I nearly paralysed myself on Friday night.
What a week. I buy a piano by accident, my car breaks down in the middle of a busy intersection, work is crazy insane, and then I nearly break my own back on Friday.
Held a little impromptu dinner party chez moi.
Four of us including Ches, where about 8 bottles were consumed and a lot of music was played. My other girl mate then put on Dirty Dancing, and we thought it a great idea that I just swan dive into her open arms. Like in the movie. She would be Patrick Swayze, and I'd be Baby, and she'd catch me no problems.
“I'll catch you, trust me.” After 8 bottles of wine between us, one could trust a legless hamster to catch me. As I leapt into her arms from a distance, I twisted mid-air and promptly changed direction and from five feet, came crashing down, resoundingly, directly onto my spine.
There was a large thud. And for about 0.02 seconds I lay there in a daze, and thought, "well this is fucken it." Then I could feel my toes and fingers, and luckily I only got one fuck off migraine as a result.
Then I put on 80s gear and we all stumbled to the Colony for jug of John Deere and restumbld back home to sleep at mine.
My rug was christened. But not by me. Some of my mates had a good time on my carpet. Savages.
I'm glad at least someone's enjoying it's soft, fibrotic softness.
Saturday I went to Whale's birthday party where we all ended up at this crusty but quaint little dive called the Corner House. Love a good dive hey.
They were playing – one man band Dick van Dyk style – cover versions of Monster Hits 2.
I think I may have found a new local.
Pity it's in North Riding/A million miles away.
We were dancing on tables and swinging from the rafters. Seriously. Someone was swinging from the rafters.
Even got a chance to catch up with 3RM, who is now living in the Poenda with Ant. (Or at last until she comes back to Jozi in December). He has a real job and everything. He's on the payroll, and it was so nice seeing him again after what seems like months.
When I saw the folks on Sunday this is what my stepdad had to say:
“Peas. You do realise that in Argentina, you're not going to get hit on with your old man around.”
And why not?
“People are going to think he's your sugar daddy boyfriend. Or...that he's your dad. Which he is. And they'll steer clear.”
“But I have a suggestion. Why don't you get a t-shirt made with an arrow pointing that says This Is My Father. But I'm Available.
In Spanish right?
“Yip. And one for our dad that says the same thing.”
What a fucken great idea, actually. It's kind of like the “I'm With Stupid” shirt, but not. Plus our team tour shirts could be a great icebreaker at samba drinking holes.
So I'm getting a shirt made that says: Éste es mi padre. Pero Estoy disponible.
Good one. Gotta love the Germans for their endless unwavering logic.