What a drag

After a full day in bed post-hen party (at the infamous Beefcakes) I woke up Monday morning to see 'You have been tagged in 17 photos on Facebook' ...

SH*********T

Raced to work to find a number of disorderly images of an unrestrained Olive frolicking amongst topless men and drag queens, flourescent pink feather bower between my legs, a glass of Champagne in one hand, and a significantly large cucumber in the other...!?! Hastily detagged the erroneous evidence of inebriated lunacy, praying no one had yet seen said affirmation.

Mother had rung at 8am Sunday morning. In my unfathomably hungover state, and running on all of 3 hours sleep, I struggled to get out more than one word at a time let alone a coherent sentence.

Mother: MORNING DARLING!!
Olive: Ssshhhh.
Mother: What?
Olive: Head.
Mother: You were drunk last night.
Olive: What would make you say such a thing?!??!!
Mother: I got a text from you at 3.27am saying you'd ordered two golden retrievers off eBay.
Olive: Er.
Mother: And you sent your Father a photo of an enormous cucumber.
Olive: Um.
Mother: And then you asked your Father if he could pay you back for the golden retrievers!
Olive: Please... you're making my LC worse than it already is.
Mother: Go back to bed. And for God's cancel those dogs!

Cringe.

Like Step Father, like Step Daughter

Woke up (particularly hungover) on Saturday morning to a searing sun burn! The room I had somehow ended up in after my night on the town was bathed in light.

Wondered momentarily if I was dead...

I may as well have slept on a frikken sundeck! Looked around for suncream, or a cap, or zinc... anything!... but instead found a pair of shades conveniently perched on the bedside table, and I covered my body with the duvet to protect it from the rays of fire burning through the so-called 'curtains' – which quite honestly must have been made out of cling wrap based on the job they were doing. The good news is, the person whose room I was in definitely wasn't a vampire. The bad news was I was perspiring profusely, which had left a very questionable wet patch on the sheets that would need an explanation.

This was dehydration beyond compare and I crawled into the bathroom and put my head under the tap. Back in bed, pounding head was quickly intensified by my bbm beeping frantically. Step Daddy was in town. Step Daddy wanted to meet for lunch. Christ. I needed a shower, a freezo, an energade and to get out of this hell pit before I incinerated. Now, where was my car again?

A few hours later, I arrive at Basilico, dishevelled, decrepit, dark rings, liverless etc...

SD: 'Don't you look hot... Big night?'
Me: 'It's that obvious?'
SD: 'Do you feel as bad as you look?'
Me: 'Am hanging like a fruitbat.'
SD: 'Me too. Let's drink through it.'
Me: 'Great minds...'

A bottle of champagne AND a bottle of wine later, we thought it a good idea to perhaps order some food, while both simultaneously avoiding calls from mother...

SD: 'You're driving me home.'
Me: 'And you're Spiderman.'
SD: 'If you do, I'll buy you two bottles of Champagne for your girls' night tonight?'
Me: 'Why didn't you just say so?'

In car, playing Coldplay's 'Paradise' full blast, silver-fox step dad chanting the wrong words out the window... questionable looks from pedestrians... etc

SD: 'Woooooooo. This song is amaziiiiiiing. Turn it up!!!! LOUDER! Para-para-paralysed!!!'
Me: 'It doesn't go any higher. You blew my left speaker 5 minutes ago, remember?'
SD: 'Who sings it? Is he really paralysed?'
Me: 'You went to their concert 2 weeks ago. It's paradise...'
SD: 'It sure is!'

We made it to his place unscathed, after much giggling and stalling, where the man he was staying with offered me yet more wine. I chose life and drove home while I still could.

Good times.

Heatstroke in winter

I felt positively ghastly this morning. At first I thought it must be the whopping three Hunters Dry I drank last night (apparently I'm a lightweight) with my flesh-searing chilli poppers, and that rancid Blowjob shooter we ordered at the end (really? First year?). But then, a memory came flooding back to me...

It was 10 degrees when I got into bed last night. My in-built temperature guage told me so. (When the temperature drops below 15 degrees my eyes start watering and my nose turns a brilliant shade of scarlet.) I got into bed wearing 4 jerseys, 2 pyjama pants, a beanie and a pair of ski socks. I also had 3 fleece blankets over my bed, and I left the heater on. Not a good idea.

