..and they're not linked. I ate an off burger, and lost 5 kgs of pure fluids yesterday. But the day before that, I had my birthday party. Will post a pic up tomorrow:
I held mine during the day, simply because there’s an extra six hours of the day to celebrate. I borrowed a party-house, with all the features: jacuzzi, pool, bar, a lawn, bushes, tennis court. And so, this is what happened:
12:00 noon: Party-proof said house. Bring dee-jay in and brief him: it’s a toga party, play Zorba the Greek on the hour every hour, and a good portion of the music needs to be Monster Hits.
12.30 pm: Entomb myself in four metres of gold chintz fabric, and then can’t walk, but rather waddle, unvery Aphrodite-like, the Goddess of Sex, whom I am trying to portray. Tie my boobies up with gold rope.
1:30 pm: Make the punch. Throw four litres of ‘Zorba Greek Aperitif’ and a bottle of Smirnoff into a giant coolerbox. Taste it. Nearly gag.
1.40 pm: First people arrive wearing sheets and ivy around their heads. Guide them to the punch.
1:45 pm: More people arrive, one who is trying to hide that fact that he’s wearing Granny’s fitted sheet. Guide them to the punch.
2:00 pm: Can’t feel my fingers.
2:10 pm: Memorable moment: Chris arrives in his mother’s Laura Ashley Spring Rose sheet. Totally Toga of the Season. Bruce, and no, the name isn’t coincidental, arrives in a t-shirt that says ‘A DINGO ATE MY TOGA.’ Deed somebody say southern Australian whoite trash?
2:30 pm: Wopah! Trip over my gold sheath to get to the makeshift dance floor in an effort to wow the crowds with my Zorba the Greek moves. My parents arrive.
3:00pm: Mark arrives with a cupid bust around his neck. There are sheets everywhere. First people get into the jacuzzi. Lorin starts feeding the men grapes. A bottle of Mother’s Milk, complete with a condomy teat, is passed around. People start throwing each other in the pool, and ballroom dancing to Mr Vain. Kevin arrives, having slapped two tubes of gel into his hair and a medallion that would be his shortcoming if he decided to jump into water. It’s all about detail see: shoes without socks is so Athens. The first Greek arrives: Kyparissis immediately starts dancing. They’ve got rhythm they do.
4:00 pm: Although the jacuzzi holds four comfortably, I rip off my gold toga, lovingly bought from the Oriental Plaza, and dive onto bodies: I don’t even hit the water. Official record: 16 people in the jacuzzi. Parents still here.
4:05 pm: Who farted?
4:10 pm: Mother’s Milk is passed around. Ooh exciting, a little game: you need to submerge yourself and drink it underwater. Chris nearly drowns. Greg, the only one in boxer shorts, throws himself onto the writhing bodies, plunging face-first into water. He stays there for like 2 minutes. Somebody notices after a substantial amount of time, and pulls him out before he dies.
4:30 pm: A Cuban cigar is lit and is passed around. It gets wet, yet people still smoke it when it’s out. I bruise myself shifting between the jets and the steps. Steve Yates just pours cold Ouzo onto the spot to “stop the swelling.” What a sport.
5:00 pm: We all get out, my mum baked me a cake, bless, and she wants me to blow out the candles. Not that I can aim. I blow at the flowers on the table. More Ouzo please. There are sheets everywhere: some hanging from trees, two rolling down the slopey lawn –no wait, that’s Cath and Emily – I put mine on again, and jump right back into the now brownish-looking jacuzzi. Weez reminds me that the foamy stuff on the top of the water is actually human skin. More Ouzo please.
5:30pm: Fuuuuuuuck. Too much Ouzo, hot flushes, hot flushes. Some random punters arrive. Or maybe they’re my friends. Can’t really tell.
