The night before The Morning After

"Hi! Forgive my father's efforts" , was the beginning of a text I received once upon a morning after the night before.

It began with a much dreaded photo shoot. The facing of the fellow DJ who had the honour of a steamy swimming pool make out session, on the eve of our year end function. The eve I lost my BlackBerry. A very VERY drunken eve. . . Hence my not appreciating that he went ahead and sat bang smack across the table from me; during the whose who in the Trans Africa Zoo meeting. Meeting ajourned. Now onto striking poses!


Snap! Flash! Snap!
The madness of people gathering
Clique-ing
Slam. . .
Right into the man.

A boy man at that. All of 25 years old.
#DeathByMe
Courteous Hug. Unexpected kiss on the cheek. Sweet and short.
It's over!
Now to get the fuck out of there.

Whew!

We that is the Stereo Dtox crew, moseyed on to greener pastures. Puff, puff pass pastures. Black Label all around as we settled ourselves at the Lamunu Hotel; nestled amidst the backdrop of a bustling Braamfontein. Never in the history of my Braamfontein escapades have I seen that many white folk fluttering in and out of the cafe's and alleys of good old Braam. Suddenly all the friggin Cafe's begin to make sense. This is who they were developed for in the first place. Light Bulb Moment!

That aside, we mingled. . .with white folk nogal. Canadian Patricia and Texas born Susan; whom Ade kept well entertained with talk of Africa and introducing them to The Fridge!! Then along came Samthing Soweto. It was all too YAY for words, till Sam called me a bad fan. Pity Thusi didn't surface before Gideon ushered them away. The Fridge posy cruised off to prepare for their performance at Dub Saved my life; while Mr Jones and I hopped on over to greener-er pastures.

Colonial Kitcheners!

The dark grungy textures of Kitcheners fed our photographic thirst. We would've soaked up every crevice if we could have, however my one armed companion failed as dismally as jittery me to take a successful pic of the fantastic shot opportunities with which our setting blessed us. Naturally, he casually asked equally casual surfer boy to shoot at whatever we wished him to aim.
Aim. Shoot. Aim. Shoot.

Surfer boy's equally pretty accomplice joined in on our newly formed collaborative acquaintanceship. Twas a serene dilly dallying of minds. Banter in abundance. . .Blunt too mind you.

Puff, Puff, Pass.

Like a well rolled joint, I passed myself on from the "aim shoot" escapade, over to the passionate debate in the colourful characters corner.
"Hi. Sorry to intrude, I couldn't help but overhear. Mind if I sit and listen silently?"
Talk about an enthusiastic reception. Before I knew it, I was the topic at hand. That's not what I signed up for though? Turns out that the Father to my right had an agenda of his own, and wasted no time asking "So where's your boyfriend?". I made the mistake of assuming what this mans intentions were, when meanwhile; Daddy Dearest was simply having a go at playing cupid. A look to my left and there was the suitor in question. I size him up favourably. Me likes what I see!

"You two should really get together again soon. You have lots to offer each other." Two guesses who had that to say? Daddy dearest of course. Cupid was all out in full force. "Obvious" is an understatement; and "Awkward" is oddly enough everything that that moment in time, wasn't. Son and I flirted subtly; while Father and I chatted fluidly.
"Thank you", I say softly expressing my appreciation for Black Label number who knows what. Suitor mentions knowing a shop where I can get my hands on some exciting African fabrics. Hmm, he heard my comment drinks ago about getting a dress made. Brownie points for this well versed man. His opinions excite me. Did I mention his being handsome in a non-offensive way?

"Take her number", insists Father.
"What's your number?" asks Son.

As they say, "Ask and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find".

Goodbye's are said somewhere at this point. "You really made an impression on me", says cupid. I can't offer him anymore than a humble smile. I'm moved mind you. Even merely at the memory of his sentiments; I'm moved.
I'd saved Cupid's suitor son for last. Planted my arms gracefully around his torso and wished him well.
A comfortable parting. Gentle... Perhaps even too short?

The solemn moment was aptly shattered by shutter-bug Solomon and my main man Medicine. Merriment all around! A tequilla or 2; a drink or more. . .who knows. The buzz of evening was in full swing, and my tipsy was on the verge of drunk. A good time for home time; after a day which was indisputably a GRAND time!

"Hope the rest of your weekend was as delightful for you, as meeting the lot of you; was for me" , ended my reply to a text I received, Once Upon the morning after.

Q & A

Once Upon a new year, I’m haunted by a memory bank of some retarded questions I’ve either asked or answered… or more truthfully; harmless questions that I was retarded enough to either ask or answer.

Q) How many people have I slept with in 2011?

A) ***CLASSIFIED INFORMATION***

But like really? Why was I asking myself such? My reaction would have still been the same irrespective of the answer.  Let’s say I’d slept with all of 2 people in 2011, I would’ve perched on some moral high horse & patted myself on the back. Had the answer been “too many to count”; I still would have been gloating about how much game I have. Not to say it’s not important in this day and age to keep tabs of who you’re sleeping with, just that I was asking for all the wrong reasons.  Much like the time I once asked;

Q) And me?

To which he answered

A) She’s better than you.

In my defence, he asked the question 1^st. I’m just the sorry sucker who decided to play the comparison game; hoping that the praises I had just sung, would’ve been reciprocated.  

Questions that can be thrown back at you, should never be asked if your own answer to the same question, is not the kind of thing you want to be disclosing.  I learnt this the sticky way when my curiosity propelled me to ask :

Q) So when was the last time you got any?

An acceptable enough question; so long as you aren’t getting your flirt on with a Hottie who might be put off by the fact that your answer to the question is

A) This morning.

Why is it though (she makes the mistake of asking herself) that men are repelled by honest answers such as the one above; yet I’m indifferent to the answer:

A) Yeah, 14 years now

When the question I asked was:

Q) Are you in a relationship?

For what it’s worth, I’m all flirt and very little action & have no intention of physically disrespecting that High school sweetheart romance. . . Can’t say the same for him though; but that’s her baggage.

Truth be told; we all have some kind of baggage, so perhaps questions can be a great deal more remedial and a whole lot less catastrophic, if utilised correctly?

Granted I won’t vow to ask less, because then I’ll tragically learn less. Instead I’ll make a major effort to live this year in such a fashion whereby, irrespective of what the question might be when I have my next reflective episode in 2013, the answers won’t spazz me out.

Cheers to the friggin New Year! I’ll drink to that.