Friday, November 13, 2009

For the Grown Folks


The biggest and scariest word (to me anyways) in the English language. Today I am being faced with my own mortality. I am not She-Ra (shoutout to the 80's superhero comics.)

See? This is exactly what I am talking about. I'm getting old. I am now in the age bracket where I'm still young and hip enough (and can actually afford) to do stuff, but old enough to do them in moderation so that I don't feel like a zombie the next day and I still have money in my bank account. But I remember a time when all those things did not matter. I would go out and think "Fuck sleep, who needs that? I'm PARTYING! My last 20 bucks on a round of shooters? WHY NOT?!!"
Now if I stay out past midnight on a weeknight the next day is one of sleep-deprived torture, constantly watching the minutes tick by as time crawls towards the hour of my freedom from corporate bondage.

Sid: It's like there's this limit of fun that my body can handle. If I go over that limit my body complains.

I couldn't have said it better myself. What happened to my staying power? Where did all that stamina go? Why is it now impossible for me to get by with 5 hrs sleep, when back in the day I stayed up once for 38 hrs straight. Partying! People went to bed, woke up in shifts to keep me company. I was on FIRE!

But all that is gone now, and I'm having a hard time accepting it.
You see, last night I indulged in the Thursday night party at Galaxy. (Why? Because its Thursday, DUH!)
Galaxy is the oldest club in Cape Town, and still the best ever. I was all responsible and everything. Left the club at 1, had a shower and went to bed. Today I feel like the walking dead. The worst is that I didn't even drink (had two ciders, no kak).

I want my 18-22 yr old body back. She was a trooper. She could party. I don't like this 26 yr old wuss. She is a fader.


I am totally aware that I'm getting older. That there are certain things that society is politely going to tell me to stop wearing, stop eating, stop saying, and places I'll have to stop going, just to make sure that I really enjoy the last few years before my inevitable death. (Thanks Society. You're so giving that way.) Unless I reach Madonna status (which if you knew me, you'd know is VERY likely), and then I just won't give a fuck.

Friday, November 6, 2009

I'm back...

So once again I am denouncing alcohol. Don't look at me like that! I can stop whenever I want!!

Fuck you...

Alcohol has been fun, but now I'm trying to get serious. Serious about life, about me and the things I want. (Like I've already said for the hundredth time). It doesn't mean that I'm not going to miss that beautiful buzz you get after a few drinks, and then allowing myself to sink into that beautiful pool of "I don't give a fuck what you think cos I just came here to DANCE!"

Sigh...I'm really gonna miss that feeling the most. Don't get me wrong, drunk or sober I'm an AWESOME dancer. Like Fame, only better cos its unrehearsed. I am Mad "Freestyler" Phoenix yo.

And before you people think this is one of those "I'm never having a drink again", its just for a while.

Think I might start smoking that tabasco again. Did that a lot with my ex, we kinda used it as a band aid to an its-ok-but-not-really relationship. Everyone who has been in a relationship knows exactly what I mean.

But now we are friends so maybe we can use it to heal over any cracks that might hamper the lovers-to-friends transition.

In unrelated news I lost a follower last week. I was all the way up to 5, and then the deserter decided that he/she didn't like checking up on an un-updated blog. So sorry to everybody else for being so quiet, and fuck you deserter!

I was at a loss for what to say. What did The Don call it?

Oh yeah, blogstipation. LOL, love that word.