Thursday, July 29, 2010

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Trois

At the beginning of last year, I went to Tiger Tiger for the first time. That, however, is not what this blog post is about [long story short: I hate the place]. But I went there with my high school ex, The Sweetheart, who also happens to be my best friend’s brother [rookie error; I know. NEVER AGAIN]. I broke up with him in 2006 and the next 18 months were spent with him landing up in hospital for alcohol poisoning, failing most of his subjects at varsity and me randomly receiving text messages from him at all hours with detailed descriptions of what a terrible person I am, and what he wished would happen to me. It was fairly traumatising, thus I was fairly happy when we finally made peace, and to keep said peace I agreed to go with him to Tiger.
The Sweetheart had just broken up with his girlfriend post me [let’s call her Crazy]. She was in residence at varsity with another BFF of mine, and was desperate to get some dirt on me every day of her life. Sad, really. And she did not take the break up very well. So when Crazy saw us at Tiger, she went fairly mental. She basically attacked us, and two of Sweetheart’s friends had to pick her up and drag her away while Sweetheart and I made a run for it. At this point I was quite over the legal drinking/driving limit, so Sweetheart suggested I crash at his place instead, and drive to work the next morning. Perfect plan!
Oh no. Crazy turns up at Sweetheart’s house at 3am, bangs the door down and proceeds to curse him [and me] right into whichever miserable life is next for us. I would have gone out there to explain to her just how absolutely and entirely OUT of the picture I was, but I was scared that Crazy would cut my throat open or throw a microwave at me or something. Anyway, she left, eventually. I am too little to deal with angry people who are bigger than me [which is pretty much everyone]. I escaped unscathed but for bleeding ears from such profanity escaping a little girl’s mouth! Yoh.
So, in Cape Town, I see Sweetheart again. A year and a half later I am even more completely and entirely out of the picture, and he has a new girlfriend. I meet her, the whole lot of us party together in Mercury, we’re drinking champagne straight from the bottle, everything is peachy. Later [much, much later] at Shack, I am sitting down with The Nazi, Margs and Chris [my favourite new toy], when Sweetheart sits down next to me. After conversation around how the party is, I asked how he is in general, which turns to ‘How are things going with the girl?’ My answer: ‘ Swimmingly, until YOU arrived.’
Turns out all I have to do is EXIST, and every girl freaking hates me. This is but a short tale of the many, many times this has happened, with numerous girls and numerous ex boyfriends. I have been stalked, cursed, hated and slated by any girl who has ever come near any guy I have ever gone near to.
Lesson: Jealousy makes you VERY nasty. Also insecure, irrational, rude, aggressive and unnecessarily potty-mouthed. Also fat.
Well, one can only hope.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Deux

Happy birthday, Mermaid.

So, as I mentioned, I saw everyone in Cape Town. Eeeeeveryone. And it was rad, and just because I missed everyone so much, they all look amazing! It started on Thursday night, when we drove to Chevelle straight from the airport for the aKing video launch, which I missed. Do you know how late you have to be for a gig to miss it entirely in Cape Town? VERY late. But the party was not over, and even when Chevelle unceremoniously kicked us out, we took our vibe over to Shack. Ah, Shack, my old friend. The cause of many too-late parties the night before Mandarin exams with TaiwaNina.
Friday night was spent at Mercury, after drinks with The Nazi, Stormin, bangersandnash and The Mermaid at Neighbourhood which was, as usual, too full. But I saw everyone, even some old school friends! Thereafter we went to Mercury to continue celebrating The Mermaid’s birthday, and at the gig I saw everyone again- muso friends, radio friends, photographer/designer/artist friends [read: whole of Cape Town]. Of course this party too was taken to Shack, where we saw everyone that is part of everyone we had not yet seen. On Saturday it was time to return to MY town, Stellenbosch, and my second home, Bohemia. But after just one Black Label special [2 for R15, have you ever???] I saw some rugby friends I had met in Welkom during Craven Week [small world, ey?] and we [Margs, La Jew and I] were dragged to Nu’bar. I hate the place, but who am I to say no to free alcohol?
Nu’Bar is too full of people I don’t know but who [apparently] know me, and too loud with music I don’t like. But we’re sticking it out for the sake of getting expensive free drinks without having to put out [score!], when Margs whispers [read: shouts at top of lungs over loud music] ‘It could just be someone who looks very much like him, but is that The Cyclist I see across the bar?]
Oh. Eff. The Cyclist. Remember, he’s the one my mum loves so much? When I said I saw everyone, this ex was not included. Not to mention how good he looks! Damn. And we have not spoken for two years as he hates me for a) breaking up with him and b) dating his best friend a few months later. [I didn’t know, okay? I DID NOT KNOW! I swear!] Undecided as to whether I should say hi or make a run for it, we end up being shoved quite into one another’s faces. So, hello it is. Eff. This is going to be AWFUL.
But no. It is not awkward in the slightest. He no longer hates me [although admits he DID hate me for quite some time], and we chat like we’re old friends. Cycling, horse riding, studying, work, hair [he is the ultimate metro man and I love it- he always smells amazing, he is clean and his hair is nice. What is not to love?] and, of course, love life. Turns out he knows EVERYTHING about me, from my tattoo to who I dated and where I’m working. A bit creepy [although the latter can be owed to his having a television.] We end up in Springboks. You know you will suffer from a stupid, irresponsible night for the next day [or week] if you end up there. There’s a fight at the door [of course] and we’re all ‘it’s good to see you, la la la’ and I end up sleeping over at his house.
Major facepalm! I’m waking up going ‘WHAT were you thinking? WHY do you do these stupid things????’ BlockquoteSelf-loathing ensues.
After sneaking out with him [I do NOT need his family to be questioning me right now], I feel a rush of nostalgia. Nice car, driving by a stunning view on a perfect day, with this utterly gorgeous male. My mum is, of course, over the moon. And me? I’m still in the same clothes as the night before. But honestly, it was gooooooooood.
So, here’s a lesson: Never say never. Also, expect the unexpected. Read: always carry a toothbrush in your handbag.

