Following in the adopting footsteps of Madonna

Indian Stranger: Lady, what are you doing?
Champs: I am adopting this streetkid.
Indian Stranger: Lady, you can’t adopt a kid at 4am. You’re busy being mugged by them.
Champs: Oh, no, they tried that, and the one kid keeps groping my ass, but I told them to stop it & behave. And this little kid here is great & so sweet, so I am going to take him home & look after him and pay for him to go to school and everything. His name is….is….sht honey, what’s your name again?

Half an hour of convincing, begging, arguing between me and the stranger eventually resulted in me climbing into my car….alone, while the gang of Melville streetkids looked on highly bemused, the kid with the yellow cap cried a bit, and the two Indian guys were exhausted and determined to follow me to my doorstep to ensure I did not go back before the designated lunchtime hour on Saturday to redecide on becoming an adoptive mom.

While driving home I phoned a friend:
Friend: Champers!!! Are we going to shag?!
Champs: Hi!....what?? NO!!....I am phoning to tell you about the two strange Indian guys following me home cause they won’t let me adopt a kid.
Friend: Oh. Listen, if we’re not going to shag I’m going to hang up now and go to bed.
Champs: Augh. Fine!

I then sat on the steps up to my apartment trying to figure out What The Hell. I recall 4pm Friday being phoned by a colleague and told I was under orders to stop working, my beer was getting warm. I recall laughing with Peas about crazy Nik Nak comments before confessing my undying love to two gorgeous women in gold dresses because they kept bringing us free champagne & cupcakes at TC. I recall my breasts officially being named the Indian & the Atlantic…maybe my new shirt with the map of Africa is more trouble than it is funky. And YES, there were then many jokes about Antarctica warming up. I recall Jam and I getting to Melville for just a couple more drinks and having a random intense couple buy us shots before Jam spilt my drink on me.

And this about where I stop recalling. Well, less that I stop recalling as that what I do recall makes little to no sense. Especially the part where I thought I could ever look after a kid.

And then I did what a sensible person would do….went to bed, woke up at lunchtime, made some calls to ask what happened, and took my Darling D for lunch at Delux – 44 Stanley, where we had convos that made the 11 yr old Afrikaans boy at the table next to us blush and vra vir ma wat ‘n ***** is?? My Darling D & I were having an argument that even though he is my best friend, neither one of us tells the other the intimate details of our sex lives, and…well…I’m even blushing at memories of what we then proceeded to speak about. We also accepted that he has failed miserably as my Pimp.

Then I went to look for my streetkid in Melville to explain to him that I couldn’t adopt him. Couldn’t find him. Bluddy children. But I did buy wine for next day’s lunch. The bottle broke in my car on my way back to 44 Stanley for Roka’s (Old Color Bar’s) cocktail special & catch up with friends. Now my car stinks of berries, tannins and a slight aroma of green peppers.

THEN there was the Boxing Match party, with the word “Draft” stamped across my Indian & Atlantic breasts, while I ran around with a boxing helmet on.
Lesson in Life: If you run around with a boxing helmet, people will hit you in the head.

It all went fairly insane. I think I even bartended for awhile. I know I glugged on a bottle of tequila between canes. We leopard crawled through the house to not get caught sneaking to the inside bathroom. We got caught. We danced crazy style. We chanted for the boxers. We discussed porno things. Anyone else recall anything is welcome to email me details….it was all too much really. Then I lost my friends (to find out the next day that they’d fallen asleep on the jumping castle!?) and I went to find a bed, any bed, I just want to sleeeeeeep.

This is where I thought at the time that even though my Darling D has failed me, luckily I have a Second-In-Pimping-Command…. Peas. Not that she even managed to succeed to make it to the Saturday night party to introduce me to a hot shaggable friend of hers. But then I thought I found him so sms’d her, well done, hot man, all’s sorted. I woke up on Sunday morning in his bed, only by chance, as I had found it half empty at 3am when I was tired and wanting to sleep now and left the mayhem dancing downstairs. I phoned Peas to tell her my half success….I am in “Jack”’s bed! But nothing happened.
Peas: Who’s “Jack”?
Champs: The guy you wanted to set me up with. But he’s no longer in this bed. Now an old friend, “Bob”, has climbed into the bed.
Peas: “Jack”?? HA HA HA. I wanted to set you up with “John”.
Champs: Who the hell is “John”??? I didn’t meet any “Johns” last night. And then, who the hell is “Jack”? And “Bob”, what the hell are you trying to do. Stop that!

Then I drove to fcking Krugersdorp to eat curry and speak to my friend’s ridiculously religious family about godknowswhat…I mean gollyknowswhat. I made it to my flat by 7.30pm where I tried to die a quiet embarrassed hungover death on a couch.

I am so tired today, I could cry.