School-night pAArties... When will I ever learn?!?

Figure 1. Story of my life.

OM-fing-G! death is knocking at my door today… In a bid to play wingman for my housemate, I decided (stoopid!) that it would be a fabulous idea to go out to Billy the Bums to entertain her ubah-spamoni that flew up from CT to see her for one week before jetsetting off to Oxford to complete his MBA ß Baby-rape time! “BE MY BABY’s DADDY!!!”

The night began with me lying in bed reading my book whilst peacefully awaiting her return home from dinner so I could join her in an escapade! That’s where the PG ratings end folks… Well, did I ever join her!!! TOTAL ANNIHILATION STYLE. Bring the rain!! Upon arrival at billy’s, I left my dignity, liver and stomach lining in the car, ordered a storm and started to poison myself… rapidly! My delightful housemate and her questionably-straight male suitor proceeded to purchase tequila shooters. Well, we ALL know what happens with tequila - Hallo drunkenness, good-bye socially acceptable behaviour and too-da-loo name!! And did I ever slore my name across billy’s… No man, womyn or man-womyn was safe from my spumoni hunting as I stumbled through the crowds. It’s really awkward (like awkward sandton-pigoen awkward … corooooo corooo) that I keep meeting people who know me and my sayings but I have NO idea who they are… I blame the jagermeisters for that. Fail. Anyways, As the sign in Billy’s states: Elegantly Wasted, I was Effing Wasted instead. (I seriously think they should consider removing the Elegantly from that statement… no-one in Billy’s is elegant. Ever.)

The lights come on and I discovered that I was NOT the only gay in this villAAge! Drunken me + alcohol in hand + another gay in my village = Houston, we have a problem…. Hide the womyn and children! So, I stumble up to this goldfish as it leans nonchalantly against the bar and proceed to purchase some jagers for us. I think I do so to numb the pain of scoring such trash that has arisen from the Bermuda triangle (Boksburg, Benoni and Brakpan) and spewed itself upon my party establishment… Either that or to make myself easier than I already am (which, btw is hard, because I’m pretty easy as it is!) Proceeding to leave all shreds of humanity behind I dragged said prey onto dancefloor and raunched him. Yes, in the middle of the dancefloor. With the lights on. In front of the staff of my favourite white trash party venue… totally awkward next time I go back!!! Frankly, I’m quite surprised I was not molested by some poorly dressed, gay-bashing, banjo-playing, pick-up driving pre-1994 neanderthal. Count my lucky stars. Well, this goldfish was ALL about the chase for me. He certainly was no looker… even I could see that and I could barely see my hand in front of my face! To add to this, he was most certainly in his 40s… which, if one factors in that I look 12 makes him seriously dodgy…. Like Michael Jackson kinda dodgy. Oh well. My second swim in the over-40s pond and I’m certainly gonna start limiting that activity! He even offered me sex and drugs in his car (which I told him, if it wasn’t a new BMW 3 series, then I wasn’t interested!) – but I mean really. Drugs for sex! I may have WHORE stamped across my forehead, but crack-whore… I have a shred of morality and dignity left in me. Really now. Ha! So rashed by such undignifying and crass implications. Does he not know that my daddy has 6 ponies on his polo-field!?!?!?!? Gosh!

Once home, I proceed to hang onto the toilet to stop the world from spinning, and to make some serious captain tacticals! More like post-war casualties actually. I forgot to captain tactical which is why I was hugging the toilet. Dumbass! Ri-tard! After turning off my alarm following my 2 hours of sleep on the bathroom floor, I went back to sleep. Only to wake at 7.45 which meant I was already late for work…I was still drunk. I showered (apparently), tried to eat some cardboard flavoured jungle oats crap, drove to work (apparently), bought a red ambulance (coca-cola) and some Flings on the way to work. I remember very little about my drunken stumble to the office. All I know is that post-shower I layered myself in cologne to mask the tequila that is sure to sweat out of my pores over the period of today and drove with my music far too loud and the aircon on -4 degrees on full speed with ALL vents pointing at my face as I tried not to puke out the window at the robots!

Now, I’m sitting at my desk. The computer is bright. The air is hot and stale. The waves of nausea wash over me constantly and strongly at frequent intervals. My head feels like an entire school of obese children are using it as a jumping castle. And, I am nursing that 500ml of coke home to the finish… and by nursing, I mean it is limping in, disheveled, molested, raped and barely crawling home one sip at a time.

