Ah, the celebration of emergence from awkward, pimply
teen to legal adulthood with just enough knowledge and legality to be
dangerous. Old enough to drink and get
completely fucked up, but not old enough to have any idea how you got there so
fast, how you actually lived to tell the tale or how to get rid this pulsing, all-consuming
hangover that’s threatening to blow your head clean off your shoulders.
Boy Wonder turned 18 in May this year and required a
party to tell the world of his arrival at this magnificent stage of life and to
get his friends out of their tree in group celebration. As we planned the party, it became obvious
that most of his friends would still be 17 so we couldn’t have it at a venue as
they wouldn’t be able to get pissed... “it has to be home, Mum”. Shit! Do I
really want a bunch of youths yelling and yahooing around my house and yard to
blaring music while they drink themselves into oblivion? Nope, I don’t want
that shit. I want to run far, far away from that shit! But what I want isn’t
relevant here because Captain Fantastic has agreed with Boy Wonder. Insert
major anxiety and remove slumber for the next month… there was much trepidation
on my part. The Captain thinks I worry
too much.
The event preparation started with 60-odd invitees. Over
half said they were coming so I started shitting tacks from the get-go. I
decided to hire security... I can’t have the possibility of a Corey Worthington
party so this decision restored a little sleep.
In the week prior to the Soirée, a few dropped out, so
the number was getting better and more manageable from my perspective. Of
course, I catered for the whole 60 odd because let’s face it, when you come to
my house and eat, if you don’t have to pop the top button when you’re done,
then I have failed my ethnic heritage.
The week prior was a blur of hyped activity as June in
Australia is winter so there were tarps and marquees to set up in case Mother
Nature had a hissy fit, outdoor heaters were hired, enough alcohol to drown a
herd of cattle was purchased, the bar was arranged (Miss Marvellous and her
beau were our bar tenders), the DJ (a close mate came to the rescue) ... ready,
set, go.
I had organised a couple of my friends to attend so the
Captain made a nice crackling fire in the formal living room, where the ladies
relaxed. His nibs and I were intermittently in that room between running hot
food up and down stairs, checking on supplies and greeting pissed teens and
showing them the way to the throbbing cacophony of pissed teen yelling and
doof, doof music.
Only a handful turned up at the beginning and Boy Wonder
was not impressed but at 9-ish, a whole bunch turned up and the party got
started in earnest. Almost all the attendees had Pre’s (mostly straight vodka) somewhere
before arriving and judging by the red eyes, a few smoked some weed too.
We only had around 30 people in the end, but they were a
great group and they had so much fun. They went through a truck load of snacks
plus 60 home-made sausage rolls, 60 party pies, 60 mini spring rolls, some
pastitsies, two bowls of lollies and then a bit of cake. Oh, and a shit-ton of
grog.
Every time someone rocked up, a massive group ‘man-scream’
went off downstairs as the new arrival was welcomed. Teens were getting smashed everywhere and
Miss Marvellous had absolutely no problem being savage Bar Bitch with the
drunks, refusing alcohol until water was consumed. She also took possession of the vodka jelly
shots because there were jelly shot pigs in the mix and they needed to be
contained. She could be a prison warden,
although I’d take exception to anyone calling her vinegar tits (Prisoner…
1980s). Everyone got smashed, except me
(someone must be the parent). Turns out
alcohol removes all filters. Explicit
language became the norm and eventually, I stopped cringing and blocked it out.
On one of the trips outside to check on supplies and
deliver more hot food, Boy Wonder ran up and screamed at me “this party is
fucking LIT!” Then the DJ put an 80s song on, and he grabs me firmly by the
upper arms and says “You’re gonna dance!”
Fuck me, I don’t want to bloody dance… I’M NOT EVEN TIPSY! He grabs my hand and yanks me hard after him,
oblivious little shit, but there was a giant pot plant in a concrete planter between
me and the dance floor. Boy Wonder gives
no fucks as he pulls me after him and absolutely cripples me as my right knee
collides with the planter and the impact zone is the worst possible place,
right in the corner of my knee at the juncture of knee cap, tendons, muscle,
bone, nerves and whatever else is in that area.
My leg buckles and I almost land on the ground but Boy Wonder yanks harder
and pulls me into the room and I stumble in his wake. Nobody gives a flying fuck that Mother is
down. Miss Marvellous is in the process
of taking pictures of pissed youth and runs to my aid to help me limp up the
stairs. I retreat to the living room and
quietly wait for the throbbing pain to abate.
