"Durban Backs the Boks" RUGBY TIME

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I draped a South African flag poncho around my shoulders and fastened a South African headband around my forehead--the night was about to get wild.  Saturday marked the night of the big international game: Australia v. South Africa! Compared to American football rugby is not as similar as I anticipated: 

1. It's more continuous--however, the amount of time saved because of the continuity of the play is eaten up by the amount of injury time.  Rugby (no matter how exciting) seems like a sure way to break a limb.
2. I still don't understand most of the rules of rugby but if American football players were told they couldn't pass the ball forward...we'd have another NFL lockout in a minute.
3. No padding.  Rugby players are REAL men.
4. No cowbells.  I felt a little responsibility to represent the hillbilly-infested part of the States and ring a North Carolinian cowbell in the air but somehow I resisted the urge.
5. When going to buy food during halftime you won't find peanuts and popcorn.  Instead, it's hardcore kettlecorn and biltong.  And personally I had no problem with the culinary options.

South Africa lost, sadly, but that did mean less people were chugging celebratory beers! It took a while to scrub off the Springbok face tattoos but rugby is a true national experience.  However, while I'd like to say that rugby is the uniting force in South Africa that brings every social class, ethnic group, and age together...I'd be lying.  It was obvious as we drove through the city just 5 hours before the big game, looking wildly for Springbok gear and jerseys, that for certain groups in South Africa rugby isn't their party.  While driving through the center of town (where most of the street trading businesses are located) someone in our car pointed out that the people selling their goods on the streets "are generally more into soccer".  If you've seen the movie Invictus (brilliant movie, by the way), ponder about why different ethnic and socioeconomic groups prefer, or don't prefer, rugby. 

Carpe Party---"Seize the Party"

Friday night was possibly one of the best nights. ever.   After 45

minutes of photos and laughs at predrinks we headed over to St.Anne's to meet our partners.  The poor Michaelhouse boys, they had been there since 6pm and the  majority of girls arrived at 6:45.  However everyone looked so glammed-up and beautiful I'm sure the guys didn't mind the wait.  The Hilton bus was still on its way so I met my friends' partners who were from Michaelhouse--they're all very European and have the spiky

styled hair (very un-American, hey?). 

The only way one can tell apart Michaelhouse guys from Hilton guys by their appearance (yes, there is an attitude/humor difference as well!) is the difference between the emblem on their blazer and their ties.  So when navy blue and white ties (Hilton's) began walking around I knew that Johnny had to be somewhere close.  I wove my way around the candy-cane ties (Michaelhouse) and some other ties from other surrounding boys' boarding schools until the back of a head looked familiar--I was right, it was Johnny's head!  Now don't judge me for the struggle to find Johnny; at 6:45 pm the sun's already gone down and there was a light drizzle Friday night. 

Johnny presented me with flowers and I thanked him graciously.  (I'm so glad I
asked him to be my partner--he was so funny and talkative the whole night and
all of my housemates couldn't stop raving: "Your partner is so much fun!")  Then the introducing began--everyone wanted to meet the "American couple" and so we were constantly introducing ourselves and each other to our various housemates/friends.  At 7pm it was time to "lead in"--mind you, that doesn't just mean "walk into the dining hall"...OH NO, it means "go through a screaming tunnel of all of the St.Anne's girls that are blocking your way to the dining hall and shouting your name and taking your photo like you're a celebrity".    Not that I had any problem with celebrity treatment (heehee). However all the guys were quite intimidated by the idea of walking through 300 wild St.Anne's girls but when we told them that they wouldn't get food unless they went through the tunnel...well, let's just say we're pretty convincing.  We began the trek from the bottom of the front lawn to the dining hall. 

Once we were actually inside we were directed to a place for photos--kinda like the prom photos with the backdrop that you see in the movies.  Then the line continued into the actual dining room that was decorated in the Tiffany & Co. colors--it's amazing what a few Marilyn Monroe posters and candles can do to a bleak dining hall.  But it wasn't time to chow down yet--we had to introduce our partners to Mr. Arguile, St.Anne's headmaster.  He was standing there with his wife and as the pairs of partners got closer to Mr.Arguile eventually it was time for Johnny and me.  With my arms still holding onto Johnny's I said: "Mr.Arguile, I'd like to introduce my partner, Johnny."  Johnny said: "Pleased to meet you, sir."  And Mr. Arguile's response was "Oh, an American accent!  Have fun at the formal." After almost a half hour of bustling around taking photos, saying hi to everyone, and seeing everyone's dresses the meal actually started.  We had chicken (surprise, surprise, we have it everyday practically), potatoes, and vegetables.  Then end of the evening was topped off by a beautiful sparkly blue cupcake.


