I get excited about silly calendar holidays. St Patrick’s Day, Easter Friday, May Day & Christmas. When I was in school, I looked forward to them because they brought with them “civvies day” – a day where we didn’t have to wear our dreary school uniforms.
But I also love the silly traditions associated with these calendar holiday. I loved wearing all green at school on St Patrick’s day & now that I’m a little older I enjoy a little tipple with my Irish friend Siobhan down at the pub. Siobhan is only a quarter Irish & mostly Afrikaans, but on St Paddies day she drinks like a right proper Irish lass.
Wait, isn’t lass Scottish and not Irish? I can’t remember. I digress.
I love the chocolates & camaraderie (but mostly the chocolate) that comes with Easter and presents & family time (but mostly the presents) that come with Christmas. I love all of them, except Valentine’s day, but that’s another post for another.
Now, my favourite of these calendar holidays is today, February 29th. Leap Day. Not only is it a super special day, what with it only occurring every four years, it’s also a day that single young ladies wait for anxiously.
In eons past, a women proposing marriage to a man was unheard of socially taboo. In our modern society, a women proposing to a man is not quite so incroyable.Traditionally however, February 29th is the only day could legally propose to a man.
Irish Folklore has it that in the 5th century Saint Bridget complained to Saint Patrick about the fact that women had to wait for a long time for a man to propose. The sympathetic Saint Patrick (I knew I liked this guy) said the yearning females could propose on this one day in February, during the leap year. Hence the tradition was born.
And so in keeping with this tradition, the hopeless romantic that I am wanted to propose to my better half today. But alas, due to the lack of a better half, I cannot. So instead of waiting another four years, I’ve decided to extend the Leap Day tradition to the entire Leap Year.
This means that I have up until December 31st 2012 to find a suitable suitor & propose to him. Then get married. And live happily ever after.
I was born in the city of Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of Congo but I have lived in Johannesburg since I was two years old. I’m a Joburger, not born, but definitely bred. I’m proud of my heritage, but I get a little envious of those who can say that they’re Joburgers, born & bred.
Although this city did not birth me, she did adopt me as her own. I love her like the adopted child loves her adoptive mother. I’ve travelled all over the South Africa and to all SADC countries and I can emphatically say, that there’s no place else like Joburg.
I randomly take shot of the different parts of my city on mycameraphone. Often they don’t quite capture the beauty my eyes can see, but they do an adequate job. All these pictures have been taken by me, unless otherwise specfied.
This is Joburg, my Jorburg.
I enjoy good food and living in a cosmopolitan city like Johannesburg, finding a restaurant that serves good food is like finding a needle in a needle stack, child’s play. However, finding a restaurant that uses organic produce is no easy feat and convincing my family that organic food tastes just as good if not better than processed food, is nigh impossible. Thankfully, Salvation Cafe at 44 Stanley has made that endeavour a little easier.
44 Stanley, situated in Auckland Park, is a district of renovated industrial buildings and warehouses. It definitely is Joburg’s best kept secret. The 1930’s architecture, aloes and eclectic speciality boutiques of 44 Stanley, is the perfect backdrop for Salvation Cafe’s shabby-chic decor. Picture mismatched tables and chairs, colourful throw pillows and antique candelabra.
The diverse menu is inspired by owner/chef Claudia Giannoccaro’s travels. Claudia sailed the world onboard private yachts cooking for the elite and wealthy, making them feel at home. And at home is how my brother, sister-in-law and I felt curled up on the sofa style bench in the courtyard, munching on our Salvation Burgers. A giant ground beef patty with sweet milk cheese and bacon, served with a side of crunchy wedges and a sweet-savoury tomato salsa. The food at Salvation Cafe is organic wherever possible and they use using organic milk as well as free-range chicken and eggs. All the meat is free of any growth hormones and the wine list also has organic and biodynamic products.
I’m pretty sure that when I mentioned organic to my brother and sister-in-law, they expected bean sprouts and celery sticks. The Tempura Five-Spice Calamari and the Thai style fishcakes with Asian greens and a sweet-chilli dipping sauce made converts of the self-confessed food snobs.
The menu itself hasn’t changed much over the years, but make sure to ask the friendly, knowledgeable waiters about the day’s specials. If we had the whole afternoon, we would have eaten our way through the entire menu, but we decided to exercise a little self-control so that we had an excuse to come back another day. But the promise of mouth-watering food in a cosy, relaxed ambience is excuse enough to have me coming back time and time again.
