of my top five resolutions for this year
i declined 'cause i decided
that i do not believe in the new year anymore..."
I woke up on New Years Day with a swollen eye and what looked an awful lot like injuries from trying to do a fireman’s spin on a dance floor pole that was not meant for fireman’s spins. I was surprised at how fine I was feeling. I wasn’t sick at all, despite drinking for almost twenty-four hours and watching the sun rise. I celebrated my fine feeling with a mimosa, and later on, a cocktail at the brunch place, Arnold’s, the we walked to with Eleanora and Cesar. Unfortunately, I soon realized that the reason why I wasn’t hungover was because I was still drunk. When the hangover finally hit at 2 PM, I went back to bed.
breakfast ribs: Cesar and Joseph eat warthog ribs for breakfast. disturbingly, they sing keep singing Pumba's lines from the Lion King's "Hakuna Matata" as they eat.
By the time I had slept it off, it was dinner time. Dean had wanted to go check out a gay burger joint called Beefcakes in Greenpoint. I think it is a brilliant concept. Glitter and burgers. Milkshakes and men in tank tops. Unfortunately, Dean was nowhere in sight and not answering any of our calls. We decided to go without him, with Joseph obliging us as the group’s only straight male once again. When we showed up at the Beefcakes, we found that Dean had not only decided to go to the restaurant without letting us know, but had also take our reservations that were under our name. We had to find new seats. This is typical Dean. I was not impressed.
Beefcakes was bumping, busy with burger eaters and waiters who were all incredibly in shape. Our table of girls (plus Joseph and Dean) had more females than all of other tables in the restaurant combined. The place was decorated with with a pink theme of fuzzy cowboy hats, feather boas, and general festivity. The menu offered items like Brokeback Burger, Macho Nachos, and an All "Gay" Breakfast. It also offered a body shot off the waiter of your choice for 200 rand. I did not take up this offer.
After dinner, everyone else was sleepy and headed home. Meanwhile, Joseph and I met our couple for the night, Sabrina and her husband Sasha. Sabrina is a lawyer from the CBA like me, working in Grahamstown. Sasha is a doctor. I had him look at my eye, and he assured me that I don’t have eye cancer or ocular herpes, but should probably see another doctor, seeing how he was a cardiologist and we were standing in a bar. He did not, however, say that it wasn’t an eye teratoma.
We went back to our trusty bar Cubana, which was totally packed, with barely enough room inside the bar to move around, and a lineup around the block outside.
“Isn’t anyone hung over from New Years’ Eve in this city?” Joseph demanded, sipping his fourth girly cocktail. Joseph is old. But it was true, the party never seems to stop in Cape Town. That is why I have this lump under my eye: it’s a physical manifestation of the sleep debt I’ve accumulated in this city.