Um. Bloody hell.
K, was going to write about my fabulous weekend in candid detail and then thought better of it since He said he’d read my blog, so like, no.
Key words. Nap over, rowing around Zoo Lake amongst duck effluent and breakfast at Moyo. Let’s call a Certain Someone a new name now. I think Guy I'm Now Sort Of Kind Of Seeing is appropriate.
Right. He also told me to write that he has a huge penis. Not that I’d know. We only kissed.
Ok, so, details of normality: Saturday was our singles formal dinner. We have been organising this for the last two months. And figured, what with blind dates and hopeful potentials, it could go one of two ways. Either a complete blast where everyone gets on like a house on fire, or a complete fucking train wreck.
Luckily the formal dinner was great. N, Klo, E2, C, C3 and I prepared for it the entire day. Cooking, titivating, laying tables, putting lights everywhere and getting all prettied up. I love dressing up, I really do. I even got flowers, lovely.
Was a little debaucherous, what with everyone sucking face in N’s garden, and then C fell in the pot plant, E2 and Klo had Smarties being eaten off them, people were graunching all over the lawn, and I got headbutted and now have a Bubba lip. Cruised to the Colony Arms in our ball gear. We played drinking games which revolved around tasks. Like writing your partner’s name in the air with your ass, pass the ice, feeding your meal to your partner at the same time (we had to do this one), giving your partner mouth to mouth resuscitation on the floor (again, me), telling your partner ten things you like about them, stupid cool stuff like that. It was a bloody scream.
Friday was nice too. He took me to fireworks at St John’s.
A few points I’ll remember:
1) Porter Potties are the most appalling pieces of urinary equipment on this green Earth.
2) Bands were playing and we jumped around a bit. Till some bitch landed on my toes. All her 60 kg weight on my toe squashed into the collective restraint of a stiletto heel. It was rather fucking painful.
3) The Dove phoned me. I think she’d been smoking too many cigarettes, because I thought she was a guy. Hilarious. Couldn’t hear her over the noise and she smsed me saying: “It’s The Dove you tart. Can’t believe you thought I was a guy…fucker.” God I hosed myself.
4) We did handbrake turns in his car in the underground parking of the Thrupps Centre. It was pretty hysterical.
5) His uncle sails boats. He asked if I’d go sailing with them. Me: “As long as there are rocks everywhere and waves crashing into the boat, like off the Transkei coast. I don’t want Mediterranean-type calm and flat shit. I want action.” Sorry, what? What crap did I just spew from my pie-hole? I’d most certainly die from aneurysm.
Had a Pimms with Ramone Allones, Moogs and crew at the Joburg Country Club on Sunday, then got the shakes and decided best I spend the rest of the day having a doo doo.
Fun weekend, very cool.