...when super humans turn human...

In spite of tight budgets, clients from hell and unsociable working hours, freelancers tend to be human. Yes. You better believe it. And humans get sick every now and then. Especially after three weeks of participating in a freelancer's favorite sport: Chasing Deadlines. 

So usually after each really hectic just-in-time-deadline-victory I get some form of human disease. It will present itself in something like a big red swollen rash over the left side of my face, resulting in "my connection is too slow today for visual" during a Skype meeting call. Or embarrassing diarrhea using all my precious 2-ply, prohibiting movement, making even a short walk to the post box at the gate quite a risky endeavor. Flu-like symptoms – not sure it's the real deal but for two days I'm shaking with fever, are clogged up, completely brainless and looks like I've binged on Stroh Rum for a whole week. Usually during those two days of brainlessness I manage to get myself into more ridiculous deadlines and so the system feeds itself. 

A friend saw me during one of these frail human moments and told me with great concern and with as much tact as he could muster that he knows a great therapist that can help me get off whatever I'm on. I just looked at him with red watery eyes, blew my nose and said: "It's a jealous lover. I can't live with him and I can't live without him." 

Tonight when I make my thirtieth cup of tea with the already three times soaked teabag (see, saving money even in the dead of night), exploring yet another angle after the first ten attempts left me a frustrated, why-am-I-#¥*$@!!-freelancing, design-hating mess; I know at some stage during this grueling process, the lover will show his affection. I have to be patient. It will come. Soon I will bathe in the glorious golden glow of victory and be Super Human again. The client will be delighted, pay me late and make me do it all again. And I will. With a smile. After the two days of diarrhea.

~ Ronel

...confessions of a cape town freelancer: part 3...

Biltong & book launches

In the days when I pulled a full salary at the end of a month, book launches meant one of two things to me: celebrating myself or celebrating another author. It’s not a vain thing, trust me, but when you eventually come to the end of a gruelling process of writing, editing, rewriting and giving birth to a novel, the book launch at the end of it is how I imagine my married friends felt on their wedding days. It’s champagne. It’s fireworks. It’s the dress, the hair, the makeup, the frills and thrills, and I love it. Since that full salary disappeared along with my royalties, book launches have taken on a whole new meaning. And here it is.

I still go to book launches to support other authors, but these days I also go to eat. Yeah. The snacks. And drink. Yeah, the wine. The beauty of a book launch in Cape Town is that you’ll never get shitty wine. The snobberati is way too cultivated for Tassies and the like. While I sip on my glass of Sauv Blanc, I survey the room. Not to look for the author and his/her entourage (which is often made up of a stressed-looking publisher), but to locate the food. The. Food. And when a launch is good, the food is stellar. I’m talking sushi, spring rolls (not oily), mini dishes of risotto, biltong (OMW, b-i-l-t-o-n-g!), tiny sandwiches, chocolate brownies, macaroons and strawberries.

All of this abundance happened just the other night. True story. The bookshop that shall not be named pulled out all the stops on a dreary Thursday night. It was a typical only-in-Cape-Town kinda winter’s day, and I barely got myself out of the house in a decent outfit, sans winter gown. I was also starving, which was probably the main reason I managed to remove my bum from the couch and force myself into semi-sexy stockings. My diet of Provita and Marmite, followed by almonds and yoghurt was starting to make me weepy. And needy. And grumpy. I was craving meat like a crazy person. So when I arrived at Bookshop X, I nearly clicked my heels Charlie Chaplin-style when I saw the massive bowl of biltong. If it weren’t for my friends who had just arrived, I would have disappeared into that bowl never to be seen again. As the speeches started, I stalked closer and closer to the biltong. With one hand gently caressing my glass of wine and the other casually making its way to the meat, I thought: this is where I’ll get my weekly fix of protein. And later, when I left the bookshop, I decided to sign up to all and every newsletter from bookshops in Cape Town so as to be informed of each and every launch. I know the food won’t be as extravagant as the spread at this specific launch (where the authors later told me that they had paid extra for catering), but as a freelancer I sure ain’t gonna turn away no chicken wing or samoosa.

Books might be the food of the soul, but I can’t eat my books, and they sure as hell don’t taste as good as biltong.

~jana

...tadaaaaah...

...a couple of our members went along on friday to our children's red cross
hospital room reveal, we were really just expecting a few nurses and a
kid or two. well were we pleasantly surprised at the turnout.

it's definitely true what they say, when you give you actually get
far more in return.

what a humbling, thrilling experience to be welcomed with such excitement,
and the feeling of appreciation from the kids and staff was amazing.

so thanks to everyone at red cross children psychiatric ward, for all your
words of appreciation, you made us feel really special, and it was an
absolute pleasure organizing the sweetie wallpaper and goodies for the kids
and snacks. we had a ball!...

...treats for the red cross kids...

...so with the extra money raised from the red cross raffle,

we went out and bought some colour africa colouring in books,

some tjou-tjou mugs and crayons and a treat for the kiddies.

we will also be buying cake and snacks for the nurses, 

so PLEASE feel free to join us at the reveal of the sweeties

wallpaper by design kist that is finally up and looking amazing.

contact us here if you'd like to join us, otherwise watch this

space for more pics and posts on the event...

...what's peeking out of the nothingness...

...yay! somebody volunteered to make the next badge...

confessions of a cape cown freelancer: part 2

The Hair Situation

Spotting a freelancer is easy: just look for the individual nursing one cup of coffee for hours, and more frighteningly, the one with the bad, bad hair regrowth. We are all over and it’s not a pretty picture.

My freelance career can be measured by the inches of dark blonde hair making its way to my ends. Three months after leaving my full-time job, it was kinda cute, but kinda getting out of hand. By now, six months later, it’s a different situation altogether. 

One that begs the question: was she ever light blonde?

When I spend time with my blondie blonde friends, I can stare at their perfect highlights forever. While they share anecdotes of full-time agency life, I stare. 
And drool. And wonder if they’ll notice if I touch their non-roots. When they talk about going for hair appointments on Saturday mornings, I want to cry into my (one) latte. Don’t get me wrong – I was highlighting aplenty when I had the dough. My hair was blondie blonde, and my products were pricey priced. I thought I had it all: the hair, 
the job, and the lattes. Turns out: lattes are overpriced, jobs come and go, and no one in Cape Town really cares about anyone’s hair but their own.

Speaking of which, the mother city is crawling with freelancers and we can often be spotted in coffee shops, heads down in our laptops. Some are even as smart as to wear beanies, a trend I’m embracing with vigour.  No one has to know the hair situation going on underneath my beanie as I type away to meet a client’s deadline. And better yet – no client has to ever meet me (and my regrowth) as I can email said client from home, in my underwear, while eating a banana, wearing no makeup and picking at my split ends. To some, that might actually sound like having it all.

Along with the no-highlight policy, comes the no-money-for-a-cut policy. Hence my hair growing into an unruly carpet of curls longing for the sharp edge of a pair of scissors. One friends has suggested that I cut the ends myself (how, I ask? I have no clue with scissors) and another has invited me to her home for a free colour and cut, since she’s a hairdresser and all. I love her for it, but the maintenance issue would start all over again. What would I do three months down the line..? Six months..? 
A year..? No, no. Then I’d rather the roots do their thang and get it over with.

One positive is the fact that my hair has almost reached my ass by now, and although I hadn’t really planned it, I’m thinking of growing my locks into the ombre look for spring/summer 2013. Maybe by the time my hair reaches my legs, dark blondes will be the new black. Who knows.

~ Jana