. No really. I am even embarrassed of myself. I can't tell anyone that of course...well, I can't say it out in words. Thank God for my blog. Really.
It's just that I want this so badly and I don't want to repel it either. Argh.
STOP IT.

PS> I am annoying myself. I can imagine how annoying it must be to read this too. I promise to blog later this afternoon about something lovely and fun. I am going to gym with Special K later and I'm sure there'll be plenty to blog about then.

Thanks for the vent.

Good time to laugh!

I had a TV interview today with the Garden Terrorist. I had to speak about my dog etc... it was cute. I, however, was very nervous for my dog to be in a new environment with 10 other dogs. He's very friendly, but with so much stimulation and excitement, he may get protective over me.

We arrived at the studio's and all was lovely, but they asked us to be there and hour and a half before we actual went on set. I didn't know this at the time. It was a mission trying to keep him still, calm and cool from the heat.
He was extremely well behaved and I was really proud of him, but as it goes, he started getting irritable plus he was over heating. I took him outside to try and get him to drink some water and maybe go for a wee. We walked around for a while and were finally called to go onto set.
As we walked inside, The Garden Terrorist just let out the biggest diarroeah shit I have ever seen in my life. The poor dude! I felt so embarrassed and tried to get someone to hold him (all 43kgs of him) while I try and clean it up. Charming.
This guy turned around (Thank God!) and said, "Don't stress. I'll do it!"
Well, I don't know what happened to me. I was so stressed from the whole thing and suddenly seeing this guy cleaning up liquid shit was just unbelievably hysterical. I felt like a mad woman. Laughing to the point that I there was no sound coming out of my mouth, I was doubled over and tears were coming out of my eyes. It was that nervous, uncomfortable, I-don't-know-what-to-do-right-now laughter and the more I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed that I was laughing, with him cleaning it up, the more I felt like I was going to wee.
I was finished, the minute he started gagging. I wanted to die from embarrassment but the tears of laughter flowed. I must have looked like such a bitch.
I don't know why I do that. I don't know why I laugh when I'm uncomfortable. It's a horrible vicious circle.
The poor thing. He was so well behaved but had had enough by the time we got onto set that all his training and manners went out the window. The poor host (petrified of dogs) was nervous and 4 of us had to sit on a couch with 4 dogs. They all started going for each other on "Live" TV. No cuts, no "please control your animal", nothing. All "live". "Live" because it's recorded as if it's live.
Live to tape is the correct expression. Apparently.
The Garden Terrorist (G.T) kept wanting to sniff the Husky and Great Dane, who weren't too fond of their butts being smelled, so they snapped, he snapped and I had to yank 43kgs back, nearly taking the host out.
I also don't know if I answered any of her questions correctly because I was so busy trying to tame G.T. Argh.
I couldn't wait to get him home. I was just starting to feel horrible about putting the G.T in this situation. It was all for charity and this was just the publicity around it. We haven't even done the actual event. Oh. dear. God.

Garden Terrorist

I was furious and so frustrated that I resorted to tears last night. I got home from Comedy Girl's place last night. We had finished off a bottle of wine, had great girly chats and finally called it a night. I was exhuasted and just wanted to flop into bed.

As I got home I noticed that the lovely tree's I had bought and placed in the garden to be planted were not sticking above the wall. As I got closer I found my dog aka Garden Terrorist, full of compost. He had trampled and destroyed everything. Everything. One tree survived.

The only good that came out of this, was that he distributed 3 bags of compost for me. Fuck, I was upset. I burst into tears. There was no sign of the Jasmine (my favourite thing that would have been in my garden!) and there were only a few things that were salvageable. The rest? Destroyed. The Garden Terrorist is lucky to be alive.

I am going for a spray tan tonight and yes, I've had them before and they work brilliantly on my skin. I can't lose 10kgs by Saturday night's TV show, so I'm going to mask it with a tan . I had to exfoliate my body and not use cream, deodorants or anything of the sorts. I ran out of my exfoliater so I jumped out the bath left a wet trail all the way to my kitchen, grabbed my sugar bowl and nearly killed myself on the way back. Slippery feet and tiles apparently don't mix. Who would've thought.

As red as....

I am blushing. I am bright red. Crimson red, Ferrari red, Fire Engine red. As red as a lobster, a tomatoe and a pom who's spent 5 minutes in the sun.
You get the point.

Murphy's Law struck again. I, of course, have to learn things the hard way! Dear Lord! Let me start at the beginning.

I went onto the TV set this morning and was instantly ushered to the make-up and hair room. I do not know why make up artists insist on putting dark, brown shades of lipstick on me. I understand our make-up has to look darker for it to stand out, but brown lipstick? No!
The worst thing is if you mention this, ever so honestly and nicely, you end up sounding like a diva bitch, anyway. It's really not the case but please. Stop putting me in brown. I don't like it.
Anyways, I then had to make my way to the set where the sound guy attached the microphone to my top. That is always awkward. The small mic basically needs to sit just above your breasts, preferably in cleavage.
I put the cable underneath my top and the monitor on the back of my pants, but that was when the dude had to adjust it near the twins. It's um...bonding!
We did the first part of the shoot and it was awesome. I had so much fun. We took a break so that the camera's could change batteries and tape etc.

I obviously, go to the loo. I brush my hair, hum (out of tune) a little, cough, blow my nose - I sound like an elephant having sex with a foghorn, get my make-up I've just rubbed off re-applied and walk back onto set. 5 guys are killing themselves laughing.
I think nothing of it, and move off to do some skinnering with Special K.
Our conversation is as follows:
B:"How do you think it's going?"
K:"I think we're doing well, but I'm a little irritated with how my make-ups been done.
B: "Me tooo!! I don't get it...why do they put brown lipstick on me? Argh!"
K: "No babe, you look great...look at my cheeks..."
At this stage, I felt the blood drain out of my face and then race back into the reddest of red blushes.
I looked in horror at Special K, pointed at her chest and mouthed: "Our mics are on!"

Fuck!

There is just no getting out of that. We are bitching and we are busted.
We then make things worse (trying to make things better) by then saying (not obviously...nooo!!)
K: But, I mean... I guess, we're just, um, being mean! I could never do my make-up this nicely!"
I'm now dying at how this is just getting worse, but panicking because I need to say something so I say: "You look amazing! We should get lessons from this woman."

Oh. My. God! How false could that be? And the "False Award goes to....*drum roll* The Blonde Blogshell!"

Kill.me.now.

We walk in, sheepishly, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. I suddenly realise that the camera's aren't filming and that not one of the sound guys, directors or anyone else has a pair of headphones on.
Does this mean we're in the clear? Did no one hear us?
Say it IS so!

I couldn't take it anymore, so I asked and held my breath waiting for the dreaded answer.
"We heard your bathroom antics, your bad humming and your coughing and spluttering!" He was clearly amused by this.
"So...you didn't hear anything else?"
"No, why? Were you gossiping?"
"No..." Paranoia sets in, "Why? Why would we be gossiping? Why would you ask that?"
"We've caught a lot of people out like that, but we were all doing things, so no one had the headphones on."
I let out a thankful sigh of relief that no one had heard our bitching, but they heard me pee and they heard my nose blowing that could scare small children.

I am still blushing and I've learnt the biggest lesson ever. Switch your mic off!!

PS> It's the Sex And The City movie premier tonight! I'm taking my little sister with me...Good Times!