In between dinner and dessert the dancing began and it was that fun group kind of dancing where everyone is jumping on one foot and singing along!   Not the awkward grinding that happens in the USA.  To bring back the memory of one of the most quotable speeches that Mr.Wall, the head of the CLS Upper School, gave to us the night before Homecoming or Sadies, he said, and I quote, "Don't grind lest ye be ground".  If only kids at CLS actually took his advice they'd see that group jowling is so much more fun.  Around midnight us Stoners aka Mollie Stone girls (some of us dancing and some of us skipping and some of us shuffling into our house) said goodnight to Ms.Mansfield (our house mom who was patiently waiting at the door, like a mom waiting to hear every detail of the party) and our heads were still filled with a sparkling memory but we realized: this fabulous night had come to a close.  Now it was time to take off all the makeup, remove the 5 inches we'd earned with the help of heels,  take down the hair.  But it had truly been a night to capture--in photos and memory.  But it wasn't time to sigh and curse at the inevitable passage of time because there was still something to look forward to:

THE AFTERPARTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I can't reveal all the details of the hectic afterparty because:

1. I wouldn't do it justice
2. We all enjoy a bit of privacy, right? 
3.  If I tell you about how awesome my afterparty is then you'll have ridiculously high expectations for YOUR afterparty and you will end up being disappointed.

If you are really oh-so-curious about the crazy details then please write me a hand written letter with a kind request.

So with all of that in mind, let me just say: IT WAS AWESOME.  Hands down it's in the top 5 weekends of my life.  It was one of those rare occasions when I have no inhibitions, no worries, no nothing.  You just go with the flow.  And honestly, that's what a worth while afterparty is all about. 

No matter how much stress goes into the shoes, the dress, the hairdo, or the makeup, when it's time to party, hey, it's time to party.  Live in the moment and don't worry about the details.  Be realistic with your expectations but when your imagination is spreading its empire, run with it. 

Y'all, who forgot the tea?

From the bottom of my red, white, and blue heart I can honestly say that America is pretty darn cool.  We're covered in sand, mountains, snow, beaches, lakes, we're culturally diverse, we stand for freedom, justice, yeah, yeah you get the point.  However, America is not up to par on one specific subject:  tea.  During our rebellion against Britain who forgot the crate of tea? C'mon y'all, you can't forget stuff like that. 

Tea.  Sigh.  The miracle drink.  For those of you who doubt tea's magical powers, let me enlighten you. 

1. Tea can be served at any time of day; breakfast, mid-morning, lunch, mid-afternoon, evening, and bedtime. 
2. Tea is prime for dunking rusks/biscuits/cookies.
3. Tea can be served hot or cold.
4. Tea can be made as personal or generic as the drinker's stomach desires.
5. Tea is an excuse to buy colorful mugs, etc.

So, 'nuff said.  Why is America missing out on this yummy phenomenon?  I'm outraged.  I'm making a vow, right here, right now, to bring back the legend of tea with me upon my return to the USA.

"Cheetah Girls, Cheetah Sistahs"

I glanced down at my hand--it smelled like a mix of Bubba and raw meat.  I'd just stroked two of the 10,000 living cheetahs left in the world.  I squinted my eyes into the searing South African sun as the cheetah trainer said with disbelief in his voice, "In about 15 to 20 years, cheetahs will be extinct.  The whole lot of them."    Within 30 feet from me were three cheetahs; one male, two female.  The trainer continued: "So on the right we have Mikka, the male, and on the left, two females, Savannah and Shadow.  Hopefully they'll mate and produce offspring but if Savannah and Shadow don't like Mikka or Mikka is sterile, nothing will happen."  Nothing will happen.  That meant, one less cheetah to carry on the genes.  One less cheetah in Africa.  In the world.  Eventually "one less" would add up and there would be none.  Did these animals, each with over 3,000 spots on their bodies, feel the pressure?  Did Mikka feel the pressure?  He's being tested this week to see if he can have offspring.  If he couldn't...it would be devastating.  One less cheetah makes a huge difference when there's only 10,000 left around the world.  That number might sound like a pretty good chunk until you hear that there are an estimated  690,000 elephants in Africa alone.  20 years from now when I tell my kids I pet a cheetah in the summer of 2011 they'll look at me and say:  What's a cheetah?  And I'll have to describe the graceful and lightning-fast animal to them because chances are they'll never see one.