Boy Wonder hasn’t even noticed I’m not dancing with him. Rude!
The cake nearly didn’t happen because I didn’t want to
ruin the vibe of the party. I went down and spoke to Miss Marvellous, her Beau
& our DJ (who was sober at the time) and asked if we should leave the cake
and not worry about it. The consensus
was ‘everyone is having so much fun... it will spell the end of the night’ so
we canned it.
I took the bowls of lollies out and the people were
pleased. During this deliverance of jellied joy, Boy Wonder came up and hugged
me so hard the air left my lungs with an “oof!” my back cracked. He said in
front of all his mates “Donna, I fucking love you! If I die, I wanna come and
do it all again because you’re a fucking LEGEND!” Yeah cool, Geez. Then he gave
me another bone crushing hug and leaned so far forward in his drunken love that
I nearly fell onto his friends, who were nestled around the heaters. My knee was still throbbing from earlier when
he smashed me into the pot planter. This
kid needs hazard lights on him.
At this stage, 1/2 the party was shooting hoops in the
pitch black of the cobbled ‘right of way’ lane behind our house. Boy Wonder was very drunk, and the gate was
padlocked but this little bastard lifted it clean out of the latch then went
running through the party yelling “I lifted the gate outta the latch! I am
Yoda! I’M FUCKING YODA, FUCKERS!!! YAAASSSSS! CALL ME YODA, BITCHES!” Oh Lordy. Our neighbours were getting an earful.
By now, The Captain, aka Peter Pan, was downstairs
smashing beers with the boys (thanks for your support, jock strap!) and was
already thick tongued and slurring. Our
DJ, who had been mainly sober up until now, started sculling Vodka Cruisers, of
all things! It was at this point that a
lot of the boys approached the bar, awkwardly asking if they could ‘try’ a
Vodka cruiser because they really should try one at some point in their lives…
elbowing each other in masculine jocularity “Hey, let’s be girls together, LOL!”
Miss Marvellous almost lost an eye in
her eye roll (she doesn’t tolerate stupid testosterone bravado) “For fuck’s
sake, settle down, son. You want a nice tasting drink? Just ask, mate. You don’t have to swap the drink for one of
your testicles. I promise you’ll still
be a man afterwards.” This was when the
boys started to get really shit faced.
Then at around midnight, Boy Wonder comes running
(literally) into the warm room with a crackling fire,” Mum! We haven’t had the
cake! People are asking where the cake is!!!” Um, ok, so I carried the cake downstairs.
I started lighting the candles and then Boy Wonder went
screaming down the lane telling everyone we were doing cake. A very drunk mate yells “it’s time for Happy
Birthday! Sing happy Birthday”. Then outside and inside, boys are
scream-singing Happy Birthday at a thousand decibels, getting louder with every
verse! Boy Wonder comes tearing into the room like a rocket sled on rails and
runs/slides up to the cake and blows the candles out. What the fuck? Everyone
cheers, cake is over. No fucking photos except the blurry one Miss
Marvellous managed during his “risky business” slide to blow the candles out. Grrrrrr!
Boy Wonder then delivers a smashed speech, said “hey
y’all” about 20 times. He also said he ‘fucking loves” everyone repeatedly.
Then the Captain gave the second slurred drunk speech of the night. We got some
family photos, but Boy Wonder was falling all over the shop in his inebriated
state, so we were all on the tilt in them. Drunk bastards!
At around 1am, there was a mass exodus. Everybody pretty much left all at once. The music went off, last drinks (travellers)
were obtained and Boy Wonder and a couple of mates went for a Macca’s run via
tram. Our smashed DJ didn’t want to go
so they took off. Then the DJ stumbles upstairs; he could hardly stand upright,
and says ‘where is he? I need to say goodbye.’ He got completely messed up on
cruisers and Moscato (women’s drinks they called them… obviously too strong for
men). His Mum (one of my friends who
joined me in the living room) was absolutely shocked because it happened in the
space of 1/2 hour. He was fine ... then he was smashed. He left all his DJ equipment
on (had no more fucks to give at this stage). I turned it all off and walked
them out... DJ stumbles his way to the car, and they were gone.
