tastes: beer and vodka
thinks: aftermath
im cleaning my archives every few weeks now, because I'd rather not leave shit up on this blog. But you know what? There's nothing to fucken delete anyway.
"who knows what a hangover is?" "does that mean ur drunk" "no, it means I was drunk yesterday"
But not it my case. I didn't sleep last night, just pulled an all nighter. Formal night, why the fuck not?
Dressed in 100% Oxford, except for the Aquila shoes I was fucken ready to stun. From the ground up it goes tan leather shoes moving up into brown trousers with sky blue, gray and light brown pinstripes that basically felt as if it was taylor made. The was complimented by a matching vest ontop of a white cuff link shirt with dark brown, light brown and sky blue pinstripes, basically an inverted colour scheme to the pants and vest. A silk lilac tie with embroided leaf kinda things and silver jewelry to compliment the outfit. The night started early at 5, Tyrone holding a pre-drinks party at his house and some photographs being taken. Not to mention that case of beer that was consumed by Stefan and myself and arriving at the formal on the better side of life. We didn't rock up in a fancy fucken limosine or a modified car or any of that bullshit. A Toyota Camry company car actually, driven by Debbie aka. Mrs Tate (the name deriving from her being Tate's mum). Whilst boarding the vehile I announced that I would go shotgun. Why? Quote "So I can sit in the front and put my hand on Mrs. Tate's thigh. The history behind the sexual chemisty between Tate's mum and I being that she is my secret admirer, well not anymore. She openly comments on my "sexy physique" and "immaculate appearance". An ego booster for sure, even though coming from a 40yr old divorcee. But never the less I'd take her on in the bedroom. But not on formal night. "You're taking me to the formal Mrs. Tate, not your house for sexual pleasure". She signed in a humourous disappointment and continued to hit me on the arm everytime I spat beer froth out the window. It's her own way of disciplining me into being a "gentleman". We arrive and I finish the last bottle from the half case I previous consumed whilst taking photos with my "school mates". Most time was spent outside "capturing moments" and "mingling" and basically checking out who's got a hot dress and who's just fucked it up. The word "eh/ay" came back into play after Wayne and I got into a few more beers and started talking like True Blue Aussies. "This fucken beer is shit ay". Instead of making a statement of "This fucken beer is shit", saying "This fucken beer is shit ay" turns it into a question which isn't really expecting an answer. The "alcoholic beverages" that were being served had been limited to being only light beer (Hahn Premium) but one smart man discovered that the asian waiter didn't know so everytime we saw him we told him to hook up VBs and Tooheys News. And as he was told, he did so until some fucking other "responsible" waiter informed him on the alcoholic limit and it was back to Hahn Premium. That didn't stop any of us. Instead, we just ordered double what we usually ordered and drank quicker. Then the non-alcohol dacquiris came out. Oh how lovely. Champagne was added to make it at least some sort alcoholic. But let me tell you that this champagne was fucking shit. Probably the most bitter, sour bunch of fucking grapes that I've ever drank out of a fucking bottle. It soon had it's effects and taking it's toll on several people and then eventually hitting me with a killer fucken headache. My half cooked chicken breast was digested in reverse and decorated the toilet seat in the girls toilets. Then the rest of the beer lying in my stomach was lauched off the top balcony onto the BMW parked in the semi-circle driveway. And now that space was made, another round of beers was ordered. I was awarded "most stylish" and "loudest" person in my grade. Well whoopty fucken whoop, seeing as the people that won awards were all from the same circle of friends. Scandalous bitches. The school band played on for most of the night until they were boo-ed off by intoxicated Simon, Tyrone and Wayne. A cigarette and a beer was shared with my year advisor, something that I always wanted to do. And sitting down and the teachers table after failing to balance was quite impressive too, seeing as I was the perfect role model student who was always early to school, on time and presented school work that over-acheived my abilities. Yeah anyway. Once the formal concluded, a bus was waiting for us outside.