I floated into a wonderful, clown-free dream-filled sleep of freezos, Hunters Dry, bubbly, chilli poppers, healthy knees, dance, chocolate fondants, Tiger Tiger, sequins... Then suddenly I remember being so thirsty in my dream and I turned around to find one of those 5 litre bottles of water presented to me on a red velvet pillow. There was Hunters and freezos and bubbly there too. But all I wanted was the water! And I drank the whole thing. But I was so hot and so parched it wasn't helping and so I started to panic as I needed more water...

Seconds later I awoke... Drenched in sweat, I quickly removed my four layers, the ski socks, the beanie, and the 3 blankets. I saw the little orange heater light glowing away maliciously in the dark and I hastily switched it off. I grabbed the water next to my bed and drank... and drank... I filled it up... and drank. Three bottles later I realised what a banging headache I had and came to the conclusion that I was suffering from mild heat(er)stroke and severe dehydration – a lethal combination of scorching radiator air, Hunters Dry/Blowjobs and remarkably hot chilli poppers (which definitely turned everything in my stomach to ash)! I popped a pain killer, got back into bed, my stomach a swimming pool, and fell back to sleep. Needless to say I woke up this morning utterly freezing, numb toes, in only a T-shirt and no blanket on the bed, with some newfangled version of hangover/sunstroke. I think I need to go get a freezo.

'Girls' night' tonight. That's French for 'lots of fattening food, gossip, and a glass of pink bubbly'.

Run down and out

Just know this before I start – I spent the first half of my morning writing this blog post. As I pressed 'send' the whole retarded page disappeared and I was left with a blank page and a bad mood. 

Round 2:

Ok first things first. I'm the new advanced tapper on the blog (get it? On the block/on the blog), what with my three whopping distinctions for my tap exams!

Now that I've got the gloating out the way I'll tell you about my weekend. I must apologise for the lack of post last week. But I looked a little something like this, bar the violet-coloured face:

I had tap syllabus coming out my ears, and was editing the sh*t out of the magazine to meet deadline. Rehearsing 3 hours a night after a full day's work is one way to run you down. And yes, I'm now sick, in case you were asking. But I think I can attribute that to this past weekend's ungovernable antics.

The weekend was off to a bad start. I skipped with elation out my tap exams only to find that some complete moronic airhead had rammed into my car then buggered off without a note. This left me reeling ferociously to say the least and I gulped down my bubbly rather aggressively at dinner. One glass lead to a bottle at the revolting Decodance, where I realised the following 3 things: I hate 80s music, I hate the club and I hate the person who hit my car. Whatever remains of good mood I had vanished with the last sip of Champagne and I promptly departed with my ex-flatmate.

Saturday morning: pounding headache. Bad headache had to accompany me to Kirstenhof Police Station to get a case number for my car. Aggravated by the excursion, bad headache escalated into severe migraine. Only after 2 Energades, 2 myprodol and an hour's nap did it decide to take leave and allow me to make the necessary preparations (Operation 'Erase any signs of hangover') for the wedding I had to attend that afternoon.

Arrived at wedding not wearing the appropriate attire to fend of Cape Town's glacial winds and slowly turned a brilliant shade of royal blue as I sat through the ceremony. Finally got feeling back in toes and feet on arrival at the Mount Nelson for the reception, thanks to a shot glass of warm sweet sherry and I proceeded to stuff my face with tempura prawns. Think waiter thought he was being stalked since I trailed him and his tray of delicacies around the room for a good hour until Lovely Boyfriend said I was scaring the guests.

Bubbly kept me going through speeches and a good deal of twists and turns to my good ol' faves: Nat King Cole, Frankie S and Glen Miller. I returned to the table to find that no one had eaten their desserts. Three creme brulees later I told Lovely Boyfriend that I had to get home immediately or I was going to curl up in the bride's train (which looked remarkably like my duck-down duvet) and klap a snooze. 

So now I'm sick. I think it was the attempt at a gym session then running home in the rain that was the final straw for my poor body. So I'm taking a week off from any social activities. This excludes freezocino outings.

Long weekend!

