Today’s life lesson.

I’ve been catching up with an old friend.  Its so good to have her back in my life.  Throughout the years, she is the one person I can truly say was beside me in shit saying “damn we fucked up” instead of being the one who bailed me out.

I remember the day I first got drunk.  We’d concoted a story about “studying” at a friends house for exams.  Instead, the only thing we studied were the labels on a few bottles of Gin, Rum & Vodka.  The mixer was beer.  The game to play was called Pig Out.  I was fifteen, clueless and full of attitude.  I also happened to be with only one other girl, Tazz (said friend above) and fourteen other boys.

We’d bunked school that day and ended up playing pool with the boys.  The beauty of being a Tech student was that;

a) we wore civies, so no one could accuse us of being school kids

b) we had older friends.  With cars.

Tazz and the boys took me back to one dude’s house.  His name was George, and I had quite a shiner for him.  I think he had a shiner for me too, considering he chased me around the pool table and ended up knocking himself out on a pole.  Thats true devotion right there, taking a poll to the upper face region and obtaining concussion.  Sigh… young love.

Two hours in, I had said hello to the toilet verbally and convinced myself I needed “fresh air” and took off for a walk.  I’m told that they found me hugging the weeds passed out in the flower bed.  After a cool down of being thrown in an ice cold bathtub, Tazz had her parents fetch us.  The entire way of their journey to us, she schooled me on the art of acting sober.  “Don’t look shem directly in the eyeballsh, Sheen.  And you musht shtand up shtraight.  When you walk to the car, just lean on me, but not in an obvioush way, okay? Okay. Okay, here they are, be sober!”.  I can do this, I thought.  Shno problem, how hard is it to walk? I’ve been doing it for nearly shixteen yearsh! Upon the first taken step, my wobbly walk failed me and my legs gave in.

Twenty minutes later I woke up with drool down my chin and my lips mashed up against the car window hearing a crazy woman shreaking in the background.  “Shomeone’s in beeeg trouble, unlucky fucker, ha ha ha” I was saying to myself, until, having the car door ripped away from my face and my shirt crumbled into a fisted grip, I realised the crazy woman was my mother:

“WHAT DRUGS HAVE YOU SMOKED?!” she screeched.  The replies were all happening in my head, I just couldn’t motor my mouth to get them out so that she could hear me.  Mhmmm-mmh! I protested, loudly (in my head).  “JESUS, KEVIN, SHE’S IN A COMA!  GET HER TO THE CAR!” My dear old stepdad, ever the reliable, says calmly “Relax, dolly, she’s just passed out.  Lets get her to bed”.  While picking me up out of the car, my mother is halfway screaming her head of at Tazz, thanking her parents for bringing me home and alternating between slapping me upside the head and attempting to give me CPR.

“GET OFF DOLLY!  I’M TRYING TO CARRY HER HERE MAN!” my poor stepdad.  “But don’t let her die!  I have to kill her first!” my insane bloody mother.

He carried me up the stairs, he took off my shoes, he put me to bed, he left me a bucket to vom in.  My mother came in every two minutes to check I was breathing and when she saw I was she’s slap me upside the head once or twice, shout a bit, kiss my forehead and walk out again.

My punishment was a hike at 5am the next morning.  I was sick for a week, couldn’t eat for three days and I swore to never drink again.  And I didn’t, for years.  I did drugs instead. My gawd, I was a horror.

Anyway, the moral of the story, kids, is don’t do drugs m’kay?  And when your name is Sheena, pray to god that your mothers prophecy (“I swear to baby Jesus, Sheena-Laura, your kids will be WORSE than you and I will sit back and LAUGH, my girl, LAUGH at you”) never comes true.

Yes, thanks for noticing, I have delved a bit into my past.  I’m fixated on the teenage years of my life at the moment, its a chapter in my book* that I’m working on.

* Yep, I’m still working on that.


  1. Amy says:

    Ah, nostalgia. Good to see your still working on your book – dont forget i reserve myself a copy from the first print run!

  2. Po says:

    I love this kind of reminiscing story the most, so keep them coming!

    I think at age 15 I was still in nappies or something. The first time I passed out in my own puke was age 22. A late starter I feel?

  3. sonnyvsdan says:

    You, my friend are an embarrassment.. Lol. How bad is it that kids want to prove how much they can drink by showing just how much they can’t?

    I’m also looking back on those past stories and wondering “how was it he got this way?” What’s the title of your bad boy?

  4. Steve says:

    hey.. read your profile.. you are one crazy critter! 🙂 in a good way! i see you tame lions? amazing! bcause iv just tamed a panther… 🙂 pop over and see.. steve

  5. SwissTwist says:

    oh, I love the teenage you! tell us more about her!!!

    I remember the first time I was drunk in front of my mum, at my 21st (already a married mom myself) and she was telling me to pull myself together, I very politely said, ‘oh f-off Mother’ and then passed out. We still have a good laugh about that! 🙂

  6. Tazz says:

    Good to be back my Friend,
    I cant belive that you rember all that much.. I got out of that one pretty lightly, I do remember your mom calling my dad to discuss how long they were going to ground us for!!


  7. angel says:

    oh shebeeliciousness herself… i wasn’t quite such a nut- but i topped it with having damien!
    and now?
    talk about the sins of the father and all that…

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