Why I hate the ManHunt

The “ManHunt” being one of the dodgier-than-thou Rivonia clubs. Not the practice. Although, watching the chicks in there, the two do seem to go hand in hand.

I’d been there three times before. On the 3rd experience, I walked out after an hour & swore to never ever return. It’s just not my sort of place. I am not a big dancer…unless I have several tequilas pulsing through me. Their alcohol is so cheap a Kaapse bergie might turn up his nose at the atrocious amount of Meths in it. And well, many of the more “serious” patrons are too serious for my liking. Smile chickie!!

Last Tuesday in a jovial state, I promised a friend that I would go one last time. I had 4 days to hype myself up. I went. I had an um…..amusing time. I am never ever going to that place again. Ever.

It is dangerous to my existence. In a few ways. I got into one bitch fight on Friday night. And one fight on Saturday morning. I was not able to move the rest of the weekend out of a mild case of alcohol poisoning. Far too much of my bank account was squandered – especially when I left my nice jacket there. Fck it.

So, in my usual way, when going to the bathroom I decided to do some activist hyping for the cleaning lady’s tip. Mainly cause I get bored in clubs like ManHunt, and it always leads to entertaining ‘convos’. There I am shouting billy in the bathroom when two Dolled-Up chickies decide to take massive offence & start swearing at me. Fairly nasaly.
“Who the f*ck do you think you are?! What the f*ck do you know. Don’t come here & f*cking judge us. What the f*ck have you done anyway. How have you helped her? Why don’t you go out and go to the areas where people need and want this instead of standing here hypocritically talking to us like this. (Well, darling, that’s the point. You have the money. Which you squander, judging by your get up. So I am asking for some redistribution of your cash to people who are living & working and are right next to you!)

For once I loved wearing heels. Towering over the chick with perfectly blonde peroxide roots, I said, “Sweetie. I do HIV work. So I have dedicated my whole life to sorting this shit out. I am just nicely saying, “Why Not Be Sweet and spend some of that money on this woman (who by this stage just had her head in her hands in disbelief) rather than your 2-inch make up & sugared-up drinks”.
What ensued was a lot of tomcat-on-heat screeching & whining in my ear. I’ll give the one chick credit. She came close to realising the holes in my drunken argument. Not close enough. They finally pranced out.

I bumped into them at the bar later. Tomcat-on-heat screeching started up again. With a lot of F*ck You’s. And me laughing away. Until I told them that they were “Stingy little bitches (edited version). Their retort, “Well, you’re ugly, HA HA HA”. “Yes, well, I don’t have all of daddy’s money to look like cheap trash. These are my work clothes still. Cause…well… I work. I have a job. Not a daddy or hubby to look after me for my life”. More F*ck you’s. And then a friend of a friend pulled me away. Why?!? I was having great fun!!

Then some random guy purchased 3 tequilas for me. Which I was meant to drink one straight after the other. Clever ploy to score really. Or maybe he was the chicks’ friends & out to poison me. I don’t know if I scored him. I don’t really know what I did after the 2nd cheap-ass tequila (Which did equal about Tequila 8 of my night). Sigh. Sometimes I am SUCH a classy chick.

Fight #2 was not directed at me. Hell, in my hungover state, shoes in hand & squinting at the merest hint of reflection, I didn’t really have a clue what was directed where at that hour (1pm Saturday). My friend was dropping me back off at my car. She shouted at some lady that this was in fact a road, not a place to park, and the lady was creating a traffic jam through her selfishness. We drove on. I got out of my friend’s car. Selfish lady pulled up next to me & started screaming that my friend couldn’t speak to her like that. Like what??? With logic??? I know. How utterly insulting!!

F*cking Rivonia. Please can someone put some tranquilisers in their water. Or make it obligatory for each of them to smoke a joint before leaving home. Really.

I should’ve stayed at the Jolly where some cute strange guy had bought me the 1st tequila of the night.

Never. Ever. Again. Well, except for when I finally get back there to fetch my jacket.

What really upset me about this whole club & its after-effects was that on Saturday night my friend’s mom was cooking us all dinner for my friend’s birthday. They’re Indian. Can you just imagine what sort of feast they cooked up!!!!!! I managed to shower at 6pm & have a sip of water. And throw up. Drive down the highway. And throw up. Get to her house. And throw up. Be fed anti-nausea pills. And try to not throw those up. And when they said it was dinner time, I had bolted at the mere thought, and that some guy stuck a glass of wine under my nose and mentioned the word “tequila”.
Being Indian they wouldn’t let me leave without take aways of the meal. I tried not to dry heave at the smell. And hid the food in the boot. I made it to my couch, and watched the muppets’ movie. 11pm I tried some dry bread. Success. Couz phoned & laughed his head off that I couldn’t make it to see him at the Colony.
“When did a family member of mine become so weak. So not even 1 tequila”….No no, not that word. Try not to throw up.

Saturday night TV is kuk. 2 movies and the porn. Really. My flatmate came home at midnight & said disgusted, “I don’t know how you watch that stuff”….well, it’s this or some preacher man. I’ll take my chances with porn. Plus, hell, what has ever been wrong people having sex. Well, maybe not with that man with that much facial hair!

If I ever end up in Rivonia again, Iam going to try out pre-sex porn talk to see if it works in reality. Well. Not reality. In Rivonia.