So, like, on Saturday afternoon I got to drive an Audi TT Quatro. Fuck me. No seriously, fuck me.
Top down, revs high, wind in the hair, chicks giving me dirty looks, God it was fabulous.
I also went Christmas shopping and spent a small fucking fortune. But don’t get me wrong: I enjoyed spending every cent for the loved ones.
Friday night, Smoking Legs and I found ourselves in the middle of a large lesbian groupie fest. Karma was playing in Melville, we got tickets. And were practically the only heterosexuals in the establishment. She has a large gay following, as someone told me in the toilets. She came out the closet a few months ago apparently.
Chicks were pulling chicks everywhere.
There were some very handsome manlady’s getting stuck into each other. Some of it was hot; some of it was not. We felt like the boring straight people.
I went to watch Menopause, the play, with my mum. “So you can understand my fluctuating hormones, Peas”. It’s a musical where ladies sing about hot flushes and shit. Hot flushes, insomnia and mood swings. Mum loved it and even got on the stage with the actors and did the can-can at the end. Priceless.
On Sunday I got blotto with C at the Jolly Roger.
It’s so great not having to go into the office.
In fact, I think I’ll go shopping again. Spend cash on useless yet hopefully practical gifts, fanny around trying on shoes and spraying perfume on myself at Red Square, read books at Exclusive, grab coffee, then wrap presents.
I’ll do that today.
Tomorrow, I will stand in queue after queue after queue at SARS in town, and find out why I owe them R3 700, and also why they STILL think I am a provisional tax-payer on top of being a normal tax payer and owe them R1 754 for that.
I will possibly get wired on Calmettes beforehand to cope with the faceless bureaucracy that haunts my dreams, and watch my nightmares turn into a reality when they refuse to offer me a poignant explanation of why I owe them flipping great wodges of cash.
I speculate this response, only because it’ll happen. And it will happen.
Wednesday, I’ll drive down to town again, and queue at the Traffic Department. I’ll buy my three month late license disc, around about the same time they realise I have two outstanding speeding fines, and there’s a warrant out for my arrest for one of these. I’ll be handcuffed and dragged to prison after shelling out R1 000 in fines and R500 000 for bail. That’s after sharing a prison cell with a girl called George. Who probably has a penis.
Thursday, prison pending, I’ll formulate a log book of my so-called travel odometer over the year, because SARS will ask for it. Then I’ll shoot myself in the temple.
Friday, bullet wound pending, I’ll pack my bags and head for Cape Town. And force myself to feel like I’m on holiday.