So, met up with mates at the Jolly Dodger last night. Most of us have something to bitch and moan about, but unfortunately, as is the case, 90% of the bitching was about men. N has gone and organised a formal dinner at her house. For single people. Oh God, we’ve self-categorised ourselves into the singles box. Now we have to find dates for this thing. The rules are that we can’t bring mate-mates. Otherwise I’d fly Doc over, trust me. People with girlfriends, mates or not, aren’t allowed. Have we not found any potentials over the next two weeks, everyone else finds that person a blind date.
Am I in hell?
Not one to adhere to rules generally, I’ve invited a mate. He’s been informed if something potentially shtoinkerish comes along between now and then, I’d have to invite The Potential. Not looking likely though. But he’s cool, and hottish and girlfriend-free as far as I know.
The Jolly got a little out of hand. This is what we left with:
1 x soap dispenser. After trying to get airtowel and framed haemorrhoids advertisement off the wall first.
1 x Handbag filled with liquid soap.
1 x offering of sex. Yes somebody has openly acknowledged that he wants to boof me. Or more like openly suggesting ‘mad, passionate monkey sex’ from random oke who wouldn’t let me go home. Then a plea to snog me. Refreshing, except not.
1 x hangover.
5 x Fitzy’s. Help.
1 x meeting of nice, hot oke who was in love with person behind him. And he’s in, um, stainless steel. Not number crunching, as previously guessed.
Trying to see if I can assemble soap dispenser on wall and if my flatmate notices its there.
I have a school reunion tonight. It’s not my 10-year just yet – a huge affair involving trips down to Natal, with a new wardrobe, a hire date on the arm, a new glamourous career and a fake wedding ring – thank heavens not yet. I still have two years to attain all those things, thank fuck.
This is a little get together for all the different years living in Johannesburg now. My headmaster is supplying the drinks and snacks at a chosen venue.
Is he out of his mind?
Either he has forgotten what kind of pupils he spawned, or he has collective amnesia. We’re a close knit bunch, us boarding school lot. I remain good friends with a lot of my school mates, and he has no idea obviously, that we get ratfaced together at least once a week. Take C, one of my best friends. And E and J2. Not to mention most of the other girls going that I fraternise with on an almost constant basis.
Two other mates who didn’t go to school with me have offered to come as C and my ‘life partners’. I will pay money to see the look on my headmaster’s face when a playful slap and tickle is had when I introduce as such: “Mr Dickinson, I’d like to introduce you to Klo. My life partner.” Tempting.
It’s going to be huge. Good luck any old teachers and the headmaster and his wife. And thanks for the free party, you won’t regret it. Best you join in on the boozing. Bottoms up.
PS: It's time to emigrate. Jacob Zuma got off.