Floaters (Comments, beer, cocoa pops and Vodka Chronicles)
There are times in our lives, when our actions seem insignificant... yet they just keep on coming up... just like a damn floater in the toilet they just don't go away.
I have several of them.
The First Floater
The Precocious Hospitality Brat. I spent my younger years trailing about the country with my parents who managed hotels. Accustomed as I was to restaurants I still had my moments (hey I was all of six at this stage). My best effort was two lines in one night... two lines I hear about often (when the fossils tongues are loosened by liquor).
"Where's the tartare sauce?" when my fish was dished up. So I liked tartare sauce and usually my fish came with it... oh well.
Followed by an order of Strawberry Mousse (which mum was adamant I wouldn't like... and she was right, it was rancid) but the manager of the hotel (who they were possibly trying to impress?) asked what I thought of it, and I came out with "it tastes like pink chunky dogfood." I still stand by that comment.. It was rank... but they're quotes that float.
Floater Two
Schoolies week (for those who don't know it's a time of drinking and debauchery and shameless late teenage shennanigans once high school is over).
After a heavy night of drinking (and snogging god only knows who.... well.... hopefully just snogging) I needed some breakfast.
I found the Cocoa Pops hidden behind a few slabs of beer. No milk... Don't know about you but when you have dry horrors you just don't make enough saliva to down dry breakfast cereal.... it's not possible.
Fossicking through the fridge I realised my alternatives were very limited.. a trip to the corner shop maybe? Nahhhhhhhhhh just not up to that one.
To the horror of the girls I opened the fridge, cracked a beer and poured it over chocolate flavoured rice bubbles.. and proceeded to eat it.
Thus began the urban legend of "Cocoa Pops with beer".
The Turd Floater (aka the Vodka Chronicles)
I rightly deserve this one. The girls and I were (once) frequent clubbers with early forays into Surfers "Paradise" to make the most of cheap drinks, then dance our booties off while the local Sea FM dj's took the piss out of us and gave us possibly more free stuff than we deserved... we were regulars, we expected it.
On several occasions... under specific conditions my legs would shoot out from under me. ONLY when partying with Maddcat, Sexbomb and Sexbomb junior (her little sister)...
The first time... we had tickets to a nightclub birthday celebration that Sexbomb had managed to win on the radio. Two free Bacardi Breezes on arrival... followed by several hours of complimentary beer, wine and champagne. Having coined all four of us some champagne, they ditched them and moved straight to Vino... I... hating to see any alcohol laid to wasted proceeded to finish all the champagne, and downed several more grape based beverages in quick succession (gotta make the most of the free stuff).
They very kindly still ran $2 drinks til midnight... just what I needed... Vodka to top me up (and/or tip me over the edge).
Oh did I leap over that edge. I somehow managed to enter a 'dance off' (thus proving I was drunk, no way in hell would I do that sober, I would have run to the bar for refills on purpose as my limbs would freeze at the very mention).
Also managed to win said dance off and a $50 drink card.... oh the glory... more free alcohol. Two rounds of shots later (plus two drinks in payment to the guys that the team had enlisted to cheer on my behalf once they realised free booze was on the line) all was cruising along smoothly.
The team then started to back out on me and headed for home. Feeling bulletproof (yes I was that drunk) I was talking to random individuals and was possibly approaching outta control... oh well. Several hours later (I think) I had somehow managed to dance with 'card shirt guy' (he was wearing a shirt with diamonds, clubs spades hearts on it) who Sexbomb junior had been lusting over most of the night... and some other random interlude which has now faded from my slightly retarded memory, I came to the conclusion I had been deserted and must now stagger to the hole in the wall to beg it for the money to take my very drunk self home. Wandering past "The Drink" I failed to notice a slight crack in the footpath.. and disaster struck. Left ankle went left, body went right, and not only managed to twist the ankle but also landed extremely awkwardly directly on top of it. Concrete is unforgiving.
Over comes 'Grey Shirt', the guy we'd had a fleeting lust over much much earlier at the start of the night, a true honey. He helped my (approaching teary but very wasted) ass up. With an admonition of 'maybe you should go home' well DUH that's what I was trying to do when my ankle decided to take a nap. Though to his credit he did help a very drunk woman up and was quite kind about it.
