Tuesday, November 28, 2006

farm, glorious farm

So we all headed off to C’s farm in Viljoenskroon for the weekend, in Shit Hot Harriet, E’s boyfriend’s Landrover. What a ripper. In between getting slammed in the sun on Bloody Mary’s, we did the usual chilled-weekend-on-the-farm stuff.

I’ve realised I’m not actually as hardcore as previously imagined.
I’m a bloody wuss. In fact.

Three reasons:
1) I didn’t straight-cane Cape to Rio from the bar tap thrust above my face like most of the crew (some of these people are crazeee)
2) After claiming I would drink everyone else under the table on Saturday night’s binge-fest, I certainly wasn’t the last one standing. I peaked too early, went upstairs to take a little nap and remained comatose for the rest of the evening.
3) I can’t walk around barefoot anymore, my feet have become…soft. (I blame urbanisation).

Can we actually count the alcohol units consumed collectively?
Let’s see…
1 476.
Something like that.

We had a ‘P’ party on Saturday, where people dressed up as everything from Parys Hilton (me), a Present, a Planet, a Power Ranger, a Prize Cattle, a Pregnant Polka dot, a Pest Controller (armed with a pesticide spray bottle filled with alcohol – which Smoking Legs** thrust down everyone’s faces in a ‘Let’s See Who Can Deep Throat This’, but most often missed the mouth. We all woke up with vodka soaked hair…yummy.

Came back with injuries of note.
1) Bruise on ankle from hitting the chandelier on the ceiling with my foot when I was being thrown in the air
2) Bruise on kneecap after accidentally kneeing Boyfriend in the face (he’s ok)
3) Sunburn
4) A bump on head from hitting ceiling beam, see point 1)
5) Thorns in my feet.

Smoking Legs and I, (this ties into not being hardcore enough to walk around a farm willy-nilly barefoot), went for a stroll to check out the cows, John Deeres and other farmy paraphernalia, barefoot. What dumbasses we are.
The field was a thorn-infested mine-plain.
It took us 45 minutes to cross over the field because we kept on standing on handfuls of the fuckers. It was epic. We pulled them out by the chunk full, after every step.

I lost my sense of humour.

I had to throw my towel down to take a step forward. He piggybacked me across rivulets of bovine manure, what a dude. All while holding our gin and tonics.

We even got a little sex-education to some extent: C learnt what a camel toe is. (It’s not a camel’s trotter babe, it’s what happens when chicks pull their pants up too high,) I learnt what Dobies Rash is. (Thrush for men basically, and it’s fairly prolific I hear).

Thanks to the Rhodes boys there who taught me the Baiting Game. It’s changed my life. You get someone to do something based on a twisted kind of reverse psychology. Fucking classic. The rule is you can’t bait a Baiter. They catch on.

“I bet you can’t down this bottle of Crackling.” Of course I can, watch!
Or “I hear you can’t hold your drink anymore. You used to be the best boozer in the house, and now you can’t.” That’s pants, watch this! (Person proceeds to down eight shooters and ten beers in quick succession, and thus the Baiting is successful.)

You can even bait yourself. “I bet I can’t jump off this diving board. Well I bloody well will. I’ll show the…myself.”

It’s fun. The personal satisfaction of getting people to do shit when they think it’s their idea to begin with is nothing short of hilarious.
These guys have been doing this game of cheap thrills since they were, like, five. Chicks never think up stuff like this. Again, I love okes hey. They’re always a gas.

Such a great weekend. Was a super awesome crowd of 20, a fun-loving lot really. Coulda stayed there all week.

**After previous requests, Um Boyfriend's name shall thus be called Smoking Legs from here on out.


Daytripper said...

Such glamorisation of the dangerous drug alcohol Peas! what are we going to do with you? You are lost to the dark side for sure!

tom said...

duiweltjies or paper thorns? cos if its the latter then you're a real wuss ;P

Jam said...

So glad to see that Um Boyfriend finally has a name. Smoking Legs sounds good. Sounds like an American Indian name actually. Glad to hear you had a relaxing weekend too - seems you 've earned it after all the hard work you've been doing. Roll on December. It's time for a long holiday, not short weekend jaunts.

