Jozi Nights - All Partied Out

A few weeks ago, I embarked on a mission to prove I was still a bona fide party girl. The World Cup offered more parties than usual to attend. Latinova in Rosebank has been my club of choice recently – MTV Base has been hosting their parties there. Soccer matches followed by live performances from local artists and then a night on the dance floor sounds like the perfect night out, right?

After three weeks of this, I finally figured out why party girls have an expiration date. Partying is hard work and like everything else that requires hard work, wear and tear is inevitable.

When my party run began, it would take me 45 minutes to get ready. Makeup was easy to apply, outfits easy to pick out, and then I would hit the Jozi streets running. A few drinks every night eventually equalled too many drinks when calculated over a three week period. This means more time needed to recuperate; the fact that I’m no longer 18 probably does nothing to help my cause.

Two weeks into my late nights, early mornings and at least two gin and tonics a night, I noticed my skin wasn’t glowing. At all. This meant more bronzer and more concealer for those dark circles under my eyes. And picking outfits became harder because I’d gone through my cutest outfits already. Sigh.

My wallet was taking quite a beating as well. If you pay R45 for a drink and you have more than one a night, it adds up. Add to that my regular pit stop at the 24-hour Wimpy on my way home from a night out. It doesn’t take a mathematician to figure out doing this four to five times a week had me in tears. I don’t mind spending money, but I do like having something to show for it. The only thing the last three weeks has given me is memories (which I appreciate), a puffy face and an empty bank account.

I figured I had enough smarts and energy to keep going. Even though my get-party-ready routine began stretching to 90 minutes and I started testing how far I could drive with the petrol reserve light flashing, I marched on. I wasn’t as lively as before and I found myself spending more time sitting rather than dancing. But last Thursday was my breaking point.

I went to the Blues Room for a night of live entertainment and good conversation and I found I had zoned out and was losing my mind – literally. Too many gin and tonics and lack of sleep turned me into that loud-mouthed girl who doesn’t know when to go home and refuses to listen to anyone. Everyone knows that girl and more importantly nobody likes that girl. Even my usually patient boyfriend gave up on me.

I woke up on Friday, head pounding with regret (and those gins) and looked at my mug shot in the mirror. This reminded me that a real party girl knows when it’s time to stay home and she knows when it’s time to detox.

So this party girl has gone on a hiatus, even though the World Cup parties are still roaring. I’m sure there will be lots of other fun things to do next month. When I find them (and I will), I’ll impart my wisdom and save those party girls from themselves. No one wants to stray from party girl to that party girl.

Author: Zama Nkosi