As We Have An “Ironic” Night In Claremont

So this past Saturday I felt like partying in Claremont, but I was too shy and embarrassed to admit to it, as saying that you enjoy partying in Claremont is a bit like saying you enjoy watching Leon Schuster movies and WWE wrestling.

Therefore, I decided to play the “Irony Card”. You know about the Irony Card, right? It’s a gold-tinted fairly well used card you play when you want to do something that you would normally feel slightly shy about. “Hey love, you can do that thing to me tonight with the warm, over-ripe banana. You know, it will be ironic!” or “I’m going to wear sunglasses inside a shopping mall, with my collar popped, because I’m being ironic.”

Anyhoo, so that is the official stance on the night. I was being ironic, that’s why I was there. So in addition to all the tomfoolery which occurred, I had a few random thoughts during the night – seven to be exact – which I will now share with you in a bullet point fashion.

1. We’re WAY too old to still be drinking at Springboks – And I’m not talking about having a beer there in the afternoon whilst watching a game. That is still acceptable. No, I’m of course talking about putting on a smart shirt, or body-hugging fitted t-shirt, and going there to dance and shake your money maker whilst hitting on some young tail. The fact that I even referred to the chicks there as “young tail” should give you an idea of how old we felt and appeared to be when we got there. They have opened some sort of whiskey bar at the back, which had some older twenty somethings sipping on hard liquor, but I still felt dirty being there, like an old man watching his neighbour’s 14 year old daughter washing the family car in her Hello Kitty two piece swimsuit.

   It just felt wrong.

   It was also nicely summed up by the drunk student we encountered later on, who gave us the unintentional but still back-handed compliment of “When I grow up, I want to make some big bucks and be just like you guys.”

   Drunk student, you were a bit of a cock, you smelled very faintly of urine, and you had your face a little too close to mine when you talked, but you hit the nail on the head.

2. You can only drink so much soda and limes – Soda and lime is a lovely drink to have when you are not hitting the booze. It kind of looks like a decent manly drink (unlike Cranberry juice, which looks, surprisingly enough, like Cranberry juice), and they give it to you in a manly looking tall glass (unlike Cranberry juice, which was given to me in a Cosmopolitan cocktail glass). Soda and lime can only take you so far though.

   After my third drink, I was pretty sure that Soda and lime was coming out of my pores, which was confirmed when a slightly inebriated gentleman asked whether he could have some of the soda excreting from my arm, as his Bushmills whiskey was a little on the strong side. The point is, I think clubs need to cater for the non-alcohol drinking folk, and maybe stock some non-alcoholic beers? Just a thought, use it, don’t lose it.

3. The music at Tiger Tiger is lame – I wanted to dance my tits off. I really did. They were annoying me all week and I had strongly made up my mind that they would have to go on Saturday night, giving me the opportunity to grow some new ones. But the music was a bit on the poo side.

   There was probably about 25 mins of decent sexy dance music for the entire night. Oh and then a little bit of old school stuff later on (Beegees, Michael Jackson, some Whitney etc) Otherwise it was mostly that David Gueta-style shit that you hear late at night on 5fm, the type of music you can’t really dance to, you kind of just jump around mindlessly, or alternatively, stand still and feel up the chick dancing in front of you.

   I wasn’t planning on feeling up any chicks (I didn’t want to get beaten with my own arm) so I had to settle on the first option, of jumping around mindlessly.

   Which made me look like a giant tit.

   Which I think is irony?

4. I can’t seem to read a signal even if it pulls me by the scrotum – So there I was, chilling at one of the tables at Tiger Tiger, when this blonde chick walks past, armed with a pair of big blue eyes, and an ass you could quite possibly bounce a R5 coin off. (I always wondered about this line when I read it in books, or heard it in movies, but after seeing her ass, it just made sense)

   As she sashayed past us, she turned and stared hard in my direction, causing me to turn around, and just check that I was in fact her target, so as to avoid another embarrassing situation. From then on, she was literally hovering around us for most of the night until, probably exasperated by my complete indifference, she motioned for me to come over to her on the dance floor. I waddled over cautiously, and stammered in her ear – “Hi, so where exactly do I know you from? Did we go to school together?”. She looked at me, the way you might look at a puppy before smacking it upside the head for peeing on your prized slippers, and said, “No… no we have never met. I just thought you were cute.”

   “Oh,” I stammered, completely off-guard by this revelation. “I have a girlfriend and I am really slow so I actually had no idea that this was the case.” She then proceeded to roll her eyes at me. “You have pretty shoes,” I countered, awkwardly. “I like the way they make your toes look like little buttons”. I then slowly moonwalked away from her and started doing the Macarena, which I usually do when I feel flustered and / or disorientated.

   When I finished it, she was gone. She had an exceptional ass though, maybe I should have told her about The Girlfriend after I rubbed my groin region against it, although The Girlfriend would likely have beaten me with my own arm had she found out, so I’m pretty confident that I made the right choice.

   The main point though, was the fact that I had no idea she was actually hitting on me, which concerns me, as Perception is my middle name, thanks in part to the inept nature of the Home Affairs department. But we will leave that story for another day.

How many is this? Four? Okay, let’s leave it at four. I know I said seven, but truth be told, I have ended up writing far more than I expected.

Yes, I wrote this. On paper. And then I scanned it. Onto the computer. I don’t believe in typing things out. It’s not pure enough for me.

I am a writer. Not a typist.

I write.

That is all.

Oakes signing off.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.