Bruised. Battered. Still Chuckling. Back on Form.

“Hello strange man. Hi!! Yes you. The guy pushing the trolley of paper up Main Reef Road. I’m lost. Please be a honey and help me”.

Strange man just looks at me with terrified expression thinking “White Lady, you sure are lost. Or this is some trick. Not a chance am I going near you either way”.

Finally I found my way to Rissik street. Success. HA! I recognise this name.

“Hi. Man walking on your own at 4am through town. I’m lost. Please help. Where’s that damn massive famous Mandela Bridge. I was parked around the corner from it about half an hour ago. Now I can’t find it. I did find the police station, and I was about to stop and ask them for directions and then thought that there is no chance I am spending a night in a holding cell in town. And that is most certainly where I would’ve ended up had I stumbled my tequila-soaked self into there”. (Yes, I was rambling this much as well).

The 2nd strange man was so sweet that he even offered to get in the car with me.

“Ok, cool, you can, but no funny hi-jacking or attacking stuff”. He assured me he wouldn’t. He was just going the same way. Sweet man.

Finally found that damn bridge. Got home. Fell asleep in the basement till neighbour knocked on my window and woke me up and I went to bed. For 2 hours.

How on earth I even ended up there I do not know. Picked friend up after work on Friday in exhausted but tequila-craving state. While she tried to convince me that Mr Scruff was what Friday night was all about I informed her that if I was still awake after Tequila-Cocktail #2, I’d be impressed. 4 cocktails in 2 hours. Teasing her that her boyfriend had THAT convo with her….about garden furniture. HAHAHAHA. Others joined. Carfax was headed to and then it was just tequila dancing madness.

Being an odd female every once in a while I have a ‘male’ moment. I rediscovered the novelty of my breasts. Helps when one is wearing a top you can’t wear a bra with. “Ha Ha. Look how much these shake!! *Shake* *Shake* *Jiggle* *Shake* HA HA HA. The guys were LOVING my rediscovery too.

Speaking of guys: “Hey Champers, my friends are leaving. Should I go with them or could I stick with you?””You’re welcome to stick around with me and whoever I am actually dancing with by this stage. But there is no chance if I drop you off, I’ll end up sleeping with you”.
“Ummm….hmmmm….well…let me get your number and I’ll give you a call sometime”.
“Ha Ha, sure sweetie”.

If I bought you a tequila on Friday night…it’s a pleasure. And thanks for buying me one in return. (This happened with at least 10 different strange people at several different strange moments throughout the night/ morning. This was mainly because my friends could no longer have another, or because I had lost all people I could recognise. Or just cause the guy looked cute).
Stumble out of Carfax. Realise my shoes are KILLING me. Take shoes off to attempt to walk two blocks (away from bridge) to car. Very sweet strange man offers me a piggy back so I didn’t cut my feet open on god-knows-what.

Then lost in town giggling away to myself at the disturbing familiarity of the situation.
Home.
Sleep.
To bed.
Woken up at 10.30 by phone call, “Um Champs. Are you on your way to pick me up (for the airport)?”
FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck. Was meant to fetch her at 10am.
Stumble into her cousins’ MANSION in Westcliff, looking like I hadn’t slept and apparently (according to my mom who I saw 2 hours after that) still reeking of booze, trying to be comprehensible.

4 hours after that I finally made it to the pool/joint-birthday party of friends. Where an occasional person would ask if I was on drugs cause I was so happy and hyper and would not stop fcking bouncing. And falling. And giggling. And drinking champagne. And avoiding the swimming pool. And complaining that my feet still hurt from the night before. Other friends would comment that “No. This is, or once was, normal. She’s just back on form”.

I recall a lot of dancing. I recall being told to stand on a table and fall backwards onto drunken guys awaiting my fall. So I did. I recall crashing to the floor. Several times. I recall air guitaring. Running into the kitchen. Getting stuck on gym ball in a corner of the kitchen. Talking shit. Talking a great amount of shit. Not eating. Getting a neck massage and so claiming my undying love to a friend. Sometime after midnight the few of us left finding it great fun to drive across the gym ball and try to balance. I lacked any ability to balance by that stage. Today I can count at least 5 bruises. Every time someone patted my right arm last night I yelped. My finger was slammed in a door. I have cuts and bashes.

And much more chaos.

And then there’s what I don’t recall.

Then Colony. Koeks, you can tell your boyfriend I am cross with him too. There was absolutely no reason he had to oblige me with a final 2am tequila. Damn those people who listen to me.

I was the 3rd last person to leave the Colony. I am really not certain if this is something to be proud of, or to even ever mention in polite company Especially as they had even locked up the Colony and we sat there in the dark.

I slept tell 4pm on Sunday.

I made it to my friends’ braai as the last guests were leaving.

Finally I ate. Cold Cold braai meat.

Good times!