Yesterday was a big day for out and proud gay (and lesbian) people in Johannesburg, being the 14th Annual Pride Parade and Mardi Gras. I didn't go. Instead, I drove my beloved to a company where he did a whole bunch of psychometric tests as part of a graduate recruitment programme. He's looking for a job, you see. Anyway, I bought a book and a cheese burger and waited the three hours or so until he was done, and it was worth every second.
Well, after a really unpleasant exchange of telephone calls and emails last week, I told my best friend that I no longer wished to continue our friendship. Ironically, no sooner had I done that, than out of the blue I receive an email from a *very* old friend (I went to school with him from 1986 to 1994), and I told him to come and take a look at this site. Hi Marc! We even wrote some bad poetry together in Grade 6.
This embittered queen (see below about weddings) needs to move out of his house which he has been living in with his ex for the last year. No, he's not coping well. If you know of any place I can move to in the next two weeks, I'd be most grateful. Rosebank, Illovo, Hyde Park, or Parkhurst are all possibilities at the moment.
Well, last week I was too shocked to actually write anything about this, but now it's time. My so-called best friend, whom I've known and been friends with since 1991, is getting married next year August. The only reason it's only next year is because his fiancee's mother only said she could marry after she turns 21. It gets better. I have always been nominated as the best man for his wedding, and vice versa. Now, when I think "best man", I think ringbearer, speaker, sometimes even master of ceremonies.
I just returned to my house (no, it hasn't been sold yet!) from a really wonderful day at a Holiday Inn with my better half. Yes, we really went to a hotel to spend some quality time together. Yes it was worth it. Yes, I'd do it again. Yes I know we need to move into our own place.