The bus was hired to transport us to the after-party, held at Thomas' house in Ryde. The transportational vehicle was filled with plastered teenagers singing songs from the 60's and 70's and random offensive comments being yelling from me to Tyrone. "Thank you Mr. McCosker for letting us use you home as a teenage binge drinking event, my name is Ben". "My Pleasure". I retreat to the backyard of the house to find, to my discovery, not 1, not 2, not even 3, but FOUR FUCKING ESKYS full of Jack and Cokes, Skyy, Heiniken, Tooheys New, Cowboy packs, Woodstocks, Archers and other assorted lolly water and tart fuel beverages. Filled to the fucking brim. Oh My God, I'm getting trashed for free. And we dove in. We dove into these fucking eskys as if it was a swimming pool on a 40 degree day. Jesus fucking Christ, there was so much alcohol. And this was the houses supplies. Others also brought cases and bottles and fuck knows what but I was a god damn fish. The boys and I established a pub corner. Only beer and vodka was permitted in this area on the far side of the yard and the end of the swimming pool. Pub jokes were exchaged. Blonde jokes, abo jokes, asian jokes, white jokes you fucken name it, it went around. Let's just say our corner of the party was "facken grouse". This part of the night was a blur, but I remember "promising" to call people, making peoples drinks and collecting beer bottles. I had attained a bow tie off some dude and decided to don it, and thus combining with my vest and shirt, made me into a bar tender looking guy. So I done what the image portrayed. Mixed drinks, collected bottles and drank on the job. Why? I guess it's because it's the least I can do. As a guest I like to push my weight and help clean up. Nah fuck that, I was just maggeted. So maggeted that I hit my friend, but mainly because he told me too. He asked for a jab on the chin so I gave him an upper cut and he complained and then fell in the pond.
Once the party died at about 4.30, we headed into the City by taxi and started at the casino. Fuck knows how much I bet and fuck knows how much I lost. The pub in the foyer was still open so we played some pissed pool and sank some more beers and then cabbed it to maccaz, then cabbed it back to the casino finally arriving at the executive suite I had booked. We stumbled into the room and broke out the cards and nobbys nuts. Shot glasses and cigars. Chips from down stairs and started a game of poker. Heavy drinking didn't really start until 6, that's when the shots went down faster than a slut in a movie cinema. This continued until 10.30, when we had to pack shit in and get kicked out of the room. This bottle of polish vodka that had been fresh out of the freezer and full at 1am, was now almost empty and luke warm 10 hours later. Luckily my dad was in the city on aftermath day and I dropped all my unwanted belongings off with him and headed off with the boys in search of breakfast. KFC it was, which left a seedy feeling of nausea and inadequancy in the stomach but done the job. An after meal cigarette on the edge of Darling Harbour with our feet dangling off the side in the scorching sun. Shirts were removed to take full advance off the breeze. 4 of us ventured the city, embracing that "macked" feeling. Wayne, Stefan and Ben, as usual, but a new recruit this time to replace the ever so cumbersome Tyrone. Allen, the guy that masturbates heaps was the one that survived our night. He's funny when he's pissed, but unfortunately Stef forgot about his bud supply and were unable to get Allen doped up. We cruise George St. obviously looking fucked up. No shirt and a bottle of vodka hanging over my shoulder gave passers by a good impression of wednesday night partying. We hit Galaxy to play pool. U can tell who the little shits are because who the fuck comes to Galaxy world at 12noon? Pool's good when you're still trashed. It's too hot so we decide to see a movie. Texas Chainsaw Masacre. I advise you NOT to see it. It's another cheap piece of shit wanna be horror gorey no story line rubbish delivered by America. It's pathetic. What a fucked up way to end off a good roll. But at least we can say the rest of the night a night to remember. Or at least as much as U can.
posted by Ben @ 9:26 PM
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