From my previous two posts I would assume you picture an irresponsible sex crazed teenager with loose morals and even looser loins. I am in actual fact a relatively boring contributing member of society. I am unfortunately heir to pretty much nothing except maybe my mothers addiction to nicotine. This means that from Monday to Friday I have to work like every Tina Debbie and Harriet to earn my booze money for the weekends. Each day this week pretty much started with me waking up in the morning hoping for a severe (but non-lethal) illness that would render me useless and toxic at work. Maybe even something semi-productive like gastro so I could lose a few kgs in the process. But to my great misfortune I awoke daily in perfect health. This threw a spanner in the works as I could not call in sick without a legitimate excuse. Daily I prepared myself in the morning and went to work to face a day of torture, I would drive the 12kms to the office and pass every robot thinking about the illegal yet easy u-turn I take to seek safety under my bed covers and solace in my mothers food. But my dads voice, instructing me to be a responsible adult and stand up to my problems bellowed in my head and I made it grudgingly, but on time, to work every day.
After an emotionally and soul crushing week at work for menial pay and no recognition I choose to spend this rainy Friday night at home. I stare out the window and I’m so tired that even my severe fomo (diagnosed by myself and treated with large doses of pointless clubbing) has decided to take a break this evening. Sitting on the couch, drinking tea and reading my book about a drug addict (a book which has made it painfully clear to me that I have an unhealthy, but definitely not addicted, relationship with alcohol and bad decisions in general). The bad decisions started young, and I would not change any of them.
My first experience with alcohol was around the same time I suppose any young girls would be. We were a group of idiotic 14 year olds running around gateway with short skirts and high heels. There was something about being that age and strutting around Gateway, away from our parents for the 5 or so hours we were allowed out that made us feel like adults, it was the most liberating experience we had yet experienced. It was always the ‘break-up’ days that were the most eventful. We would all gather as ritual at a friends house straight after the very early school day ending at 12:00. This is where we would spend our time getting ready, preparing ourselves for the fashion show we believed Gateway to be. The mall was Milan and fantasy forest our runway, we couldn’t be convinced otherwise and we made sure we dressed the part. Now that I think back on it, it was probably our over active teenage hormones in over drive that prompted us to be so incredibly excited to go to the ‘movies’. We were all sentenced to 5 years in an all girls school. The prison outfit was s bright yellow dress that made black and white stripes look like designer couture. We were let out under guidance of our parole officers on a Saturday and Sunday and only very rarely were we allowed out with no supervision at all.
We used this opportunity to try as many things as possible which included numerous run-ins with gateway security, and yes Gateway has it’s own jail of sorts. I can’t be certain but I’ve heard they throw people in there for extra-curricular activities (completely pg of course; we were only 14-16) between a boy and girl in the secluded handicapped bathrooms in the gully’s of the mall, how they found us in the first place I will never know but it was easy enough to get out of. The secret was to have friends that knew what you were getting up to. All that was really required was for you to call your ‘parents’ in front of the. Now never myself being thrown into mall prison for lewd acts of semi-public displays of affection, I was more than once on the receiving end of the ‘Mom, can you come pick me up from Gateway’ calls. I was normally inebriated by the time these calls appeared on my phone and would spend the next 3 minutes trying to explain to my friend that they’d dialled the wrong number and I was not their mom. They would continue talking to me as if they had spawned from me, and I would be left standing in Kusina, the only bar that pretty much required you to be underage to be served, with a dazed and confused look on myself. X, my then boyfriend would then jump up, because he was really short, and grab the phone from me trying to figure out what had perplexed me so much. He, with his super power of sobriety quickly figured out what was going on, and that always set in motion the rescue mission of T an X. Those days though not quite innocent always make me feel better thinking that once upon a time an outing to Gateway with my friends could make inexplicably happy and there was no problem that couldn’t be combated with a shot of Liquid Cocaine or a Rocky Bear.
After an emotionally and soul crushing week at work for menial pay and no recognition I choose to spend this rainy Friday night at home. I stare out the window and I’m so tired that even my severe fomo (diagnosed by myself and treated with large doses of pointless clubbing) has decided to take a break this evening. Sitting on the couch, drinking tea and reading my book about a drug addict (a book which has made it painfully clear to me that I have an unhealthy, but definitely not addicted, relationship with alcohol and bad decisions in general). The bad decisions started young, and I would not change any of them.
My first experience with alcohol was around the same time I suppose any young girls would be. We were a group of idiotic 14 year olds running around gateway with short skirts and high heels. There was something about being that age and strutting around Gateway, away from our parents for the 5 or so hours we were allowed out that made us feel like adults, it was the most liberating experience we had yet experienced. It was always the ‘break-up’ days that were the most eventful. We would all gather as ritual at a friends house straight after the very early school day ending at 12:00. This is where we would spend our time getting ready, preparing ourselves for the fashion show we believed Gateway to be. The mall was Milan and fantasy forest our runway, we couldn’t be convinced otherwise and we made sure we dressed the part. Now that I think back on it, it was probably our over active teenage hormones in over drive that prompted us to be so incredibly excited to go to the ‘movies’. We were all sentenced to 5 years in an all girls school. The prison outfit was s bright yellow dress that made black and white stripes look like designer couture. We were let out under guidance of our parole officers on a Saturday and Sunday and only very rarely were we allowed out with no supervision at all.
We used this opportunity to try as many things as possible which included numerous run-ins with gateway security, and yes Gateway has it’s own jail of sorts. I can’t be certain but I’ve heard they throw people in there for extra-curricular activities (completely pg of course; we were only 14-16) between a boy and girl in the secluded handicapped bathrooms in the gully’s of the mall, how they found us in the first place I will never know but it was easy enough to get out of. The secret was to have friends that knew what you were getting up to. All that was really required was for you to call your ‘parents’ in front of the. Now never myself being thrown into mall prison for lewd acts of semi-public displays of affection, I was more than once on the receiving end of the ‘Mom, can you come pick me up from Gateway’ calls. I was normally inebriated by the time these calls appeared on my phone and would spend the next 3 minutes trying to explain to my friend that they’d dialled the wrong number and I was not their mom. They would continue talking to me as if they had spawned from me, and I would be left standing in Kusina, the only bar that pretty much required you to be underage to be served, with a dazed and confused look on myself. X, my then boyfriend would then jump up, because he was really short, and grab the phone from me trying to figure out what had perplexed me so much. He, with his super power of sobriety quickly figured out what was going on, and that always set in motion the rescue mission of T an X. Those days though not quite innocent always make me feel better thinking that once upon a time an outing to Gateway with my friends could make inexplicably happy and there was no problem that couldn’t be combated with a shot of Liquid Cocaine or a Rocky Bear.