vaal, three-ways and the 1920s

Friday wonderfully refreshing. Why? I didn’t get retarded hammered. I know, amazing. Almost unbelievable.

What a difference that makes in the morning, something epic. I just had the most incredible night. It was Klo’s birthday party (happy birthday my darling dollface), she had a 1920s theme at Katzy’s in Rosebank.
We all wore pearls and shit.
I was dressed head to toe in satin - gad – and now that I have my mojo back, literally, I looked like Meringue a la Marlene Dietrich, yet. Yet. The dishiest oke in the room took me by the hand to dance with me outside. Outside. “It’s too busy and crowded here, I want to dance with you outside.” I always dig a romantic gesture, so I did it. Outside, in the middle of The Firs shopping centre. Felt like a rock star. What a ripper.
In a momentary stupidity spasm on passing the Flite Centre, you know the travel company that brands itself by planting a life-sized pilot mannequin outside its doors; I approached the fucking mannequin to ask him where the nearest ATM was.
Glad only C saw that.

Then we headed to Manhattan, still dressed like 20s hot bitches, and I got to see mates I haven’t seen in ages. I properly ripped it with Moogs and L among others, and we headed home at a decent hour (2:00am. That’s decent ok, don’t give me hard time), and we were sober. But so happy. How awesome is that? I’ve been completely happy for about a month now, with only very infrequent ex hang-ups and such, and it feels so fucking great, I can’t even tell you.

Saturday. Oh my super Saturday. Goodness gracious.

Went down to the Vaal with C as her random mate for Jack Rock’s farewell. Oh my aching ovary, it was madness.

Luckily most went the full hammer and tongs, and I wasn’t going to sit back and watch that’s for sure. I say most, barring a handful that had mature conversations about garden furniture over chocolates and coffee. Embarrassed shitless, since nobody ree-hee heeally knows me there. Although I met someone there I do know. As promised, she approached me and said hello. Was so great to meet her, and over a debaucherous weekend as well.

According to reports from other people, and photographic evidence, C and I lunged each other. This is the third girl friend I have snogged this year. I would be worried about my sexuality…if only we didn’t have a three-way snog with Jack Rock as well.
Oh yes. At once.

Is this logistically possible even?
He claims we both kissed him at once in the collective noun of a drool of lungers. We vehemently deny such nonsense. No way man.
He insists, we resist.
Random over here wiped on the floor, luckily we were dancing like monkeys, then C and I apparently had an argument about us getting drenched in the boat and me being a drama queen about it. (Naturally. What else does one do in a crisis, except panic and make a scene?)
The boat drama was epic.
Flashflood tsunami Vaal wave over the front of boat wetting us down to our doondies, and fucking up the inner-lining of my handbag and everything else inside.

Then somebody, it might’ve been me, got a-hold of a permanent marker and we all wrote random shit all over each other. Words like poen, doondies, tits, hot stuff, nipples here _ and uh huh. (“Uh Huh?”)

Everyone practically had this scrawled all over themselves. Then there were the handlebar moustaches, with one incredible character waking up with a full-on blue beard all over the lower half of his face. And someone named my guns. I woke up with Thunder and Lightning written on my biceps. Classic. (Perhaps Thunder and Chunder might’ve been more appropriate. Not that I chundered, but you get what I mean.) Half of us were waltzing around with blue marker all over our faces and bodies.

Woke up wondering in collective bewilderment –what the fuck did we do last night? C and I passed out on the pull-out couch and woke up with Jack Rock in between us. Talk about being caught between a Rock and a hard place…yeah…uh huh…ok.

I got the fright out of my life on finding a hairy arm on my pillow and thought C had grown armhair in the night, but no, it was Jack Rock Jack Russelling us. We certainly didn’t go to sleep with him sandwiched there, and woke up to a very different scenario.
For all we know we could’ve been witness to our own ménage.

But no, and how hilarious.

Jack Rock you little beeyoody, best you don’t forget us messy chicks when you’re in Oxford big guy.

Last night a Certain Someone bought we back some trout from a fishing weekend he went on. Ordinarily chicks don't dig presents like a Tupperware full of trout. I do. Also, he's a Certain Someone.