To Lance

A friend posted this on Facebook:

A new word in the English Lexicon - "Lance": verb. To vehemently maintain a lie even in the face of insurmountable evidence for as long as possible, then finally admit it in a way that makes you look like a martyr - To Lance or to pull a Lance. Teenagers are very good at this. eg. 
Me: Son, have you tidied your room?
Son: Yup
Me: Have you really?
Son: Yes! Oh My God, you never believe me!
Me: Quit Lancing, I can see it's still a complete mess!
Son: Okay, I'm sorry. You don't know what it's like being me!

And while we're indulging in the fun new sport that is Lancebashing, I'll share a photo from Brother-in-law's Facebook.

On the upside, at least he's given the rest of us loads of material to work with. 

Hello 2013!

And Happy New Year to you!  I hope you've all had a beautiful old time.

I have and, as a result, I am now suffering a hideous holiday hangover. And I'm telling you that it's nothing that takeaway Thai and a glass of hair of the dog will fix. Just currently the only thing that will fix my HH would be another holiday, and somehow that's about as likely as the cat turning into a unicorn and flying me back to the 1920s. 

While basking in holiday delights I was sure I spotted Charlize Theron lunching at the same restaurant some friends of mine and I were at. I was sitting directly opposite her. 'It's Charlize Theron!' I whispered, immediately grabbing my phone and Goggle Imaging her for proof, as my friends scoffed. 

They wouldn't have a bar of it.

And neither would I. I protested, there were all the signs: she was wearing Ray Bans throughout her meal (disguise), had diamonds the size of my head in her ears (money), American accent (I know she's South African, but still), stylishly dressed (go figure), tall (she is) and she left in a helicopter (more money).

Sadly, when I was back at my desk The Daily Mail - okay so it was the first day - told me that just currently she is looking like this.

So I guess that means I had a lunch at a restaurant where someone who looked like Charlize Theron was also at. 

Somehow it doesn't have quite the same ring to it. 

Ho HO Ho!

                                          

It's time! The house smells of Christmas lilies, the pohutakawa are out,  the evenings are lazily long and summer has well and truly moved into the building which means the time to write the last post of the year. 

I absolutely love this time of year. Heat and holidays, it doesn't get much better than that.

It's a time to appreciate.

This was made so very clear to me yesterday as I went to a harrowingly sad funeral. It was sudden and unexpected which so is especially brutal for those who were close to this lovely woman. Their lives  have been thrown into a turmoil of raw grief, which always seems so much crueler around Christmas.

I went as a mark of respect, but it served to remind me that Death has no conscience or social grace and that you really must make the most of life.

On that note (please enjoy, please enjoy, please enjoy), I hope you all have wonderful and safe Christmases, thank you for visiting and a big thank you to my lovely commenters. See you on the other side! 

Oh, the power.

Yesterday we were off to see one of the agencies who we work with to take them some Christmas cheer.

One of my team was putting together a box of goodies that looked sensational. It was stuffed full of: chocolates, marshmellow Santas, strawberries, blueberries - basically it was a box of fun.

I casually wafted by her desk with the absolute intention of relieving the basket of (just the one, Your Honour) a chocolate.

I was surreptitiously slipping my hand into the basket when I hear from the across the office, 'Fuck off out of my Christmas basket, Lastname!'

I laughed like a drain and turned to her, 'You really don't care that I sign off on your invoices, do you?'

Sing along

I stumbled across this track the other day and, have to say, I am loving it. Thought I'd share.

You realise you're short when...

...you go around to your friends' house and discover that their ten year old daughter's Chucks are half a size larger than your own.

Some days I love being me.

Text this morning from my cousin:

'Bet your day started better than mine. Message to self:strawberry daiquiris should not be consumed on a Sunday. Popped into girls' room at 6.30 a.m. Smells a bit odd. Smallest had vomited in bed in the night. Smallest has long hair. Immense credit that I didn't just tiptoe right back out of there. Coffee.'