Peas on Toast said...

Daytripper - I can't even hold my drink anymore. It's bloody depressing! :)

Tom - no china, big fat fuck-off thorns!

Jam - Smoking Legs, kind of like Red Cloud or Blue Mountian. ;) Roll on December, I agree!

Billy said...

So its that serious? SL gets a name....hmmm. An Indian worrior one at that!

Peas on Toast said...

Billy - I grappled between Smoking Legs and Prize Smile.


Antoine said...

*chuckle* - SMoking legs kinda gives me a picture of a lad with very white legs and dark boots on. Ala Ciggie legs

Tom said...

I'm gonna let Harry tackle the smoking legs nick first. My mind is being way too dirty for a monday morning. It is currently unsafe to comment ;P

Peas on Toast said...

Antoine - oh dear. No they're just smokin' hot. ;)

Tom - ah, don't get all coy on us now! :)

Tom said...

coy? little old moi? never ;P

exactly who's legs are smoking here anyway? if it's your's i would recommend you guys slow down, perhaps use a lubricant ;P

Peas on Toast said...

He he he ;)

harry said...

I'm not going to comment just yet, but rather refer you to my post.

Peas on Toast said...

Harry - doing your bit for socail responsibility, I like it!

On that note, anyone who drinks Yaygiebombs in the quantities that my mates and I do, best you read this!

Scary that we do this even though we know it's probably less healthy than doing five lines of coke...

harry said...

Well the Smokin' Leg may also explain the Dobies Rash.
It's friction burns.

Peas on Toast said...

He doesn't have Dobies t this present moment.

Can't believe I never heard about it before. People were talking about it and I had no idea what was going on.

It sounds fairly uncomfortable...

harry said...

OK, if you insist, we'll call old friction phallus, SLegs
(only, exclusively,simply, merely, limited)

Kate said...

Oh, for a wonderful weekend in the sun! *Sigh* Sounds like a blast!

Peas on Toast said...

Harry - Slegs can also be a double whatchamacallit for 'Only.' :)

Kate - I'm telling you I nearly called in sick from the farm this morning. It was great, thanks Kate.

Insane Insomniac said...

Sounds like a helluva weekend Peas! Shit! Wish i was there! Its been pissing wet here in London. Rather depressing all round.

Good to know Um, Boyfriend has been promoted to Smoking Legs.

Peas on Toast said...

Sending lots of sunshine from SA insomniac! ;)

Freddie said...

Last time I was on a farm was when my husband of 14 yrs proposed to me... it was also the last time I rode a horse (which was skrikked by a mate on his off road bike...threw me... and I spent the next ten minutes hanging upside down like a fuckin bat from the poor horse's neck while ten of my mates...all zolled to the eyeballs...including said husband to be...rolled on the floor crying from laughing at me screaming for help!) Who knew if I just let my legs go...I could reach the ground!?!?...Hmph!

Daedalus said...

"Smoking Legs" - Hahaha!
*Does sound like an American Indian name of sort...

Good to see you had fun this weekend Ertjie... or else I might have said you missed a party on Friday night. ;)

Peas on Toast said...

Freddie - classic! :)

D-Guy - I did miss a good party I'm sure!
I want details. :)

Daedalus said...

I am trying to get the photos out of Suavie ... (so I can post somming) :-|

But you can read on Chewy and Champs' blogs ... they did make mention ...

Champagne Heathen said...

It was a somber kind of get together. Simply a drink or two over polite conversation about one another does, and the such. At 8pm we thought of calling it a night, but we decided to push on through a bit longer. I believe we all quietly made our innocent ways home @ about 3.30ish. I can't really recall time by that stage. There dear boys refused to believe that I am an innocent soul. And then they let some blonde big-busted youngster steal my chair from under their drooling gazes.

There were a few tequilas. And perhaps a coupla laughs.

I could do it again. Maybe without the tequila though. But I never said that 2nd part.

Peas on Toast said...

Ah bugger!

I read your post, and I sorely missed out. Rain check definitely, I wanna see these bloggers spade in the flesh (big boobed blonde?? Hilarious!)