Saturday, February 27, 2010
My room looks like something taken out of The Twilight Zone (Not the Twilight films). Curtains closed to shield my eyes from the afternoon sunlight, ripped jeans lying on the floor, and the only source of light; dimly seeping into the room through my computer monitor.
Last night, my friend Ruth and her digsmates hosted a party, to welcome a friendly group of lads and ladies to their humble abode. The theme: 80s punk, the result: chaos.
Pictured above: Chaos.
Naturally, i was going to try my best to dress fittingly for the occasion, by finding the most hideous and kitch apparel i could lay my hands on, slap it together haphazardly and spray painting my hair some sort of neon colour. This included finding the unwashed leopard print vest in the boot of my car, spraying it with deodorant and leaving it for a few hours, borrowing a pair of slashed skinnies roughly three sizes too small for me, retrieving the moth-ball-smelling pastel bomber jacket from the deepest reaches of my farthest cupboard and squeezing into it all.
With some help from friends, Becca and Dieter, I was ready to take on the world.
Pictured above: Ready to take on the world (And by the world, I mean the buckets of punch provided)
Now, I sometimes don't think things through. Yeah. Chortle. Finished?...
Good. Tonight was one of those nights. I decided that to maintain my dignity, I would have to drink an absorbitant amount. And bounce around shouting obscenities, spilling my punch, and scoring myself a loose, or two.
Needless to say, fun was had by all. I ended up at one of those places, quite similiar to Joes, dancing to the latest D&B rendition of Call On Me, which incidentally was a top track at some stage during the 80s I believe. I also walked across Grahamstown a couple of times, as I only realised halfway between home and the hellhole that is Friars, that I left my keys at Ruth's digs. 30 mins later I was at the same spot, reunited with my keys; still mindless, and thankfully on my way home.
I apologised with pie, for being loud and obscene. It was delicious.
Last night, my friend Ruth and her digsmates hosted a party, to welcome a friendly group of lads and ladies to their humble abode. The theme: 80s punk, the result: chaos.
Pictured above: Chaos.Naturally, i was going to try my best to dress fittingly for the occasion, by finding the most hideous and kitch apparel i could lay my hands on, slap it together haphazardly and spray painting my hair some sort of neon colour. This included finding the unwashed leopard print vest in the boot of my car, spraying it with deodorant and leaving it for a few hours, borrowing a pair of slashed skinnies roughly three sizes too small for me, retrieving the moth-ball-smelling pastel bomber jacket from the deepest reaches of my farthest cupboard and squeezing into it all.
With some help from friends, Becca and Dieter, I was ready to take on the world.
Pictured above: Ready to take on the world (And by the world, I mean the buckets of punch provided)Now, I sometimes don't think things through. Yeah. Chortle. Finished?...
Good. Tonight was one of those nights. I decided that to maintain my dignity, I would have to drink an absorbitant amount. And bounce around shouting obscenities, spilling my punch, and scoring myself a loose, or two.
Needless to say, fun was had by all. I ended up at one of those places, quite similiar to Joes, dancing to the latest D&B rendition of Call On Me, which incidentally was a top track at some stage during the 80s I believe. I also walked across Grahamstown a couple of times, as I only realised halfway between home and the hellhole that is Friars, that I left my keys at Ruth's digs. 30 mins later I was at the same spot, reunited with my keys; still mindless, and thankfully on my way home.
I apologised with pie, for being loud and obscene. It was delicious.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment