Friday: Leave office early, in a manically good mood. The grandiose, however, is short lived. I started feeling less fabulous about myself during The Dinner. Although I didn’t show it. I backed myself ad infinitum, to the point where somebody, who knows Small Bum well, asked who actually broke up with who. This was the high point of the entire evening. She reckoned I looked so unfazed, so happy - she actually, hactually, fucking wondered who did the breaking up.
“He dumped me, but essentially, he’s done me quite a service really. He cramped my style. God it feels good to be incredible again.”
The blatant arrogance I exuded peaked then fell fast, into the bottom of my multiple Jagerbombs that I oh so extravagantly chugged like a machine at a club in Rivonia that is named after an upmarket New York borough.
In short: Ex S was there, buying us drink after drink, then claiming his undying love for me, when he started pulling some random blonde chick right in front of my face. (Wonder if The Boob knows?) Then, oh sweet Jesus, I kissed a guy who I sort of know, but who is about as attractive to me as a vat of tile grouting, (although not completely hideous-looking, beer goggles aside.) Luckily, Ex S had his tongue too far down this girl’s throat to notice. Thank fuck. Ex S has now joined Small Bum in the 'we can never be friends. Ever' ranks. They just fuck with my incredibleness. And probably frown over my potty mouth.
I completely freaked out at the concept of sucking face, and left the guy during mid-snog, running so fast out of that club, I almost left my face behind. (Along with the remaining threads of my dignity.)
It was 3:00am.
Saturday: Woke up and thought I was dying. When last was I this hungover? Matric?
I spent the day watching reruns of reruns on the facking Series channel. (Why did Seinfeld end? What a fantastic show. That Kramer. What a card.)
Got off my ass and went on a pseudo-double date to a little, but quaint, curry hovel in Melville. (I had a mild chicken masala, FYI. ‘Cept it wasn’t mild. Handstands in the shower.) It was a pseudo-date because I went with a mate, and another mate and his squeeze. Pleasant overall. My Fojo (Fabulous Mojo) was healthily restored, and once again, I am back on form.
I went shopping with Third World Ant yesterday and came back with a jacket so smoking, it makes me want to have sex with myself. Speaking of which, I’ve dusted off the cobwebs on my Bushwhacker 3 000.