Sometimes boys are the best remedy for anything.
For one, they're chilled. For two, they're usually hilarious. And for three, they're not girls. Girls are wonderful in their own special way, but boys - nothing beats being the girl within a bunch of boys.
I spent the entire weekend surrounded by boys. Friends of mine who simply have a different appendage to me.
On Saturday I chilled with Whale (Hi Whale!) and Company in the lush Tuscan splendour of wherever we were; and yesterday I went to the Vaal with Doc, Dick, Moogs, Big T and company.
Guys are always logical, easy-go-lucky, chilled. It's easy hanging around men. They scratch their balls and talk about boobs a lot, but it's really a small price to pay. Oh and they play rough. I got hit by a tennis ball square in the right tit. Ouch, ok. Ouch ouch ouch motherfucker.
Boys simply don't have the hang-ups girls do when you're just mates with them. That's quite important. Boys walk around talking shit, baiting each other, tossing a ball...it's all so...simple. I haven't seen my boys for a while, and yesterday was spent playing tennis, riding around in a boat on the river and slouching around reading the Sunday papers. As a girl, it's just what the doctor ordered. There was a stage - back in 2001/2 - when I decided I really preferred male company. And suddenly I remember why.
It's so nice to have Doc back. Our resident little Joshua Doore. He's back from India, and has started his own business importing beautiful Indian pieces into South Africa. What's so great about my friendship with Doc is that I burp in front of him; and he shows me his skin rash.
All these boys look after me. I really love them to bits.
As God is my witness, I really wanted to stay on the Vaal with this group of lads for the rest of the week. Just one day really sorts shit out in your head. You relax, you think about e.coli in the water, you feel wind in your hair, and the best part is this little oasis in only an hour 15 from the Rat Race.
I also watched Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me this weekend. I was on my ace, and I properly shat myself. I love Twin Peaks, for all the cinematic, David Lynchie, music, plot, whatevers that any fan does. But I've only seen the second movie. (Different from the series).
I got my hands on an old VCR cassette tape of the first movie. And hells bells. I only knew what Laura Palmer was like dead bru. Alive, she was a real little firecracker that schnarffed Columbian Marching Powder in the school bathrooms, was fucking a few okes on the side, and her father DEFINITELY had something to do with her death. What a bladdy weirdo though, is David Lynch. Everything's going along normally, then he has to throw in some twisted music and a frigging midgit man who can't talk properly into the mix. After all these years of watching, researching and foruming “Twin Peaks” on Google, I still have no idea who the wierd little devil guy is, man.
It's a fucked-up twisted movie. But hell, I love it.