unfazed by friday

unfazed
Originally uploaded by peas on toast.

Friday: still trying to figure out whether it was a complete disaster. Probably not, since I would’ve that decided already. But I’m sure I’ve been to more comfortable parties, if I look back.

1) Enter snakepit. Go to a fucking Rhodes party. What was I thinking? (Wasn’t thinking. I blame UCT girls pre-drinks my place.)

2) Us UCT crowd were severely outnumbered. But still, we are definitely rather fucking cool at that. C sided with us, being a UCTer, even though she went to Rhodes for one year. Bless her you know what.

3) But nevertheless have a good night, except for random foot cramp in both feet after discarding stilettos and can’t walk due to aforementioned medical condition. N tried to uncramp them for me, but to no avail.

4) Have some random Rhodes boy ask me whether I’m Peas on fucking Mushy Toast or whatever. Because “apparently that’s what everyone is saying.”
5) Beg pardon?
6) “Who’s asking?” I say. “Me” he says. (Yes, Albert Einstein, but who are you?)
7) “I kind of know her that’s all. I’m off to get a drink,” says I, not up for blog talk and all the repercussions that have come with my ex’s and all their friends knowing and reading and caring, at that.
8) “Well I happen to think she’s very cool anyway,” he says. I just smile.

9) Don’t talk to Small Bum, lest much look his direction. Hold on, was he even there? My friends say he was, but I’m sceptical.

10) Then have someone tell me that every Rhodes boy in that establishment reads my blog, as my link and daily post are forwarded to everyone everyday, including Small Bum.

11) Everyone in that house knows everything I do, everything. That’s nice. My question is: why do they care? Seriously? Why? I’m your average, slightly-nuts girl who is trying to deal with the daily crap that’s thrown in my direction through writing about it. Why make a scene? So they can rip Small Bum off everyday for having a kooky ex-girlfriend? That’s so lame, I don’t know whether to laugh…or laugh it off.

12) Danced a lot, didn’t get messy drunk, despite a thankfully secretive bathroom moment with N that was disgusting on our part, and left with a mate before I got completely out of hand. Good move. Smashed a pie in our faces on way home.

13) Oh but wait – dodgy: kind of, well actually did kiss an oke. Beginning of evening, up against wall after random ass shaking on dance floor. That I know. He’s one of my more smartypants whoa-look-at-me friends – or are we even friends? Acquaintances. Have known since school. Best we forget.
14) He phoned me on Saturday night. In typical Rhodes fashion he got slammed and said he doesn’t remember much from Friday, I’m really not fazed, so I found the phonecall surprising. Uncharacteristically sweet. Bless. (Where did he get my number?)

15) Good to know this will be sent to every Rhodes boy I have never met, simply because Small Bum is someone I dated once.

16) Apparently Unshaven read this too. (I am sorry. But quite frankly, you were a little off-course when it came to your primary dating etiquette, and it didn’t help that I don’t want a relationship with anyone. Ever again. For as long as I live. Sorry.) So I’m a bitch that just spews her crap all over the Internet. It’s funny how so many people know exactly what goes on in my life but know absolutely fucking nothing about me at the same time. It’s possible, even when your life is known around the fucking world. Because as much as these people claim to know me, because they’ve met me once, they don’t know anything about anything. Sure I do this, do that, have that, fuck that up, fuck that, but yet who am I to them? They have no idea. I’m safe in this knowledge.

17) “I bet she’s going to write about this on Monday morning!”

18) And no, I haven’t been to Grahamstown before.

19) Hello the whole of Rhodes alumni, hope you’re having a spiffing day.

20) I think you all have UCT-envy.

I also went to a lovely dinner on Saturday night. Third Roommate and The Ant know the hostess, so I got to hang with a different crowd. It was superb. On the way home, Third Roommate and I swung by The Colony. We were sober. And realised, on being in that frame of mind, that The Colony Arms is everyone’s little slice of Maritzburg amidst the bright, glitzy lights of…Craighall. Have we hit the mark or what? Or in most cases, everyone’s little slice of Grahamstown. We sat at the bar and listened to a quality of singing from the karaoke area that made us almost wet ourselves and I pondered, soberly mind you, that the same quality of singing was made by C and I last week. It’s good to watch. For a change. The bar man paused for a discriminatory two seconds when I asked for “just a coke.” I love it.

PS: Third Roommate really is my surrogate boyfriend. It’s like we’ve been married 60 years and all the lust and wonton sex has disappeared into nothing and we’re hanging onto the marriage for the sake of pure companionship, comfortability and someone to argue with. Here is an oke that I argued with about directions on the way to the dinner party Saturday (Just phone Ant for directions! No, it’s somewhere down here! No it’s not we’ve been down this road already!) A common criterion in all relationships. An oke that I don’t have to necessarily talk to when we’re sitting watching TV.

He gives his opinion when asked for it, tells me when I’m being pathetic over a man, and manages to be caring and nice when asked. And when I don’t want to see him, I go to bed. He’s a great surrogate. To me and The Ant. We share him appropriately. He bitches that we’re too open with him in light of “I have period pains/my bunion is sore/can you hold my hair back while I vomit, but deep down we know he loves it. He’s available on 555-555-5.

PPS: I have to delagate a trade show today and tomorrow. The whole day. So excited. Not.