Ooo … I been a baaad pudddy cat!

Those of you that were clocking in for a regular read will have noticed that this blog-aunty has been rather slack of late.

You will also notice that the world DID NOT end on  the 21st.

In the beginning of my encroaching tardiness in the blogging department, I could argue the excuse of my now full time job at a global surfwear company (who would have thought?) But in the past few days, there has been excessive cooking (A FULL CATERING FOR 17 GUESTS FOR CHRISTMAS LUNCH) and drinking (we have lost count of all the boxes of chardonnay, cheap and expensive ‘champagne’ that have had board and lodging in the second fridge) and gift-opening (I was spoilt rotten this Christmas – handbags, Thierry Mugler, coffee flasks, orchids, aprons and lovely kitchen and smelly things.) So, in my small little mind – absolutely no time for blogging!

I am hoping to settle into my regular writing routine in 2013 (I really miss it). I have also made a vow that I shall not let sooo much alcohol pass my lips; hardly half the sugar shall coat my gullet and I have taken a moratorium out on baking in this house – there shall be none (not even Banoffie Pie) until I have lost at least 10 kg’s.

It may sound familiar – because it is. But really – my clothes are too tight; I can hardly breathe… And I refuse to buy another freaking kaftan!

Happy New Year, y’all … it can only be better than 2012.


I been a bad puddy cat…

As, my faithful fans (12) will notice, I have been a bit mean on the blogging side. This is mainly due to the following reasons:

1) on 30 October, I got a ‘security alert’ call from my service provider to tell me that I had been way too active on the Net, and therefore now had an account balance of f%&king ridonculous Ront. I can not even bear to think the amount aloud. EEEk! Quickly phoned my darling S – to warn him – so that he would not have a coronary when doing a balance check on the  bank accounts. Shame. He was very understanding – rushed up home and confirmed that it was me farming on the Net, and not some Cyberspace Fiend that had hacked my account, and was indiscriminately blogging and liking and commenting on sites all over the globe. So, there and then, I switched off the laptop, hid it under the diningroom table, and decided to wait ’till the November for my new allocation of Gigs… and here we are.

2) Got a bit busy with baking – had a Heee-Haaaaa Cowboy hat cake to put together. This had me sweating bullets. Most of all, when I took the effort to weigh it, and it came in an artery-busting 5kg’s of lard and sugar, Baby. Plus, there was a batch of Red Velvets on the side, and a retro orange cake, with orange icing, which was made for a friend of ours – who promptly ate the whole thing in less than 12 hours. By himself. With a fork. Straight off the serving plate. His wife will thank me when he keels over and she inherits big time.

So all about heart disease, this one …

One Award down … hundreds to go.

Received a delightful little notice in my mailbox just now.

It reads as follows: “Congratulations! We loved your great and yummy posts, so we’ve decided to give you a Grade 4 BlOgcean Award! If you want to know more about your award or nominate someone else, then visit:
Our aim is to spread the love of Blogging and encourage achieving Bloggers to do their best, so keep up the brill work!

(I just hope that there is some merit to this, and that I did not just get it because I went onto their site and pleaded and begged. I may also be guilty of some zealous re-blogging….)

You decide ….


Jackpot! We’re frying, tonight, Baby!

Scratched around in the deep freeze this morning for something to defrost for supper. Took out what I thought looked like tenderised/ stewing steak and began planning in my head how I would slow cook the animal protein for 2 hours, while basting, saucing and prepping veggies.

As the day progressed and the meat started softening up, I was busy blogging and doing some ‘internet housekeeping’, so I actually did not care.

But then, upon closer inspection of the meltdown that was happening on the kitchen counter, I discovered that this cut of meat was, perhaps, destined for greater things than the stewing pot. And that was because it was RUMP! Jackpot!! It was as if I had pulled a rabbit out the hat… (This type of thing tends to happen when one is not all ‘Martha Stewart’ about meticulously prepping, pre-packing, portioning, marking and stacking the month end groceries…)

So, I dusted off the Le Creuset grilling pan – the one that makes cute little criss-cross patterns on the food and splatters the entire stove area with fat. And I oiled and peppered those steaks. And we were frying for supper, Baby! (And wiping down counters, mopping oil spills, putting out fires.)

Oh. It was worth it. I performed exceptionally well. Scoffed everything – as I am entitled to do, considering that I am in ‘O’ blood group. Yes – we are are the meat eaters of the world – we thrive on a diet rich in animal protein.

