We went on a date a few days back and ended up eating at the docks instead. Partly because I was not dressed for the occasion, looking like one half of Salt 'n Peppa, and partly because well, sometimes a bitch just wants some fried goodness for no money, and a beer instead of drinking champagne straight from the bottle.
This weekend coming is my birthday weekend. The general rule is that if your birthday falls on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, then you are automatically entitled to a birthday weekend. This year, my stupid birthday falls on a Monday and, as it will not fall on a weekend for another 4 years and I was born with a great sense of self-entitlement, I am declaring that Monday the 31st is part of the weekend and thus, having myself a birthday weekend. Confusing, but all you really need to know is that I will be getting horrendously drunk 3 times more than I usually would. Upsettingly enough, after all the drink I consume, my alcohol tolerance is still that of a child's, meaning it will take less than R100 to get me wasted. Note to all of you: if you see me out (you will), do NOT, I repeat, do NOT buy me a birthday shot (you still probably will). While I plan on having a good night/3 nights, I do not want to include vomiting this year. Last birthday took pretty much until this birthday to recover from.
Last year too many of us ended up naked in the bath. The pictures were probably worse to wake up to the next afternoon than my raging hangover. Lala had vomited all around the toilet instead of in it, some left over stragglers had slept over and were still in my apartment, the police had been called to break it up and I had sung to them, and the mess born from that night haunts me to this day.
THIS YEAR WE'RE GOING OUT INSTEAD.