You know it's bad when you can barely walk and you'r in this state and instantly start to sober and feel pain (and whinge to the man when you get home that it hurts... whinge so much he breaks out the frozen peas, but DOES have the decency to be horrified when he awakes properly later that morning)
Made it home that night. Got up the next morning and looked at my leg in horror. I've sprained ankles before (it's a family thing) but my leg resembled that of a cabbage patch doll.
My toes looked like fat little goobers popping off the bottom of an extremely fat black and purple foot complete with a huge lump on the side of my ankle and charming bruises leading up both the inside and outside of my leg (yes all the way up to my knee).
Having galliantly made my own way to the doctor (just to see) I ended up off work for several weeks, on crutches for several more (much to my disdain) but mostly just laughing my head off at my own stupidity with my girls.
Another week (month or year) the same team was back in action... it was girls night. We even went to the extent of making the most of Sexbomb's connections, and booked a hotel room for the night. Straight from work we decended on the hotel and made short work of some vodka warmups. Not really thinking of it at the time but didn't bother to eat, and added some "V" to the vodka to ensure vitality.
Why... I'll never know... but Surfers Hell was rather quiet that night. Possibly it was too early for the kiddies to have surfaced? We trailed around a few assorted nasty clubs, and were heading back to earlier haunts due to lack of eye candy... Sexbomb discovered $20 (the cow) deserted and floating on yet another deserted dance floor... more vodka was drunk (I think). Wandering on the next club and rubbernecking at male eye candy (well it was there) the ankle decided it was time to party.... and went left, very nearly throwing me head first into the wall of the Prada shop. Shit... very unimpressed.
The team accompanied me back to the hotel (much to my chagrin) and ordered room service (and a bucket of ice for my offending foot). Other amusing moment of the night was this... Maddcat dissappearing into the cupboard to have some quiet/privacy/hide from the room service guy coz there were only meant to be two of us in the room... for nearly an hour.
I'm sure there was another vodka/ankle incident... but I honestly can't recall it (must have been only a minor strain)
Like I said... I deserve this one, hehehehehe. Safe bet it returns and is relived on my birthday in January (yes the dreaded dirty thirty.... which really only reaffirms my age, the rest is history)
I have several of them.
The First Floater
The Precocious Hospitality Brat. I spent my younger years trailing about the country with my parents who managed hotels. Accustomed as I was to restaurants I still had my moments (hey I was all of six at this stage). My best effort was two lines in one night... two lines I hear about often (when the fossils tongues are loosened by liquor).
"Where's the tartare sauce?" when my fish was dished up. So I liked tartare sauce and usually my fish came with it... oh well.
Followed by an order of Strawberry Mousse (which mum was adamant I wouldn't like... and she was right, it was rancid) but the manager of the hotel (who they were possibly trying to impress?) asked what I thought of it, and I came out with "it tastes like pink chunky dogfood." I still stand by that comment.. It was rank... but they're quotes that float.
Floater Two
Schoolies week (for those who don't know it's a time of drinking and debauchery and shameless late teenage shennanigans once high school is over).
After a heavy night of drinking (and snogging god only knows who.... well.... hopefully just snogging) I needed some breakfast.
I found the Cocoa Pops hidden behind a few slabs of beer. No milk... Don't know about you but when you have dry horrors you just don't make enough saliva to down dry breakfast cereal.... it's not possible.
Fossicking through the fridge I realised my alternatives were very limited.. a trip to the corner shop maybe? Nahhhhhhhhhh just not up to that one.
To the horror of the girls I opened the fridge, cracked a beer and poured it over chocolate flavoured rice bubbles.. and proceeded to eat it.
Thus began the urban legend of "Cocoa Pops with beer".
The Turd Floater (aka the Vodka Chronicles)
I rightly deserve this one. The girls and I were (once) frequent clubbers with early forays into Surfers "Paradise" to make the most of cheap drinks, then dance our booties off while the local Sea FM dj's took the piss out of us and gave us possibly more free stuff than we deserved... we were regulars, we expected it.
On several occasions... under specific conditions my legs would shoot out from under me. ONLY when partying with Maddcat, Sexbomb and Sexbomb junior (her little sister)...
