Where the bloody hell are you?

I've been so behind on things to blog about that I've given up entirely and decided to leave you snapshots (literally) of current events.

We'll start with the party with the theme "Oh my God, what the fuck are you wearing?" I went wearing something similar to this, but more hideous.



Hachar heaped scorn on my outfit, proclaiming it not fugly enough. But not before he actually put on my dress and preened in front of the mirror because he was so pretty in it.

When the birthday boy opened the door, I knew I was in the right place.



The birthday boy is wearing the Donald Duck vest and dubious headband. Next to him is the seemingly-sober individual who later stripped down to his underpants and ran around the garden, screaming. Said individual later bear-hugged me while still semi-naked and dripping wet from having been thrown into the pool. Yummy.



Yes, her costume consisted of two seashells. Which brings me to the chap on her right. Easily the best outfit of the night, this pimptastic individual rocked up wearing a full-on real fur coat, gold pleated shirt and silver sparkly flared polyester pants, along with sunglasses decorated with gigantic stars and diamante. (“LOVE the outfit, where’d you get everything?” “Oh, this is just my normal stuff. You know, Friday night, I just come home and decide I want to slip into something more comfortable, and there you go. I’m sure it’s the same for you.” “Oh, definitely. I always dress like this.”)



Kissy-face, loved by millions of MySpace-rs, Facebook-ers and Friendster users around the globe. Alcohol optional. Green bra straps are mandatory.



Pre-alcohol. But not for long.



Believe it or not, this photo is due more the stuff in the bottle than in the bag. Fairy dust, for once, isn't an euphemism.



A party isn't a party without monster feet. Although they don't hold a patch to the chick who was wearing pig shoes which actually oinked when you squeezed their ears. I followed her around from room to room grabbing at her feet then falling over laughing in my more inebriated moments.

I was completely sober by the end of the night though, no thanks to me opening the door and seeing one of the people in the pictures above in more than the usual state of undress. And not alone. As the phrase goes, my eyes eyes, they burn.

Then there was the day I went to what was essentially a giant agricultural show. Demonstrating a remarkable lack of forethought, this was the T-shirt I wore:



In hindsight, not the best possible sartorial choice. I was VERY popular that day.



This was one of the crazier-looking animals on display. It's what happens when God channels His inner Barbara Streisand.



Guys riding 'snails'. They actually left a trail of slime behind. Most authentic, even if snails don't usually have eylashes and beards.

I also got to harass a couple of piglets, some greyhounds, a kid (not the human kind, they put you in jail for that kind of thing) but they made sure the emu chicks and the pythons were safe from me by putting them behind glass. I also managed to eat my body weight in sausages because the Woolworth's tent was holding a sale at the end of the night and I was broke and hungry and they were selling sausages on a stick for 50 cents a pop. A fistful of sausage on a stick is, I've discovered, a whole lot of sausages. Oh, and there were fireworks to round off the night.





And there was the day when the temperature peaked for the first time after a dreary cold winter and we all hit the beach; Hachar, Manflesh, me and the dogs.



Run, Manflesh, run!



Diesel. Cute as.

I would post a picture of myself, but my face looks fat in all of them. Plus, the bikini which I bought on the morning itself had no lining and my nipples could put your eyes out. The water was cold.

Next up: Slinky goes penguin-hunting!