Cross-dressing is the new sin...

Figure 1. Thank-god someone else knows how hard it is to pee in leggings, fishnets, boots and hott-pants!

Firstly, a little pitiful apology for the delayed updates... Due to my current state of disarray, I have not been in the happiest of moods. As such, the year has escaped me, but I’ve got a firm hold upon February and I’m back with a BAM! (ok, enough cheese for my whine)

Well, let’s see… where to start filling u in from…

Little Goldfish has been experiencing a mild drought. This drought is only a temporary side effect of climate change and is predicted to pass this weekend when I get my slut slore on. The forecast for the weekend is quantity, quantity, quantity. Standards control has been required to go on a forced period of leave and anything will do. If it has shoes on… nah, screw that, everything (and I do mean everything – girls, boys, trannies, the pole in Risque) is fair game. Hunt to kill. Take no only really hott prisoners. Just say yes! This hunting strategy is going to be aided by copious amounts of Stroh Rum, Jager and Red Bull. It’s not easy being easy, but it comes naturally after a few shots of Stroh Rum… BAM!

Oooo, excitement! My friend is coming to stay with me this weekend. Haven’t seen her since I left Rhodes and she went off to teach in South Korea. So, not only am I hunting to kill, but I’m flying goose to her maverick and we’re on the highway to the dangerzone! Spamoni shall fall at our feet and tremble in their hott Prada shoes and Lee Cooper jean-pant as we man-eat our way around joburg this weekend… Buckle up for safety mofos!

The rules of the man-diet:

· Only spamoni

· No take-aways (unless prior consultation with management)

· Feast often

· When the night has been unsuccessful by 2am… go to Billy’s and get Elegantly Wasted!

· (If all else fails, and times are desperate, and the hunger burns like that of a manorexic’s…. then there is only one option: To the Risque!)

· Under NO circumstances will second helpings be considered.

Weekend update time! OMG! So the weekend starts off at the baron on Friday evening. Was chaos as the rain had flooded pretty much all of joburg. Thank-fully, my man-car and myself (dolled up to the nines in all my sandton gear dahl) waded through these lakes with relative ease… sometimes I love my beastly man-truck. Grrrrr. (ok, enough straightness… eugh!) The spamoni that goes to Baron is total spamoney! Ka-Ching-a-ling-a-ling! Can anyone say “My daddy has 6 polo ponies on his polo field”. Furthermore, these spamoneys are accountants. Did I mention that I am just the perfect candidate for a trophy wife/husband.

Dear Santa, I’ll take one order of Husbank this year with Mercedes sports car and large Sandton apartment, preferably before December. Thanks Boet.

Following this outing to accountant-ville, we headed off to a rather larney club where I was clearly well under the age limit. Thankfully, TIA, and one only has to pay a slightly higher entrance fee and in I go. (we didn’t get a feather boa a the door though L ) Party was good, and a team member even got some british-import spamoni! Now that’s how u shop ladies – from outta town! BAM!

Figure 2. Not quite as SEXY as me when dressed as a cross-dressing correctional-services cowboy, but certainly a close second!

And now for the big guns - Saturday daytime was a total rainman day. Even he had better brain function then me on Saturday and he was a ra-tard. But Saturday night, at the dress up pAArty, things got all sorts of wild! The theme was C. So, my digsmate and myself went as... wait for it… I hope u not allergic to dairy because this is legendary… CROSS-DRESSING CORRECTIONAL SERVICES COWBOYS (with CHERRY sours)! One word. BAM. Hott-shit doesn’t even describe us! I even had my spurs and long riding boots on… with orange fishnets tucked into them… All the costumes were fab!! Everyone is in advertising, so we had everything from Christmas Trees to Cleopatra to Colourfully Camps… Feather-boas were almost as abundant as cowboy hats and chamber maids at said gathering. After car-barring some cherry sours; did things ever go all kinds of out.of.proportion! Our contingent pillaged the bar of all it’s jager (I mean really… who runs out of jager. GOSH!), drank tequila like it was juice, po10c like it was free candy and sourz like we were 18-yr olds at our first matric rage! As the debauchery descended, my cowboy outfit got exceptionally more slutty, I kept calling people by the wrong name and made countless numbers of new friends in the clubhouse. I even believe that if my hazy memory serves me correctly, I was doing an extended raunchy stool dance for some innocent and somewhat bewildered by-standers at some point during the night. I think they were two of the people I christened as my new BFFs for the night. Oooo, and let’s not forge the loud American girl I managed to locate at another table within the clubhouse. As the party wound down, more likely as the booze ran out at the bar, we decided in all our drunken knowledge to go to the one place where we could whip out our banjos and pAArty like it was brakpan ---- Billy’s! So off we trundled… Yes, I did change as I feared a mass beating by some over-sized, backward, pre-1994 boksburger… Boy did we have FUN at the BUMS! Haha. Cleopatra ended up raunching some Canadian/Australian/American/British native. (I still have no idea of his nationality – he told me – numerous times, but, 5 minutes later, I’d just decide that he was clearly and un-objectively from somewhere other than he claimed). I danced with everyone, including a 31yr old Asian lady and her very dorky friends… I think she was hitting on me. I couldn’t tell. I could barely type on my cellphone let alone score older women, so I was pretty much a lost cause. And then I found my 48yr old friend (also female and the term friend used loosely) – who had previously tried to raunch me in 2009. We danced together as well. All in all in Billy’s: Cleopatra got lost, Colourfully Camp disappeared and I think I hit on the Christmas Tree… So, Billy’s treated us well! J As the alcohol kicked in, it was decided upon that my fellow cross-dressing copper cowboy and I would go to Risque so I could find me some spamoni. Well, upon arrival, there was some serious spaNOni…. And even some serious spaNO-NOni. Nonetheless, Mr. Jager and myself got together like long-lost-lovers (the pounding headache and prolonged nausea the next day stands as only proof of how much I smashed back). In amongst the gaggle of gay men at risqy, my wingwomyn manages to find herself spamoni. Can anyone say: “like WTF!?!?”… he was just there “for the music” -like all the other straight men…. She ended up scoring this “questionably straight” male specimen (Can I just note here that this is the second questionably straight male she has indulged herself with…. Anyone else see a trend here…). Haha.

In the end, Sunday morning was brought to a close as the cleaners swept the trash – us included – out of risqué and into the carpark. By golly was I molested all of Sunday. Functional was less than optional that day!!! Haha.

What a weekend!!! Thanks for the awesome pAArties guys! J

And now, the excitement brews for a new Wild-Weekend!

BAM! I’m back in the game. I am the future.

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!