Steak in the middle of the week. Sounds luxurious. But as long as I dug it out the freezer, and didn’t have to actually fork out for it today, it’s A-OK.

Watching movie, ‘Fun with Dick and Jane.’ How bad does it get before they repossess your lawn? Talk about hitting a raw nerve. As Jim Carrey says in the movie, “There’s always prostitution.” But I will have to do more time on the damn treadmill to get top dollar.

Oh. How the Mighty fell.

So, I had to tempt fate. So, I insisted that S buy me ANOTHER bottle of poison last night. So, I sat and drank it all in one shot – while I was blogging, I might add. So, yes, it was my third attempt this week.

I even took my nighttime meds with a swig. Rebellious, I know.

And it was all A-OK. And then, after reaching my 100+ hits milestone on this blog, I shutdown the blue screen and I raised my rear from the couch. Huge (like my arse) mistake. Catastrophic. Diabolical. Sinful.

Managed to get to the kitchen and then relised this was not going to end well. Hung onto the counter as the third wave of nausea swooshed over me. Strategically planned a graceful retreat through the house – straight to the porcelain oval in the bathroom.

There was no passing GO. There was no collecting $200.oo. There was no dilly-dallying at the Community Chest.

But there was a voluptous  amount of vomitting. And heaving. And snorting.

I admit that some may have landed up in my bangs (no time to pull back the hair). I admit that some may have gone down/ or up my nasal passages. I admit that I may have had to clean some splatter off the wall.

Not my finest moment.

Most distressing was that I puked up my sleeping pill. Now the reason I take this is so that my 3 brain cells can stop chafing together long enough , enabling my to actually fall asleep.

There was no rest for the wicked.

I spent the night: –

1) hoping for a headache-free Saturday – which, thankfully, it was;

2) mentally composing this blogpost, as well as the next 17;

3) listening to the 3 cats eating, baling out of windows and scratching for fleas;

4) Wondering if the red velvet cupcakes I baked for Tracy would taste ok; and

5) regretting the fact that we had run out of mouthwash before my little incident.

I have confirmed that 3 is not my lucky number. Whether I have learnt my lesson, remains to be seen.


I am exhausted – physically and emotionally.

I spent the past week beading, baking and blogging – not neccessarily in that order. These three bitches kept me up late into the night – threading, squinting, icing, labelling, worrying, applying for accreditation, doling out money for supplies and stalls.

The trifector makes up ros from scratch – and it is supposed to be my ticket to financial freedom, mental stimulation, enhanced social standing and my new career. But the whole lot tumbled like a Great Dane’s dog poo on the lagoon’s edge … then it washed down the stream.

Paid good money to have 2 stalls this weekend; made a f-load of cupcakes. Christmas tree bling and vintage jewels. Sweated my arse off setting everything up at the first stall. And I think that once I had deducted the cost of the stall and supper for me and C, I made 29 bucks. No – really. Sold no jewellery and ended up packing cupcakes in and out of boxes.

Then, for today’s outdoor stall, I actually had to go and get accredited by two retired aunties (this between icing all the freaking cupcakes). And there is a list of rules as long as my arm. Felt like I was in the principal’s office. Had to hand over more bucks and sign the rest of 2012 away. And then, today, it rained. And the wind blew. And it was cold. So no market. Although after last night’s epic fail …I seriously have doubts about showing my face in this town again. The fact that I actually made it out of bed, is in itself a feat of astounding proportions.

I am seriously going to step up my job search in the formal sector. Am thinking that I would rather have a fixed income and be paid my worth, than have to haggle and convince people to pay R7.50 for a cupcake that cost me R8 in ingredients and time to make. It is also the last time I shall be baking my fares in the hope that someone may take pity on me and buy. Orders only. Screw that.

It is hard for me to put on my smiley face and be fabulously funny today. I so wish to make a living doing something that I love and thought that I was reasonably good at. Or so people have told me. And if these people have being lying to me – be afraid… I know where you stay … and it gets dark every evening.

I am questioning all my hopes, efforts and hard work over the past few months. If I can’t do this right, where will I eventually find my little place of happiness? I need some justification for being on this earth – and yes, I am materialistic – show me some money. I am tired of hobbling along.

I take this all too personally – I need to feel needed and valued to be happy. And now I don’t.

(You will notice that due to lack of enthusiasm, there are no exclamation marks in this post.)