What an extraordinarily awesome Friday night.
The Princess Palace has been viewed by a guy. He has seen the overhanging drape. From my very bed. And my lovely napover went and bought me a couple of Kauai smoothies for breakfast, bless his little cotton socks.
But rewind. Went out for a couple of after-work drinks, and ended up having a little shindig at my house. (I might just receive my first complaint. Lots of loud Monster Hits music that everyone was just loving, and The Ant and Gilb pulled in from Secunda as well. Fantastic.)
Then 3RM, as he does, got me going ruffled feathers-wise – and I don't know why this makes me twithcy – but Dude. Dude. He started off pronouncing French words like someone from the West Rand.
And was calling me Chuck de Gaulle.
And everyone jumped on the bad-pronounced-French-words wagon pretty quickly.
Soon a 'brie' was a braai. And cammem-birt. The Cha-Amps de Ellis-sees. Fuccccccck. My little French chromosome was not loving it, Jesus it grates me.
Anyway, Lovely Napover let me drive his amazingly fast, beautiful car at high speeds down the William Nicol and Jan Smuts at 2:30am.
Touch the accelerator, and you flippen fly. Didn't even feel the speed bumps in suburban Craighall. Got up to 150/km an hour. Speed is an amazingly incredible turn-on. But only when I'M driving.
Wow. Spent Saturday in a hungover semi-narcoleptic stupor, having had two hours of sleep or something.
I went shopping with Ant on Sunday. When I go to The Space, I go with Ant. Always. It's our favourite shop in Joburg. Well fuck me, we had fun. We always make mates at The Space when we're trying on about 20 things. People always say, “That's just too cute!” or “No, that makes your bum look fat.” Either way mates we make.
Then HPF and 3RM came over for tea, and we were discussing swear words. I hate to say it, because it does offend religious people, but mine is Jesus Fuck.
Nothing quite expresses rage or disbelief in such a short phrase as Jesus Fuck.
Sorry. But we also said that even though we have mouths like a toilet, we are very very classy birds.
Yes. Quite right.
She reckons Jesus H. Christ is her favourite. But do you put a full stop behind the H? Surely, because his second name couldn't be Hannah.
It's probably Hendrick or Harry.
And God said, “My son shall be known as Jesus...Harold.” Or actually because Jesus is “Hayzoos” in Argentina, maybe his second name is...Hernandez. Or Guido?
No, that's Italian. (Speaking of, my little Italian amica and I paid for our clothes, got changed into them and walked out the shop. We had to wear out stuff there and then.)