This weekend was a helluva lot of fun.
But a defining aspect was the fact that I met a lot of new people. This seems to happen in seldom bursts in Joburg, when usually everyone knows everyone whose interconnected to everyone and whose fucked everyone.
So it was a refreshing irregularity.
Friday was spent at a random house party with my colleagues, in Melville. At a house overlooking the Hillbrow skyline. I don't venture into parts of town anymore where I can see the Hillbrow Tower and Ponte City at close range; at least not since my smash and grab. It's quite sad. I used to be obsessed with these two buildings.
And I remember why – when I'm standing on a balcony holding a rum and coke and watching the city at night time.
Sunday, Fun Guy took me out to the country for lunch. Everything's great when you're driving in a high performance ve-heecile on the open road in the scorched Magaliesberg, until you happen upon a fucking Road Impala.
And a Road Impala is a Polo Playa. They're everywhere, everyone's got one, and they're slow. Sorry.
You're cruising along, and suddenly, a Road Impala is all but slowly grazing itself along the tarmac, and it's 'Move cunt...you're fucking up my life. You're fucking up my motoring experience.'
It's amazing what you find in North West province. Here we were, driving past Sterkfontein Caves, where they found the first skulls that scientifically prove we're related to monkeys, and on the opposite side of the road it says: You Must Be Born Again.
It's one of life's many ironies:
1)The South African Bible Belt is located directly where they found skulls that completely challenge Creationism;
2)They're not advising you to be reborn, nor was it pitching or advertising the concept of being reborn. The billboard was commanding that you must be reborn, as in 'you must, now.'
So that was interesting.
(Also overheard in Greenside Spar: Renown Pork Bangers Are The Only Way To Impress Your Friends.)
The only way? Are. You. Fucking. Serious. Is this an impromptu supermarket voice over, I mean is the oke freestyling? Is it a radio journ first year trying to get his shit on?
But we tucked into the buffet at the place – like properly tucked in – I ate like a dude – klapped a bottle of wine, and listened to Bill Ray Cyrus on the way home, avoiding Road Impalas to the best of our ability.
Now that's how you should spend a Sunday.
Saturday was spent mostly at Decorex with my mum. Don't want to talk about it. Because it was toaster sets, Smeg fridges, chairs, tiles and fat people. Bumping past, being stood on by, and ogling shit with fat people.
I'm talking unbelievably obese people wearing strops.
In short, it was Texas.
You're going to lose your shit. It's not a theoretical possibility. It's a situational certainty.
Honestly. It's amazing I got out alive.