This is a post for the Blogoff with this week’s topic Shenanigans. Each week we post on a one-word topic and then rank each other’s posts. So far, I have avoided the cull. But how long can it last?
Shenanigans? Let me think back. Mmm, yes, I remember shenanigans and it looks like I have a photographic proof that I used to get up to shenanigans.
with faces whited out to protect the innocent.
yes, I used to be a party girl. Erotica parties above, white trash parties below.
Rubik’s Cube parties where everyone came dressed in six different colours and had to swap clothes until they were wearing the one colour.
I was a party girl.
Then there was the time in Adelaide when we placed an ad in the paper, hired a pub and threw our own singles party. Or when I got up in a room of 100 people and announced I was going to write a book called Getting Laid in Adelaide, and I needed to research it.
There was plenty of shenanigans when I was a pizza delivery driver. Friday and Saturday nights were our peak nights and going to work was like going to a party. We’d send the new drivers out to a very special address without warning them first that the walls were red velvet-lined, and the menu had more sexual positions than we had pizza toppings. They would come back bug-eyed from their first pizza delivery to the brothel. And then just for fun, we would give them a jalapeno to taste.
We’d stuff pizza dough in people’s exhaust pipes and for the first anniversary of the store we ordered a special delivery for the two male bosses: a stripper!
Shenangigans indeed! I have 25,000 words of a novel already based on those wild pizza days. Let’s just say that job gave me my education in sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.
So when did the shenanigans stop and reality set in?
Somewhere along the line, I settled down. I stopped partying. I became committed (or maybe should have been committed). I started dealing with bills on a scarily regular basis. I moved away from my home, away from my family and away from my friends. Now when I go to a party, it’s usually a sedate, mild affair with a bit of booze, rarely any drugs, and lots of philisophical conversation. Rarely any shenanigans.
I remember my father’s 40th birthday party like it was yesterday. His beetroot-faced embarrassment at the strip-o-gram. And then I remember that I’m turning 40 this year. I find it hard to believe. But then again, maybe not so.
I wonder if there’ll be a stripper?
Maybe it’s time for some shenanigans.