Salvation Cafe is open for breakfast and lunch daily. Catering and evening venue hire available. For bookings or enquiries call 011 482 7795, but no bookings on weekends.
I had a good chuckle at when Khaya Dlanga tweeted this a while ago:
“@khayadlanga: Sorry ladies, as much as you love your bags, they do nothing to us.”
I chuckled because our dearest Khaya is under the mistaken impression that I own 30 handbags in the hopes that it will “do something” for the male populous. Silly Khaya.
Women are aware that the men in our lives will not join us in gushing over those Charlotte Olympia platform stilettos or that adorable vintage Chanel tote that we found at a bargain. They also will not care if said tote matches said shoes.
What we do know, is that you will appreciate the long legs attached to the stilettos. It doesn’t take much to impress a man; a little cleavage, a lot of leg & we get the wolf whistles & nods of appreciation. It’s too easy.
I don’t know a single guy who cares for shoulder pads, embellished dresses, leopard print cardigans or platform heels. And if he does, then as a Fag Hag my gaydar will pick up a new HBF.
The fact that I’m hunting for a white, cropped tuxedo jacket has nothing to do with that cutie at my favourite coffee shop and everything to do with the looks of envy I will get from my fellow female fashionistas.
Only she will notice subtle lace detail on my favourite mini dress or the “Rock ‘n Roll Chic” spikes on those Red Bottoms.
Dressing to impress is a competition. The prize is not the attention of the opposite sex. The prize is the girly screams followed by the “I-Love-That-Where-Did-You-Get-Its.” The prize is the feeling of one-upmanship when you can say “Oh, it’s H&M, I got it in London” knowing that the chances of her ever finding the same one as yours are slim to none.
Men, our world does not revolve around grabbing your attention, contrary to popular belief. We don’t dress for you. Women dress for other women. And anyone who says otherwise is either disillusioned or male. Likely both.
Ladies, can I get an amen?
WOMEN! We are amazing! We’re sisters, mothers, hackers, sleuths, private investigators, stalkers & friends! If you want to know, ask a woman. I am not exaggerating.
Sit with a group of men and the topic of conversation will be an event or an object. I once sat with a bunch of guys as they discussed concrete. YES, CONCRETE! And not that “this is kind of awkward and we have nothing better to discuss so we’ll talk about the weather” type of conversation. NO, they were talking about it with real interest. I now know the pros and cons of rubberized concrete versus polymer concrete and how all architects should use stamped concrete in their designs.
Even when men do talk about a person, a woman for example, it won’t be about how she felt when she was dumped by her current ex. It’ll be purely superficial. How she looked in those jeans she wore and how you’d like to “tap” that. End of conversation.
Sit with a bunch of women, and it’s a whole other story. The topic of conversation will shift from the what’s to the who’s. Who’s dating whom? Whose feelings were hurt by whom? Who’s pregnant? Who’s married? Who really should re-think that new hairstyle because she looks like an oopa-loompa. You catch my drift.
Oftentimes the information that we share isn’t given to us freely. Or at all. Often we find out, after some digging, that A is actually dating B but is secretly seeing C at the same time. How you may ask? Simple.
Some call it snooping & others use a really ugly word; STALKING.
I prefer the term CSI; Cunning &Systematic Investigation. Women are very subtle and thorough when it comes to their investigations. We will leave no stone unturned, no Facebook page unhacked and no dodgy 3am “I miss you” sms from “Sam” unread.
It can get rather comical. I have a good friend who sat in her car outside the house of the guy she was dating, just to see if any girls would come out. And another who hacked into her boyfriend’s voicemail to delete a drunken, slurred “I love you” message she had left.
It can also get frightening. We all hear stories of obsessive people who have maimed or even killed their partners or exes. And so the question we ask is why resort to CSI at all?
It’s a sometimes justified but often perverse form of self-preservation. You’d rather catch him out before he breaks your heart. You’d rather be privy to the information rather than stay in blissful ignorance.
It’s also curiosity. Either way, next time I have a blind date or just want to find out something about someone, I will be doing a CSI. Coz let me be honest, sometimes, I’m just plain nosy.