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September 26, 2004

My Weekend - A Dull And Excessively Long Thesis

Since I’m brutally hung over and unable to wax lyrical about politics today, I am instead going to do something rare - I’m going to tell you about a day in the life of Jess. Soon, my pretties, you will realise just how exciting and cosmopolitan my existence actually is. Though it’s more than likely you’ll read the following tale and conclude I am a sad, pathetic woman with a drinking problem, and you wouldn’t be far off.

It all started the other night when I told Darp Hau I’d possibly pop by the Not Happy John concert in Ryde. Promises of schmoozing with the likes of Margo Kingston and Bob Ellis were made, and I began getting secretly excited in a too-cool-for-school way. Like Mr Miyagi to my Karate Kid, Darp began instructing me in the ways of schmoozing. The first step, he told me, was to get myself some business cards.

Obediently, I began making arrangements even though I felt (and still feel) that I am completely undeserving of the sexy title “Freelance Writer”. Free is right! I don’t think you can call yourself something like that unless you’ve actually been paid by someone to write something. But hey, this is schmoozing - the celebrities and journalists at the Not Happy John concert needn’t know I am but a humble blogger!

The earliest my sultry business cards would be ready was Saturday at 11:30am. While cutting it thin, I could still probably pick up the cards, jump in a cab to Ryde and make it to the concert in time to exchange witty banter with Bob Ellis. Naturally, this didn’t happen. The cards weren’t ready till 12:30pm, and by the time I got to Ryde the concert was nearly over! Woe is me, I thought. I met up with Darp Hau and his chum White Powder and caught the remaining 15 minutes of the event. Andrew Wilkie spoke well, the Labor candidate for Bennelong looked a little like a librarian\tuck shop mother but seemed nice enough, and the Democrats guy - well, truthfully I didn’t particularly listen to him since I was distracted by watching a gruff looking Bob Ellis get up and walk past me to leave. While there were no words exchanged between Bob and I, I’m fairly sure a deep spiritually connection was created. I love Bob Ellis’ facial expressions. When he got up to leave, he had this look on his face - a mixture of slight boredom, sleepiness, mild crankiness and a sense of duty. Sort of like when you make eye contact with a cat while it’s doing a poo in the garden.

Darp Hau nicked off in order to continue his noble work with the Greens and poor old White Powder was stuck babysitting Jess. Thanks, Talc! Lucky for me he was rather amusing and kept me giggling innanely as he shouted “Vote Howard 1!” to the old codgers emerging from the rally. We played Spot The Covert Young Liberal, made fun of Democrats posters (c’mon, they all look so surly, and it’s obvious Aden Ridgeway is copping a feel of Natasha Stott-Despoja’s bot bot), and chatted to a two year old wrapped in plastic and Democrat stickers (“Don Howwed is a bad man!” - I cannot wait to have children and begin teaching them political slogans!). But the highlight of the day simply had to be Stalking Margo Kingston.

My friend Taw (who has written for ausculture.com before.) has a full on spiritual crush on Margo. If he weren’t getting married early next year, he would have been at the Not Happy John concert armed with petunias and an engagement ring on the off chance he stumbled across Margo. He is, quite frankly, a filthy leftie - much like myself. So I decided that if I schmoozed with Margo, Taw would be forever in awe of me. Well, he’s in awe of me now but that’s mostly due to my breasts and rapier sharp wit.

There was only one problem - I turn into a bumbling fool when in the presence of anyone remotely famous. I know, I know - it’s pathetic but I need to admit this to you all. Oh sure, I’m all bravado on here, but if I ran into Mark Latham it’s highly unlikely I’d impress him with a clever one liner - I’d probably be overcome with the emotion of it all and be reduced to a whimpering mess singing Bat Out Of Hell while curled up in the foetal position. It all started when I met Colette of Ring My Bell fame in 1989 (Her: “Oh aren’t you cute! Give me a hug!” Me: (frozen) “Ummmm…”) and my tendency to get star struck - even when we’re talking mediocre, light-weight Z-grade celebs - continues to this day. I need therapy.

Before he left, Darp helpfully told me to tell Margo I’d read her book and loved it.

“But I haven’t read her book! What if she tests me?!” I asked frantically.

“Who tests someone on their book’s contents?!” White Powder and Darp asked reasonably. I didn’t know, but if anyone was going to start, it’d be whoever I’d used the bullshit line on for the first time.

After Darp moved on, White Powder and I stood at the steps of the Ryde waiting for Margo. And waiting. Sure, she emerged now and again for a quick ciggie but she was never alone and I didn’t want to be one of those annoying people who interrupts conversations in order to meet someone famous\respected\infamous. I much prefer being a polite annoying person.

Finally, Margo sauntered down the steps and I made my move, armed only with a killer opening line.

Success! Me and Margo, earnest together… Just the two of us - building castles in the sky! Sure, I didn’t give her my business card (in fact, only Darp and White Powder were lucky enough to be schmoozed by me. How glad I am that the minimum order is A HUNDRED CARDS!) but Margo and I are earnest together and I will lord that over Taw till the day I die.

My stay in Bennelong was short but ultra-productive, I think. Much thanks to Darp Hau and White Powder for taking care of me, and hopefully I’ll see some of you more politically minded readers at the next shindig (whenever and wherever it is). I have some business cards I need to distribute so the more people there, the better.

And now, following on from that - a pointless tale of debauchery and nonsense called “Jess Gets Smashed And Embarrasses Herself”.