We went downstairs and cleaned up all the empties, put
the grog away, locked everything up and then I put my Jim jams on and sat by
the fire to read a couple of pages before climbing into bed. It was almost 2am by this stage.
Ten minutes later, Miss Marvellous, who had joined me and
is lounging drunkenly by the crackling fire, gets a distress call from Mate
1. Mate 1 says Boy Wonder is in a bad
way, he hurt himself and could barely walk (because he was smashed), please
help. We could hear Boy Wonder saying, “Aw man, my ear hurts and I need to
throw up.” Then we can hear Mate 1 yelling “No, mate, don’t run on the road. Oi! Stay here, man” Shit! I went in to chat to The
Captain, who had put his drunk self to bed and was trying to entice me to join
him to ‘ride the wild pony’. No mate, there’s been a call and I’ve got to go
get Boy Wonder. He’s not in a good way. The Captain, all care and
responsibility, says “Tell him to get on a fucking tram”. Nice. The kid
couldn’t even walk and was trying to spastic-run up Warrigal road. He’s not getting on a tram. That’s ok, I’ll be the parent. You just get yourself to sleep.
I got a bucket and towels for the potential Vomitron and
went to fetch the boys, dragging the smashed Miss Marvellous with me. The streets were empty at that stupid hour
(except for drunk teens running amuck) so we got there pretty fast. I parked down a side street then we made our
way to the bus stop to fetch Little Boy Pissed.
Boy Wonder was indeed a mess and when he saw us, he shot his arms in the
air and screamed “Heeeyyy! What up, Niggers!” Oh, holy God, get him in the
bloody car before someone shoots us all in the street. Turns out, these drunk
dickheads thought it would be a great idea for Boy Wonder to climb into a
shopping trolley and Mate 2, who was very pissed and stoned, was running around
pushing him. Apparently Mate 2 was so
far gone that the trolley was on two wheels for most of the adventure, so it
was only a matter of time before mishap occurred. And occur it did – he hit a kerb at high
speed and the trolley smashed into a power pole with Boy Wonder in between. Stupid arses!
He has hurt his face, shoulder, ear and neck (all have grazed abrasions
- not good, although to the untrained eye, they could be mistaken for hickies… but
Boy Wonder wasn’t that lucky). The worst
injury was his elbow, which got a little crushed. His arm was bad on Sunday.
Stupid drunk youth.
Mate 2 had buggered off so Mate 1 rode gunshot, but it
was too awkward to move the seat, so he looked all bent up like a giant grasshopper
for the trip home. I had the insane urge
to giggle but wasn’t sure I’d be able to reign it in, so I bit my tongue and
kept myself nice. Miss Marvellous sat in
the back with her drunk brother, belted him in and held his head in case he
needed to vomit. He said he was going to
throw up a few times, so we were pleased that we made the trip without the
stench of vomit in the car. When we got home, he couldn’t even walk so Miss
Marvellous and I had to carry his dead weight up the bloody stairs... it was
like carrying a Shetland Pony. Jesus H Christ on a popsicle stick. 2/3 the way
up, he jerks awake and becomes alert and sprints up the last few steps and
speed smashes into his bed, moaning that he wants a couple more frothies. Yeah, nah mate... GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP,
SUNSHINE!
I undressed him, surrounded him with towels and the
bucket and put him to bed. Mate 1 went
to bed in the 4th bedroom and I finally locked up and went to bed myself at 3:30am. In his drunken state, the ‘wild pony’ had
star fished in the middle of the bed on his back… so I slept precariously close
to the edge, next to a snoring, farting Shrek all night, almost getting drunk
myself on the vapours rising from him.
I was up at 7:30am for clean up. They all, every single
one of them, had a hangover on Sunday morning so I had to make a mercy dash for
bacon, eggs and Panadol. The Pony was in
bed by 7:30pm on Sunday night. Miss
Marvellous went out with a bunch of girlfriends for round 2, a true seasoned
Newlands.
Footage emerged the next day of one of the drunk boys
trying to make his way home. Holy crap, he
was walking like something straight out of the Zombie apocalypse. Shuffling along, using only one of his legs
and dragging the other one… his eyes closed, and he looked for all intents and
purposes to be asleep. The video ended
with this kid laying in a toddler position on the nature strip.
Teenagers, who’d have ‘em?
Sigh.
