Hello. I know I promised to post a blog around a month ago, which means my word is shot to shit. But I am here now. Here and a bit older, although none the wiser.
On Thursday I turned twenty-five. It hasn't quite set-in yet. I always used to see twenty-five as a time where I would embrace adult womanhood - a title I reserved only for breezy gallerina types with perfectly manicured hands wrapped permanently around soy lattes. Well, I haven't seen the inside of a gallery for months, and the last time I did I was followed around closely by security because greasy hair and a vacant gaze apparently don't scream 'I'm here for for the Norman Catherines'. I'm also bollocks at painting my nails. Although I am in love with nail art because, really, it often only requires a rushed top coat dipped in a container filled with glitter to get good results (see below). Yay! So, the only thing I can tell seventeen-year-old-me to quell her crushing disappointment is that I indeed do buy a great many soy lattes. Though that might have more to do with addiction and financial irresponsibility than it does with a close approximation of Miranda Priestly's lifestyle.
Oh well. Thirty is the new twenty-five. Let's check back in around then. Until that day, can I just say I had the best birthday week, ever? G has been so sweet and fantastic, as always. Also very patient. A good thing too because I've gone a bit house-plant crazy and he hasn't cracked yet. He didn't even blink after I potted the ninth succulent of the day and placed it on our ever-increasingly crowded kitchen windowsill. He's a keeper for sure.
My friends E, and D also spoiled me rotten the day before my birthday proper, having me over for a specially-prepared vegan lunch and dessert, complete with succulent-and-Sorbet gift bag. Not to forget the beautiful roses. Bliss.
The actual day passed with a Plant-based breakfast (see what I did there?), my first jaunt on a SUP (where I managed to squeeze in a bit of poorly-performed yoga), lunch at vegan-organic mecca, Sexy Food, a short hike in Silvermine Nature Reserve (even more yoga, only this time done in fear of falling to my death), then impromptu drinks with some lovely, old friends at Tjing Tjing rooftop bar - the only place where eggplants are not only edible, but delicious. Then last night, in a post-party glow, G and I went to our first movie at the Cinema Nouveau, and spent some birthday moola on vegan beauty goods from Lush and burger-adorned socks from H&M. Add to this a number of other goodies and cool vibes. It's been a whirlwind of crazy-amazing.
I'd like to make it clear that I'm not generally a fan of haul-culture. Although we try to get some time in nature as often as we can, this is certainly not reflective of an average week in our household. Mostly we just eat popcorn and ask ourselves why our cat is still overweight. When I do buy myself something treatish, it's on special occasions or only when it's needed. Well, that's not always true. Sometimes I cave in to the part of me that said if Carrie could buy Jimmy Choo on a freelance writer's budget without care or remorse for the many whom that money could benefit instead, as a freelance writer myself I, too can certainly buy reckless amounts of pineapple-print shoes (a single pair, but then again, there are many other fruits to get through) with only days or weeks of chest-piercing guilt. I exaggerate, but I really am not altogether that secure in what I choose to spend my money on. In future, any hauls will be ones made responsibly. Starting now. Okay, starting right after I buy Lush's vegan red lippy. Send help.
Til' next year (no, I'm kidding).