Figure 2. How I feel right now...

BAM!

NOTE TO SELF:

Dear Little Goldfish

You effing Ri-tard. What the eff were u thinking pAArtying like that on a school night?!?! Under no circumstances are we doing that again....

Regards

Your liver and kidneys

PS: Well, at least wait till this evening before we start drinking again… Rehab is for Girls!

Just when you thought it couldn't get MORE out of hand!

So, I thought it appropriate time to update u on my past wild and willy happenings over the past few weeks.

It all started the weekend before xmas. The office closed down… finally I escaped the khaki brigade to mince about in my designer apparel! The mother-dearest decided to bring Daddy’s credit card on a burn that plastic shopping spree! KA-effing-CHING-A-LING baby! Boo-ya!

(OH, and I WON R15 000 off J&B and 5fm in the 5 seconds to pAArty competition!!! BAM! I’m ALWAYS just 5 seconds away from a pAArty!) WOOP WOOP!

So the weekend pulls up in all it’s Friday glory, and I trundle round some shops with the mother giving her fashion advice and picking outfits, tops, jean-panta and shoes for her. Further encouraging her to purchase numerous handbags because a woman can never have too many oversized handbags! (and yet we still ignore my gayness…)

That night I descend into drunken debauchery that ends up with me at 5am at Risqy, asleep on the sofa outside and making out with an uber hott Afrikaans man so that I could go back to sleep while my fellow team spumoni member ran wild with other goldfish until she was ready to deliver me to home. Haha. 2 hours post delivery, I was awake and trailing my drunk-ass around Sandton with mummy-darling. Xmas shopping at the last minute, more clothes for money, weaseling some jeans outta daddy’s credit card too… hehe. Love u mum! Sat I could not bring myself to go out, but Sunday (after more – yes, MORE – shopping) I went to meet this new goldfish at his apartment. And trust me, with that much $$$$$$, I can learn to speak Afrikaans! KA-CHING! He has a projector as his TV, and a GHD, and an iphone… enough said. Some things money can buy, and I am one of them! SOLD to the richest husbank. Well, anyways, I ended up having cheeky naps at his house and arriving home on no sleep to throw clothes in a bag to fly home to Zim. Mother believed that I had slept on my “friend’s” sofa because I was too tired to drive home… By the way, customs + VAT and OR Tambo international on NO SLEEP is a serious rash! Fail.

Once home, I slept for 18 hours solid. Haha. Guess I needed it. But after that, did I ever slore some debauchery across Zimbabwe. After many a drink at the one and only pub in the country, Wednesday popped along. It is apparently all the rage to go clubbing at a lodge complete with thatched roof above the smoking dancefloor, fully-functional elephant-proof electric fence around said venue and wild animals to boot! I met up with fellow rhodents and we arrived to put a dent into our car bar. Eventually running out of mix, we were consuming the Spiced Gold, Admirals Rum and Malibu straight out of the bottle. The Loose Goose (as I like to call this place) had never seen such debauchery. Our car bar ended up with one battery, multiple lunging – girls on girls, girls on boys, girls on gays (yup, I was kissing women … again. I’m like the WORST gay EVER!), gays on straight boys (I may have paid him money for a schnog - ooopsies)… like an orgy circle, but in a car. I further managed to steal numerous shot glasses and tot measurers as my inner klepto raged.

Upon return to the city of gold, it got even more out of hand. For 6 days, including new year, I pAArtied solidly. I ate 4 small salads in 6 days and drunk myself into slore state every single night. I scored 1 boy and got naked with him in 5 minutes in his friends bedroom, scored one lesbian, scored 3 girls, motorboated some boobs, and to top it off - scored one tranny! Fail. I have had a strict no tranny policy. He was hott and dressed in male form at least! BAM! There was very little nothing I didn’t do this NYE… it was so rockstar it was pAArtying on a whole new level. I was only ever at home after 5am and then we continued drinking and having house parties. Met lots of cool Spamoni. Got a hott new spumoni that I’m after, but he is super tragic about his ex goldfish. Next. But we’ll see. I have decided to stop being such a maneater… NOT!!! Haha!

Sorry this is a short summary guys, but I am getting dirrty looks (and not the nice kind) from members of the khaki brigade as I am clearly NOT working… haha. It’s the first week back. Whatever … LAME!

BAM!