It's fabulous Friday! After a shaky start this morning (dinner at the amazing, quaint little Italian Il Leone, accompanied by a bottle of bubbly of course), my freezo sorted out any sign of a hangover and I arrived at work ready to take on the day. Until I glanced at the clock on my screen and realised it was only 9:30 – I feel like I've been here for at least three hours already and was starting to look forward to lunch! Not ideal. I'm thanking my lucky stars that after all the pleading, persuasion and drop-lip I pulled last night after dinner, lovely boyfriend still didn't give in to taking me for a 'quick dance and a drink' somewhere. I was almost pathetically desperate to hit the town – must've been a combination of the heels, the veal, the champagne and the 8th of Italian in me. But I wouldn't have felt too sparkly this morning. But I think it was because I'm heading home tonight (Jo'burg) and I know it's going to be a rather family-orientated weekend, whereas lovely boyfriend is going to be back here with all his best school mates (who are down for the long weekend) painting the town all sorts of colours without his handbreak (that would be me) tagging along. Oh well, if all else fails I shall find somewhere cool to go for the rugby tomorrow night (with my father since he is the only one in my family who cares about rugby in my family) so I can have my routine Hunters Dry wand watch the Stormers annihilate the Bulls – this will have to qualify as my fair share of 'fun' for the weekend.

I had good news this week: I am finally allowed to do what I absolutely love and that is writing restaurant reviews for my magazine's blog. (This means free beverages! Oh.. and meals, of course.) I might also do bar and hotel reviews, and some show reviews considering I have pretty much taken up residence at Artscape since I moved to Cape Town. I also do online book reviews (alert the media!). I would love to post the link for you (of my recent restaurant review) but maybe I shouldn't associate my gorgeous glossy women's fashion and beauty mag with a Champagne-downing, rib-scoffing frequently-hungover rugger bugger with a lifelong dream of being on the stage or in front of a camera. The other day I had to look up what a gilet was. And I don't even use an exfoliator.

Been the insatiable dancing diva I am, I flung myself, far too overenthusiastically, straight into modern dance on Tuesday (having not done it since last year November) and attemped to push myself into the splits after two hours of intense exam work. I am so stiff, even three days later, that I can barely sit down or stand up elt alone walk, and had to ring my flatmate this morning to ask her to pull me out of bed. And dress me...

 This does not bode well for me since I'm signed up for an advanced contemporary class tomorrow morning. Could be interesting.

Have a great weekend. Joburg awaits me. Oh and - ENGLAND WON THE CRICKET!

Back in the game!

I'm back! Sorry I've been AWOL. On Monday I was still feeling the after-effects of Saturday's highly eventful and out-of-control cruise and hotel night. I think it's safe to say I worked my way through at least five bottles of Champagne (to myself) over the course of the day – from 11am until about midnight. I have a distant memory of lying on a flourescent pink lilo, gripping a flute of rose bubbly, and attempting to sing along to a tune that actually didn't have any words, wearing a sailor's hat and a mismatched bikini.

Even after an entire day embedded in the sofa, I still felt like I was suffering from a life-threatening, incurable third-world virus on Sunday evening and lay motionless and mute next to lovely boyfriend as we tried to keep down some ribs. 

So Monday morning I arrived at work pallid and forlorn, feeling as if I hadn't slept since last year November, and had run a half marathon a few hours before. Tuesday, I got philosophical and decided that I wasn't quite satisfied with life – after effects of the alcohol? I don't know – and wanted more out of it, so I began signing up to agencies so I can have my turn in the limelight, which I have decided is long overdue. Wednesday I started to feel human again but still felt like I had no purpose in life. Saturn return? Again, I don't know.

Today I arrived feeling sprightly. Have worked hard and am ready for a drink this evening. The verdict?: I'm getting old. It officially takes me three days to get over a big night. How did I do it  consecutively back in the day? What did I have then that I don't now?

Looking forward to the watching the Stormers thrash the Highlanders tomorrow, and then a relaxing day on Sunday while all the delusional people in Cape Town wake up at 5am, get on a private-part-torturing bike for a stupid number of kilometres and ride till their legs cramp or just fall off. Me, I'll be by the pool with a freezocino :)

Over and out.

Hungover and out

Am incomprehensibly hungover. This does not bode well for me considering it's not Friday yet. But at least it's a consequence of the perfect hot date at Bukhara, which involved a myriad Pongracz, Butter Chicken and Garlic Naan. My computer screen is too bright. Will anyone notice if I wear my sunglasses?

I have porridge brain so, while I pop out to buy an Energade, am just going to leave you with this classic classic 'Royal Engagement Facebook Fail' video, which really gave me the hangover giggles...