I'm Not Crying. You're Not Crying, Are you?

When last did I blog about music? Wow. I can't be sure exactly how much time has lapsed, but I guesstimate a million years.
There's a new Arcade Fire album, and ou can pre-order it here. I have heard good things about the album and so far, so pretty. While you're at it, hover your cursor over the album cover. Too cool. If you tell me you 'don't really like' Arcade Fire, I will assume you are either a) lying or b) deaf.
Also, I have a new love. They're called Dear and the Highlights, and you can get a taste of their vibe here.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Life Lessons from Escape Town: Part Une

Last Monday I decided to be impulsive. I miss being impulsive. Last year was all about that: last-minute abandonment of all that is rational; a crazy night; waking up somewhere you have never been before and spending the next day facepalming yourself while sitting in too-bright sunlight still stinking of whatever madness had gone down the night before. But now, what with having a job and all that, things have calmed down a lot. But after working myself half to death during the FIFA World Cup, and with honours about to get pretty hectic [rumour has it there is a thesis deadline looming], I decided now was the perfect time to Cape Town. So I did. And it was awesome, but in the most unexpected ways...
I am not going to go into details of my exact itinerary. It was the usual- I saw everyone, I went everywhere, I did everything I loved to do. But I simply have to share an amazing story with everyone: The Story of the Departed Driver’s Licence.

There is only one break-up I have ever taken really badly, and that was when The Nazi very unexpectedly dumped me. I smashed a vase in my house [hard enough to chip the concrete wall], lay on the ground [in a ball gown, as this happened straight after a big event] and cried my make-up onto the floor. The next day I walked halfway to campus to hand in an essay, barefoot and puffy-eyed, with black streaks of eyelines down to my collar bones [still in said ball gown], before realising I was probably attracting more attention than I wanted to. I also disappeared for a few days, and when I returned I spent many a night drunk-dialing the poor guy, blaming him for everything that was wrong in my life. So, fairly soon after this break up I went on a bit of a drinking spree. Alone [obviously, otherwise it simply is not tragic enough], and strategically having just one or two drinks at each place. And when I say ‘each place’, I mean pretty much every liquor-selling venue in Stellenbosch. Needless to say when I landed up in Bohemia [ten hours later], I was fairly tipsy. And, of course, I called The Nazi. We talked, I got angry and stormed out, only to realise that my wallet was decidedly gone. I went back into Bohemia [where I had definitely last had it], but no luck.

The next day I went through the usual post-theft admin of affidavits, running around, filling out forms and spending unnecessary money until, a few hours later, I had a new driver’s licence, bank card, student card and wallet.
Back to present day: on Saturday we went to Bohemia. As I am ordering my drink at Bar B, Unknown Barman points to me and says, “Lize?”
Me: “Yes. Why?” [Not too worried, he doesn’t look like the rugby type but maybe he watched Varsity Cup.]
Unknown Barman: “I recognise you from class.”
Me: “Oh.” [In head: creep.]
Unknown Barman: “Your driver’s licence is behind the other bar.”
Me: “Erm... No, it isn’t.” [I know this because I have not had to remove my licence yet as this is one of the few nights where I have not been asked for ID, thus licence is still safe in wallet.]
Unknown Barman: “Yes, it is. Except you had black hair.”
Me: [Pull out my wallet and show him my driver’s licence, accompanied by ‘whatever, dude’ look on face.]
Unknown Barman: “Okay. Well, anyway...” [Conversation trails off into ordering of alcohol.]
So, I decide to ask at Bar A anyway. And there it is. Two years later, my driver’s licence has found its way back to my second home, waiting for me!
Okay, I am quite sure that this story excites you less than it did me, and that you did not just buy a round for a group of strangers. But it was just one of those moments where the universe really comes to the party [albeit fashionably VERY late] and makes you go ‘Aaaaw! You are not just a screwed-up bitch, Life.’
That is my first story. There are a few more Cape Town chapters to be written, on friends, exes and other invaluable life lessons. Stay tuned.