My friend Marize got married. She’s the baby sister of a good friend of mine. Or a former good friend to be honest. (She got very religious and we had an argument because I used the word “shit” in a Facebook post and it pissed her and Jesus off. To which I responded, “Good thing I didn’t say “fuck” then”. We don’t speak anymore.) Anyway, here’s a photo of me and Marize at the bachelorette party. I drank tequila out of a glass shaped like a sperm cell. The rest is fuzzy.
me and Marize
The cocktail I'm drinking is called, unoriginally, a "teapot". It's full of mysterious things that give you a headache at 4 am.
Then my father-in-law had his 50th birthday. Many of you have wondered about DW’s parents. I’m sure you’ve pictured something like this:
But in actual fact they look (and are) fairly normal except for the fact that they’re from that country that looks like Tattooine from Star Wars and that his dad occasionally likes to cross-dress at birthday parties. In fact, they may very well be Sand people. Ah, family.
My in-laws. The day started very romantically until my mom-in-law got blown off her ladder by a strong gust of wind and my father-in-law laughed at her.
Me picking cherries. Still utterly unable to knot one with my tongue.
Also, my cousin Izaan is in town. (Izaan spelt backwards is Naazi, but she's actually really great. We hung out in Johannesburg a few times. She married her boyfriend after only 3 months because of a dream, which is something I can get behind.). That
My cousin looking good. I have those same round cheeks, but on me they look less Hunter Tylo and more Alvin the Chipmunk.
Whenever there was a beauty contest my mom used to say she didn’t want to enter me because I was “too pretty” and she didn’t want to make the other children feel inferior. But I’ve come to suspect this was a lie because I used to wear my brother’s hand-me-downs and cut my hair really short and people suspected I was a crybabyish boy until I was 8. (I really wanted long hair as a kid but whenever it got to a decent length my mom would tell me, “Now remember: don’t put gum in there, you won’t be able to get it out.” This is like the worst parenting on the planet. Of course I would immediately go out, find gum, chew it, wrap my hair around it and then try to wrench it out for 5 hours until I inevitably would give up and decide to hide my foolishness by shearing half my head clean with blunt scissors. Ah...memories.)