Parties, parties and more parties

Okay, I’m feeling a little embarrassed right now, because people must be thinking “who does she think she is that she needs to have three birthday parties?” And I’m thinking the same damn thing.

Party #1: Before taking me out to dinner on Friday night, The Gilb insists I wear my aubergine-purple dress and black boots (one of his favourite outfits) then proceeds to shag me rotten in it, in a bout of ‘doorframe sex’, let’s call it. Heavenly. Then he took me to the fabulous Singing Fig in Norwood, which was splendid too (marred only briefly by his need to tell me that he had to upgrade his cellphone 3G subscription from 500MB to 1GB because he needed it to download more porn – now I’m not against his need to perv over strange pussies, but really, it’s my birthday and our fourth anniversary, let’s rather flatter me tonight, mkay?). Towards the end of dinner, odd things happen. 3rm calls him to ask how our dinner is going (clue 1). I’m thinking, that’s sweet, but why the fuck does he care? Then Gilb suggests that seeing as we’re in Norwood, let’s go out for a drink, and I tell him that’s a totally bizarre suggestion, he never wants to go out after dinner for a drink (clue 2). He replies with a “but baby (never been a fan of this moniker but we started calling each other ‘baby’ mockingly a few weeks ago and now it’s stuck – anyway, I digress), I’m only going to see you for less than 24 hours, so let’s go for a drink together.” My retort was “but baby, you know I’ll be just as happy if we go home right now and shag!” “Well let’s go for a drink and then we can shag!” “Okay, but that’s still really weird of you.” So he drives down the road ‘looking’ for somewhere to go for a drink, and decides that the best place is New York Café. So we walk inside and I see a friend of mine (clue 3) and I exclaim “Oh my God! What are the odds?” And then I see another friend of mine (clue 4) sitting at the same table as him (clue 5) and think that’s bizarre, those two don’t really know each other and would never go out in the same company. And then I saw Peas and 3rm, and then – only then – did I click. “Surprise!” they all screeched, and I was beaming from ear to ear at the unexpectedness of it all. Suffice to say I should not put CSI on the top of my “jobs I’d really be good at” list. So that was cool – was given two bottles of Chilean wine (good call! You’re so invited to my future winefarm’s guesthouse) and the Annotated Alice, which I’ve been pestering 3rm to buy me. The evening was pleasant (unfortunately distracted by some dodgy black dude at the counter who unwittingly dragged me into a conversation and who said he needed “one white woman” and wouldn’t accept the fact that woman might not be me, especially as my boyfriend was standing just a few metres away. He just wouldn’t go away, so I managed to drag my boyfriend into the conversation, and I ended up laughing because the guy hugged the Gilb at the end of the evening, not realising the Gilb is an Afrikaner, and this dude “hates Afrikaners”). Back home for more conventional-type sex, and very welcome sleep.

Party #2: On Saturday morning the Gilb reveals his second surprise, a massage somewhere in Sandton, but I asked to have it moved to next weekend because he wasn’t going to have one with me and our hours together were few (he’s on shifts at Sasol at the moment, they’re in the middle of maintenance shut-downs). So we did breakfast, frantically shopped for my picnic later that day, and then he departed for the unattractive town I have come to wish I could spend more time in (I did threaten to call his supervisor and tell him I’d handcuffed my boyfriend to the bed and wasn’t letting him go till the next morning, but Gilb would have none of it). Peas and I made our way to Zoo Lake, were joined by C, and picked a spot to set up camp (somewhere wandering coppers wouldn’t stumble to find us drinking in public), and my crowd started drifting in – along with one of Peas’ not-so-secret admirers, as it turned out, damn freaky. We had an absolutely fabulous afternoon, I managed to put in reasonable chat time with most of the groups there, and allowed Peas to twist my arm into doing the Colon with her that night. A few others agreed to join us, and we continued our drinking into the evening. Peas and I not only strangled cats but succeeded in undoing most of Noah’s work, on the karaoke floor (of course, the Spice Girls and Roxette weren’t too happy with our homage, either), and managed to find a suitable wall to pole-dance against – being the entrance to the bathrooms – much to the dismay of the poor would-be bladder-relievers we accosted as they tried to pass through our ‘porn curtain’. More drinking, more dancing, some dodging of Peas’ exes, failed dates and Haahd Paaahk Haarh people I don’t necessarily want to see in social settings (I also discovered the reason why so many former fellow schoolmates hang out there, two ex-HPH students own the place), and eventually home after one hell of a long day.

So that’s two down, third (and last) party happens this Friday to celebrate in conjunction with Peas our 26-year old-hood.