The night began as I waited on Town Hall steps for my beautiful best friend to arrive for our last minute Girls Night Out. I was lucky enough to catch the rantings of an adorably cuckoo Jesus freak. Strutting around with his cordless microphone, he casually informed passers by that we’re going to hell - unless we get Jesus onside right now. No one else can help us. “Many have promised eternal life but none can deliver! Like Allah, and Hitler…” Don’t you love how he puts Allah and Hitler on par with each other? There I was thinking one is a deity and the other an evil dictator who is responsible for the death of gazillions, which goes to show how naive I am.

My favourite part was when he announced “And do you know why the Lord will destroy Sydney?”

I bit my lip in anticipation - this was going to be good.

“LESBIANS!”

Ha! Worth waiting for, indeed! I quite literally laughed myself stupid in his face. Best stand up comedy I’ve seen in ages!

I love the idea of a vengeful, bad-tempered Lord sauntering down Oxford Street and nodding approvingly to all the homosexual fellows going about their business, when suddenly he stumbles across two ladies getting it awn and just explodes with furious anger at the sight. Goodbye, Sydney - hello Apocolypse! Gay men appear to be getting off (so to speak) scot free, while our Sapphic chums must live with the knowledge that they are responsible for destroying an entire city. However will they sleep at night? Well, probably nestled between the thighs of their hot girly lover, but I digress.

So anyway - after The Best Friend arrived, we made our way down George Street and somehow snuck into Scruffy Murphys while the bouncer was distracted telling others the place was full. Numerous tequila shots and beers later, we found ourselves…

• Cheering for a 6’1” stranger as she began pashing some gap-toothed bloke!
• Booing her best friend who promptly pashed the same gap-toothed bloke when 6’1” stranger had her back turned!
• Introducing ourselves to 6’1” stranger (whose name is Fairly, by the way. Hi, Fairly!) and encouraging her to remount gap-toothed bloke, which she promptly did!
• Sending SMS’s to tonnes of people about unimportant shit! Someone once suggested that mobile phones should require a breathalyser - they really weren’t wrong.
• Getting bored of gap-toothed bloke and finding another random guy for Fairly to pash instead - which she promptly did!
• Offering our now legendary (at least, legendary in the minds of those standing by the doors of the women’s toilets) matchmaking skills to people on the dance floor, only to be brutally rejected - sober, humourless cows!
• Talking politics with a French guy named George, who is a professor and wears a beret, while also singing along to Jessie’s Girl! Hi, George!

Suddenly, things began to go speedily downhill for me. Every time I moved, I could feel tequila sloshing about in my blood stream. My stomach felt odd. I couldn’t remember my PIN number or my account number for phone banking. I stumbled outside to get a kebab and sat in the gutter trying not to think about vomiting and waiting for The Best Friend to finish talking to some sprightly lads. Next thing I know, a 150kg lesbian is beside me shooting daggers at The Best Friend. “Don’t wait for her, love - she’s a fucking bitch! You can do better!” In my drunken state, I didn’t quite pick up on the fact this woman obviously thought The Best Friend was my lesbian lover who had ditched me to flirt with boys. Turns out she’d actually tried to pick up The Best Friend earlier and her advances were spurned, so really I should have punched her out for trying to steal my girlfriend.

Shoving the remaining half of my slightly dodgy kebab into my bag, I jumped into the nearest cab and by slurring “I’m going home, get in the cab” to The Best Friend, inadvertently putting an end to The One-Sided Great Flirt Fest of 2004. Silly, strange boys - when will they learn that her friendliness towards total strangers is no reflection on their odds of getting her in the sack?!

And then… oh, I’m almost too embarrassed to tell you all but bugger it, I’ve gotten this far… About halfway home, I became acutely aware of the fact I was literally a minute away from bringing my dodgy kebab back up, and ten minutes from home. What did I do? The only thing I could do. I valiantly wound the window down and subtly pretended I was looking at something while scratching my face when in actuality I was throwing up in a demure and ladylike fashion. Classy, non? Cabbie didn’t notice, The Best Friend in the backseat with the window down didn’t notice (she must have God onside) and I felt infinitely better. Result! Or was it?

No, no it wasn’t. Especially when I realised that not all the kebab managed to make it out the window, if you catch my drift. Urgh. I can assure you, the last thing I felt like at 3:30am off my tits was dealing with an irate taxi driver and paying the $50 Cab Spew Fee. So I called up The Boyfriend who was no doubt tucked up in bed in our apartment and quietly begged him to rush down to the drive-way with a roll of toilet paper, and don’t ask any questions. To his infinite credit, he did exactly that. I told The Cabbie that The Boyfriend was going to pay for the cab, slipped my ATM card into his hands, and while he leaned into the taxi and distracted the driver by paying with EFTPOS, I desperately did the world’s worst clean up job on the cab door with the toilet paper. Did my cunning ploy work? You bet your sweet arse it did. The Cabbie (and bizarrely The Best Friend, until this morning) never knew of my shameful secret.

I’m not proud of it, especially since The Cabbie really was a lovely bloke and certainly didn’t deserve to have to deal with the likes of me on the drink (does anyone?) but what was I to do, peoples!? Own up?! Take responsibility for my actions?! Pay the fine with a twinkle in my eye and a song in my heart?!

All in all, it was the most action packed Saturday I’ve had for a loooooong time. Lessons were learned, shenanigans were had, and a good time was had by all. Except perhaps by The Cabbie once he realised I’d had an “accident”.

PS: You’ll be happy to know I managed to distribute some business cards on the dance floor. My fucking god, this whole schmoozing thing is gonna be dangerous! These cards have my phone number on them! My full name! Why, oh why did I leave some of the cards in my jacket pocket when I went out?!