5:35 pm: Dee ding, dee ding deedeedee ding. That’s Zorba again. Dee deedeedeedeedeedeedeedeedee..everyone is docey-doeing and kicking up their heels. Including my mum. Who cares that Lauren and I are the only ones in bikinis - mine has slipped somewhat. Oooooh. Nice white bum wedgie for everyone. I get thrown in the pool. Like acid hitting the skin. Coulda cut diamonds.
5:45 pm: Interesting string of events really: My mum comes to say goodbye, right about the time my bikini top slips off in the jacuzzi. Holding my naked flesh, I bid her adieu. As they reverse out of the driveway, Greg takes off his clothes and wonders through the din to get himself a drink. More people arrive and gasp and scream: Had they wondered into the set of My Big Fat Greek Orgy perhaps? Or just one of Bryanston’s famous [upper-class] brothels?
6:00 pm: Everyone follows suite, and soon, there are ten naked people sitting in a whirlpool of human debri. Already seen too many willies.
Somewhere between 6:00 and 8:00 pm: Cath puts a banana in the microwave to see what happens. And a wet paper towel, a spoon, raffia. We up the games. We play numbers: everyone is naked, and at least six people jump out, get booze, do a cartwheel on the lawn, and run back. Girls included. I could smack a pie right now I’m so famished. I eat more tzaziki and cheese straws and lamb espetada.
8:00 pm: Someone drops a beer into the jacuzzi.
8:10 pm: All the lighters are in the bottom of the jacuzzi. I’m turning 25. Isn’t it great to be 17?
8:30 pm: The boys play naked tennis. Steve puts his buttcheeks up against the mesh. What a beeeeooody. They also run around-willies ahanging-and manhandle a couple of poles.
8:45 pm: Kevin makes me three potent “You’re 25! Now drink, you old duck” drinks. And makes me down them in front of everyone. I’m distracted by his uber-medallion, but somehow get by. Wow, I totally swallowed it without chundering. Fantastic form, if I may say so myself. However, I have a little lie-down on the bar counter.
9:00 pm: This warm cesspit is festering, man. Brizi is justifiably freaked out at the nonchalant laissez faire attitude of these naked men. Walking around willy-nilly, grabbing a meatball, popping a beer, chit-chatting completely starkers.
10:00 pm: Some of us move into the bar. And drink some whiskey, as if that’s going to make us more colonial. Sam freaks out, as Steve has clearly forgotten he is naked and asks her whether she’d like a beverage. “Steve, Steve. Mate. Please. Put something on. I cannot accept a drink from someone whose penis is, like right there dude.”
10:30 pm: Rodders, you little beefcake! Mr Delivery is on strike. Trust me we tried. So Rodders goes to the garage to get more smokey-poos.
10:45 pm: There are still two people sitting in the jacuzzi. They have clothes on, which is gratifying.
11:00 pm: Guy and Steve do the can-can naked. If I see one more willy in my lifetime, that’ll be too much. Lolly has blocked it out, clever girl, by sitting on the couch, eyes-closed and thinking good thoughts. Paul is naked less a dirty and wet-looking toga.
11:30 pm: Shit. My towel fell off. I don’t really want to bend down and get it.
12:00 pm: Put on some clothes. Feel claustrophobic. Nobody copies me. But why?! Enough tallywackers already! I even make myself a cup of coffee. I show everyone their beds.
12:15 pm: I sleep.
8:00 am The Next Day: Party’s not over yet, folks. Totally a slumber party and everything. Guy and Greg were roommates, lucky fellows. My hair looks like a fleet (?) Herd? Merchin? Murder? of crows has recently made it home. Paul wakes up, walks in with the said wet toga. Says hi to the garden boy, who gawps. I find a Woolies frozen pie in the freezer. I bake it, I smack it. It’s meant to feed five people. I eat the whole thing with gusto. The others eat toast. Poor bastards.
9:00 am: Greg wakes up.
10:00 am: People leave. I go to bed, after I’ve cleaned up 5 tonnes of bottles, togas (one was on my car?) and various other nefarious items. Ah, it’s great to be a couple of days shy of 25.