Manhandled...again

Why do we do this to ourselves?
Why did I have to give in to the peer pressure? Ha.
Why do I peer pressurise others? Ha ha ha

It started off a perfectly mild evening, albeit with a sore & slightly swollen knee from training. Kat picks me up and the Blonde Bokkies set off for a jewellery store launch at the stunning new Melrose Arch Piazza, beautiful store that does Thomas Sabo. Divine eats like soufflé, olives, dolmades, & baklava ensure that when I’m not trying to figure out how on earth I’ll be able to afford the approximate 20 charms I want or yakking my mouth off (as I do), I’m chewing at a constant and swigging sparkling wine.

So after that off Kat and I saunter to the Primi Piatti for a cocktail - how very Sex and the City of us? On our merry way we happen to come across the launch of M ∙A ∙ C’s Gold Fever campaign which is serving the duel purpose of launching their new store at the same time. Aaah, M ∙A ∙ C Brand Manager lady was calling me while I was at gym and I couldn't figure out why…this is why. But security looks too tight to storm up to them and request to see said brand manager. I decide I'll call her in the morning and ask how it went. Besides, Kat and I are WAY to busy ogling the two manly Gold G-string-clad dark chocolate specimens on revolving pedestals, bedazzled in Gold Mosaic tiles. Yirrie.

“Kat, is THAT real, that looks gargantuan?”
Kat (Little Miss ‘Two Tickets to the Gun show’, please 06, 07, 08 & 09) replies: “ F*ck knows, I mean look at those pecs. That has to be some sort of suit they’re wearing!” Still utterly confused we continue on our way to the Primi checking out the Northern Suburb talent as we stroll along the walkway.

It would be pretty frickin’ amazing if Kat and I could actually decide what we’re keen to drink. Waiter brings us a cocktail menu.
Jam Jar? No too much alcohol too soon.
Tea Pot? No, lets start light. Another waiter comes up and attempts to take our drinks order.
Cosmo? We always have cosmos
Daquiri’s? No too cold, we don’t want anything icy – its nippy.
Fack it. We settle on the ever-faithful Cosmo, which, at its best, is highly delicious (especially if it has a drunk maraschino cherry enveloped in the bosom of the martini glass).

Kat’s Cosmo goes down the hatch like some gey in Alberton in his ancient Beemer dicing an Fiat Uno. I sip mine slowly. I’m doing what we call ‘Florencing’.

(Florencing: VERB flo-ren-sing To drink alcoholic beverage at slowest pace imaginable will all those around you polish their dops of and are already on their next drink).

So Kat dishes the DL about Dirtbin Boy. Dirtbin Boy has just recently moved back to Dirtbin from Jozi and they randomly came across each other on Bookface. He’s up here on business and she’s invited him to join us. He replies with some lame excuse about already being horizontal. So I call the oke from my phone.

Thirty minutes and a Portuguese shower later he’s enjoying a beer while we sip on another Cosmo. I’m very convincing.

I then try and use the same technique to get them to go to this new club ‘Inc’ that opened last weekend. Haven’t been yet but have seen pictures and its stunning and very zhoosh. But its in Braamfontein. They’re not keen on the area. So I let sleeping dogs lie.

Bright spark Kat reckons we hit Manhattan aka the Manhandler and get our jam on. Hey, I’m always keen on a jam. Besides, we’re in her car. I go where she takes me. So we head for a Manhandle. Great. Twice in the span of 6 days...just cant get enough can I?

A colourful journey from Melrose to Rivonia ensues with ‘Jive Bunny and the Master Mixes’, my tremendous singing talent and intransit dance ability making it debaucherous. We hop out the car in the fully packed parking lot – and I recognise a number plate – Warwy! I yell.

Turns out that everyone that was meant to be at Inc has come to Manhandle it too. Tick. Free Entry and skip the long varsity-holiday queue. Tick again. Jam it up with the rest of my team, Kat and her Dirtbin guy. Tick.

Diabetic Boy, the last ex-bf, from what feels like about a hundred years ago now, spots me out of nowhere, kisses me hello and disappears into the thick, sticky air not to be seen again. Rude.

Much booty shaking, Sikalekhekhe – ing, hoochy mama dancing, Kat shooting Dop from her teeth and aiming for my mouth (WTF?), happy snapping and alcoholic beverage consumption (Tequilsh included) ensures that we only leave there after 03h30. Dirtbin Boy gets the thumbs up – he’s rad and he can Sikalekhekhe too, which means he’s cool enough to hang with the Kit Kat and roll with the homies. Word!

Delightful convo with Kat on the trip home about everything. We miss our Ket.

Got home. Got into bed. And took my make-up off like a good girl. Then Alarm goes off an hour and a bit later. Balls.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph I’m tyatt. And hanging a little. Shoo. But excited for Flame Haired Genius’ installation opening at SCC this evening.

And 1 day closer to the Cricket. Yes preeeez!



P.S: Happy National Cleavage Day Boys!!!! xxx