I’m baaa-ack! Almost. I’ve currently got a
toy boy guest staying with me until the 16th and have been kept pretty busy so I haven’t had time to schedule a post to go live every day after this one. Thus, I’ll be posting ad hoc sommer and eventually get back into the swing of daily posting towards to the end of the week.
So, let’s jump in, shall we?
As you know I’ve been whoring out the L’Ormarin’s Queen’s Plate on my blog for months but didn’t end up going. This spurred a flurry of ‘Where the hell were you?’s so I thought I’d just address that right here. You see, after being made to jump through a lot of hoops in the form of creating several pre-posts and having to fill out a media accreditation form, I was only told I’d nabbed a Stud Club ticket for defs on the Thursday; 48 hours before the race. This was the case for all media, actually, and, while it might’ve suited them, it didn’t quite work for me. Also, I was only given a single ticket and told that if I wanted to get the name of my partner on the list that I’d have to go through yet another admin process.
Being in holiday mode, I just didn’t feel like that kind of a las. Mostly, however, I didn’t feel hundred percent ready to gooi myself back into the lion pit that is the Cape Town social circle and smile and grin while working my ass off to take decent snaps and quotes and then work even harder the next day with a blinding hangover to create a pretty post about it.
The night before the event, I ran into local actor/comedian/my ex-neighbour Siv Ngesi and our convo ran like this:
Siv: Hey, hey! See you at QP tomorrow!
Me: Nah. I’m not feeling it.
Siv: (Narrows eyes. Gives me his ‘Bitch, are you for real?’ look.)
Me: (Narrows eyes. Gives him my ‘Yes, I’m for real’ look).
Siv: You know this is one of the events of the year, right?’
Me: Bleh. Whatevs. (Squeezes toy boy’s balls for the pleasure of mortifying Siv.)
Siv: Okaaay. Suit yourself. But I’m going and I’m going to win best dressed. Just you watch!
And with that, he hopped into his karretjie and drove away.
Anyway, after that convo, I felt a slight pang of nervosity, if that’s even a word. The Queen’s Plate is a big event. Still, I just couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck. There’s a part of me that kind of burned out and died at the end of last year and there’s no amount of canapés, champers and swag that can bring it back to life. Something’s different.
Later, on the evening of the event, I lay in bed trying to teach myself how to knit via a YouTube video and scrolled through my twitter timeline. It was littered with LQP tweets and it looked like everyone had blast
despite having to pay for champagne. Cindy Nell was radiant in her mooi white rokkie, the pers disco ligte twinkled and sure enough, there was Siv, chest puffed out with the pride of having won the award for best dressed man.
While taking it all in, I expected to feel a tidal wave of regret but instead I just felt alleviated. Like I was off the hook. And better yet, the sky hadn’t caved in! In fact, if anything, the whole thing simply bolstered the fact that my New Year’s resolution – to simply say NO – might actually work out for me.
To elaborate, I spent a lot of my time last year going to the openings of envelopes and working like a mofo to keep various entities happy often at the expense of myself. I also did a lot of ‘work’ for free or for a trade exchange that just wasn’t satisfying. So much so that, in the end, I felt taken advantage of. In saying that though, I’m aware that all of that was my fault. Much of what happens to you is related to what you permit and thus I’m now making a point of ensuring this year is very, very different.
To give you an example, if you’re an acquaintance who tells me they’ve given my number to their mad aunt Lunette so she can get in touch and ask that I review her craptastical DIY aromatherapy range I’m going to politely decline and not feel riddled with guilt. If you’re a brand that never sends me any product but then suddenly calls and asks that I do a post on your amazing new ad campaign I’m going to send you my amazing new rate card and ask that you pay for it. (For the record, I don’t and never will accept payment to review products. I like the freedom of being able to e-mail a PR co and politely decline promoting a crappy eye cream that promises Botox-like results.)
Another way to just say no? I’m going to be a lot more careful about the events and number of which I attend. No more six launches a week, perma-hangover and a camera with a thousand shots of parties that all blur into one for me. Oh no. I want to ensure that the time I’m spending away from my real friends is worthwhile. (And it’s not like I don’t have real friends within the social circuit, but you get what I mean.) I’m still in the process of developing criteria for what I’ll bother to curl my hair for but I want to only attend things that’ll be interesting to you, my readers, or offer a real draw card for me (i.e. Hello there, open oyster bar!) Either way, I’m picking and choosing to suit as opposed to simply rocking up only because I’m terrified that if I don’t, I’ll fall off that PR’s media list.
Aside from keeping me sane, all the above will also protect me from becoming Sad Blogger Girl. (Come on fellow bloggers, we all know her. The chick who thinks she’s a VIP as opposed to someone who’s simply been given VIP access to cover regte celebrities. The girl who uses a shot of herself and a Cape Town PR queen as her twitter profile pic and invites Jeannie D to her birthday and then gets all hurt and confused when she doesn’t rock up. We don’t want to be SBG, okay? No SBG for us).
Anyway, these are a few of the things I’ll be putting into effect for 2014. I actually don’t yet know how they’ll affect my blog in the long-term but I do know they’ll contribute to greater personal happiness. And that’s all I want for this year. To be super fucking happy. And lose 3kgs of ‘launch belly’. And maybe even finally get cracking on writing my great South African
novel beach read.
So, here’s to a kick ass 2014 bietse!
Love, love (and an extra love just ‘cos I’m high on possibility and two cups of coffee),