The first time... we had tickets to a nightclub birthday celebration that Sexbomb had managed to win on the radio. Two free Bacardi Breezes on arrival... followed by several hours of complimentary beer, wine and champagne. Having coined all four of us some champagne, they ditched them and moved straight to Vino... I... hating to see any alcohol laid to wasted proceeded to finish all the champagne, and downed several more grape based beverages in quick succession (gotta make the most of the free stuff).
They very kindly still ran $2 drinks til midnight... just what I needed... Vodka to top me up (and/or tip me over the edge).
Oh did I leap over that edge. I somehow managed to enter a 'dance off' (thus proving I was drunk, no way in hell would I do that sober, I would have run to the bar for refills on purpose as my limbs would freeze at the very mention).
Also managed to win said dance off and a $50 drink card.... oh the glory... more free alcohol. Two rounds of shots later (plus two drinks in payment to the guys that the team had enlisted to cheer on my behalf once they realised free booze was on the line) all was cruising along smoothly.
The team then started to back out on me and headed for home. Feeling bulletproof (yes I was that drunk) I was talking to random individuals and was possibly approaching outta control... oh well. Several hours later (I think) I had somehow managed to dance with 'card shirt guy' (he was wearing a shirt with diamonds, clubs spades hearts on it) who Sexbomb junior had been lusting over most of the night... and some other random interlude which has now faded from my slightly retarded memory, I came to the conclusion I had been deserted and must now stagger to the hole in the wall to beg it for the money to take my very drunk self home. Wandering past "The Drink" I failed to notice a slight crack in the footpath.. and disaster struck. Left ankle went left, body went right, and not only managed to twist the ankle but also landed extremely awkwardly directly on top of it. Concrete is unforgiving.
Over comes 'Grey Shirt', the guy we'd had a fleeting lust over much much earlier at the start of the night, a true honey. He helped my (approaching teary but very wasted) ass up. With an admonition of 'maybe you should go home' well DUH that's what I was trying to do when my ankle decided to take a nap. Though to his credit he did help a very drunk woman up and was quite kind about it.
You know it's bad when you can barely walk and you'r in this state and instantly start to sober and feel pain (and whinge to the man when you get home that it hurts... whinge so much he breaks out the frozen peas, but DOES have the decency to be horrified when he awakes properly later that morning)
Made it home that night. Got up the next morning and looked at my leg in horror. I've sprained ankles before (it's a family thing) but my leg resembled that of a cabbage patch doll.
My toes looked like fat little goobers popping off the bottom of an extremely fat black and purple foot complete with a huge lump on the side of my ankle and charming bruises leading up both the inside and outside of my leg (yes all the way up to my knee).
Having galliantly made my own way to the doctor (just to see) I ended up off work for several weeks, on crutches for several more (much to my disdain) but mostly just laughing my head off at my own stupidity with my girls.
Another week (month or year) the same team was back in action... it was girls night. We even went to the extent of making the most of Sexbomb's connections, and booked a hotel room for the night. Straight from work we decended on the hotel and made short work of some vodka warmups. Not really thinking of it at the time but didn't bother to eat, and added some "V" to the vodka to ensure vitality.
Why... I'll never know... but Surfers Hell was rather quiet that night. Possibly it was too early for the kiddies to have surfaced? We trailed around a few assorted nasty clubs, and were heading back to earlier haunts due to lack of eye candy... Sexbomb discovered $20 (the cow) deserted and floating on yet another deserted dance floor... more vodka was drunk (I think). Wandering on the next club and rubbernecking at male eye candy (well it was there) the ankle decided it was time to party.... and went left, very nearly throwing me head first into the wall of the Prada shop. Shit... very unimpressed.
The team accompanied me back to the hotel (much to my chagrin) and ordered room service (and a bucket of ice for my offending foot). Other amusing moment of the night was this... Maddcat dissappearing into the cupboard to have some quiet/privacy/hide from the room service guy coz there were only meant to be two of us in the room... for nearly an hour.
I'm sure there was another vodka/ankle incident... but I honestly can't recall it (must have been only a minor strain)
Like I said... I deserve this one, hehehehehe. Safe bet it returns and is relived on my birthday in January (yes the dreaded dirty thirty.... which really only reaffirms my age, the rest is history)
posted by LuSh at 11:50 AM
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