Thursday, January 26, 2006

cane train

My pet died last night.

I will therefore blame the events that followed on the death of my guinea pig, Mason.

(Let’s tally 2006 up in the meantime, shall we? Stolen cellphone, speeding fine, flu, car crash, pet death. I feel like a million bucks. Luckily I’m intoxicated by lust half the time, which makes this easier.)

He’s old, I knew it would happen soon. I got home from work, walked to his hutch and saw him falling all over the place. Panicking, I picked him up, and held him, wondering if I should risk taking him to the vet, when he died in my arms. Traumatic. Since I am not allowed dogs or cats in my apartment block, I chose a guinea pig. I loved this little guy. He died. I cried and cried, phoned my ex boyfriend and phoned my current boyfriend blubbering and blowing snot bubbles.

Current boyfriend (Small Bum) and I went to a cocktail party, I started drinking cane to drown my sorrows. Never drink cane when you’re emotional. I’ve only really got slammed on cane when I was happy, and fuck me, it’s a different experience.
This is what happened:

Arrive at friend’s cocktail party. She gives us tequila.
Drink cane, lots of it.
Drop bottle of cane onto pristine patio, it smashes into millions of fragments before the eyes of a whole lot of people I don’t know. Leave the party.

Small Bum drives my car to the Radium Beer Hall, where my two best guy friends are.
Smash more cane there, and become very high maintenance.
My friends laugh at me, because I’m being impossibly sensitive about everything everyone is saying. (“What do you mean by that?” “Excuse me, I don’t appreciate your tone,” etc.) Nightmare.

Small Bum was extremely patient, and luckily has a sense of humour, especially when my boob tube falls down, which he politely pulls up over my bare breasts. Start crying again.

We pull into Fontana Roastery at midnight and smash chicken burgers in our faces, all while I argue adamantly with him that the road we are on is in fact Glenhove Road, when it wasn’t. I basically live next to Glenhove Road, so I was being astoundingly thick. I realise only later that I am wrong, and apologise, as the chicken burger laps up the cane in my stomach and how ridiculously stubborn I am being.

To punish me, he makes me buy condoms at the petrol station. My worst nightmare, I hate doing this, I get so embarrassed, I just want to die.
I wonder around the shop aimlessly throwing chammy leathers, chocolates, a map book (?) and Tic Tacs into the basket then casually say, “I might as well also have a pack of Midnights please.” But then I blush and start giggling. Small Bum watches me gleefully from the car outside.
I buy black condoms. Why? I don’t know. They are so porno it’s frightening.
Have energetic sex, and my aggressive behaviour is somewhat diminished because it was gooood sex.
Wake up and cry again.

It’s going to be a long day.

11 comments:

Marc said...

my condolences.
RIP dear piggy...

Now the black condoms...eish...

Peas on Toast said...

Thanks Marc. I have to bury him tonight :(
I know, never again. But if he's going to force me to ask the BP Express lady to hand me condoms over the counter while I almost wet myself with embarrassment, he's going to have to live with the consequences. :)

zuzula said...

RIP Mason :(

um... what's cane?

Peas on Toast said...

Cane? You guys don't drink cane? Consider yourself lucky my friend. Cane is the equivalent of say cheap cheap vodka, it's clear hard tack, which makes people aggro/emotional when sad; and dumb, uncoordinated and messy when happy.

Ever heard of Mainstay/Cape to Rio (Cape to Rehab)? Non?
You lucky minx.

She of the handbag said...

Poor Mason and poor you:(

Hope it all goes better for you today xx

Ps Beware the cane!

Peas on Toast said...

Handbag, beware the cane indeed! How come you know what cane is and Zuzula doesn't? Best you get yourselves some and pop it in the safety of your flat. Lock the doors and hibernate though. I take no responsibility for any strange behavioural patterns inflicted on innocent bystanders. :)

Better Safe Than Sorry said...

rip to your beloved pet.
my kids have had a couple of pet rats over the years, they are now buried in our backyard. we recently rescued a young dog from a shelter, don't look forward to the day this is going to happen.
i've also never heard of cane.

Peas on Toast said...

Janie - I'm starting to think what is the point of having a pet, because when they die its so tragic. But it's life I suppose. I know Americans don't know what cane is: when we went to work in the States, my room mates (also South Africasn) bought three bottles of cane with them. And that's how we spent our first night in Crested Butte. Shitfaced on cane.

zuzula said...

i have honestly never heard of it. handbag is clearly a bigger pisshead than me! ;)

Peas on Toast said...

Z - You haven't missed out on much, I promise. :)

Billy said...

Sorry to hear about the Pet.
Chin up!
Cane's a bad idea even when you are happy!!!

At least the sex was good!