Did I schvitz in dancing class last night.
Fuck. You try doing a John Travolta in 31 degrees. I finally got some of the moves last night – finally made it onto the Saturday Night Feverwagon.
I didn't even have a camel toe, which Chester reminded me I might have if I wore cycling shorts to the next lesson.
What a fucking picture.
So I'm going to Israel next month. For business. Tel Aviv. I'm rather excited about this.
Just before I got humped by Oliver the giant canine over the weekend – I was told that Tel Aviv is a party city. It pumps endlessly apparently.
And a colleague said in passing the other day that two of the world's most aggressive men are Brazilians and Israelis.
Where Peas is going. Alone.
Where men are men and sheep are scared.
Brazil and Israel. But I'm a brave sort of bird. I mean, I'm a pirate aren't I.
Hairy, aggro men don't scare me. I scare hairy, aggro men. I just have to scream something semi-obscene like 'Suck on my nutsack!' and they should get intimidated enough to run away.
Am terrified but in that 'Oh, I'm just so terrified because it's going to build me fuckloads of character!' way.
My headspace isn't anywhere near Johannesburg anymore, so overseas travel excites me no-end.
I have it on good authority that the Israelis party up a hurricane there, and to an insane degree.
Many reasons for this maybe, one being that there hasn't been peace there since 1948. Crazy war stress means the more letting down of hair. The second is that they live in the Holy Land - so they sin now and get forgiveness later. By default.
A quagmire of sin. Fantastic news.
The first criterion worries me only slightly. I feel very 'Woman on the Western Front,' going to a war torn country. I just hope I don't witness/am remotely near anything regarding the words 'suicide' and 'bomber.' Fuck please no. My book comes out end of November. I can't die before that. Seriously.
But I'm stokahontas. Because going to the Holy Land – for work or play – is an unbelievable privilege.
The Holy Land. Where Jesus did the rounds, turning water into wine. Hayzoos knew how to party, by the sounds of things.
But. Must remember to not blaspheme, not tell inappropriate jokes, not say 'Fuck' as much as possible, wear appropriate attire, be conservative, and not negatively provoke anything with a penis.
Must not speak. Must only observe. Must not be Peas basically.
Like I have ever been able to pull that off. I spend my life pulling feet out of my mouth.
[Sighs and shrugs] Whatareyougonnado?