Random Girl's Party (15th June 2007)

"So," I said, nervously eyeing the cleavage of the fat girl. "Am I actually legally allowed to be here? There must be some kind of law against this."

????

That's your hook. There you go. There are your unanswered questions. You have NO IDEA where I was, what I was doing looking at a fat girl's cleavage, and/or if it was illegal or not. Am I going to answer those questions now? NO. Not yet. You are now going to have to read the rest of this blog to find out. EXCITEMENT.

* * *

I should really be revising right now. I have an exam tomorrow at 9 and I won't lie, I do not know enough about Metternich. Or Bismarck. Or, indeed, the Schleswig-Holstein Affair or the Hohenzollen Candidature crisis. I should have worked harder today. I shouldn't have played Trauma Centre for about an hour and a half this morning. Those damn tumours refused to just heal. But oh well. I refuse to work any more. I'm done with dat shit innit. This is because I'm pretty sure that all the information is already in my brain and I'll just be able to unpick it somehow. I hope. It is also because, well, I'm such a young ambitious teenage rebel.

I think we all agree that I am pretty damn rebellious. I mean, I consider it to almost be my job to skate on the very edge of what is 'acceptable' and 'expected' of me as a cool young teenager. I mean, some may be happy to settle for mediocracy and average and niceness and vague dragging senses of melancholy, but not me. NOT ME MOTHERFUCKER. See I just used a swear word for no reason other than the fact that I could. Free speech is bloody great, isn't it?
Anyway, what with me being such a rebel and a new-wave supremo master of every teenage subculture, I realised that in the past week I have experienced - pretty much - the whole sex, drugs and rock'n'roll scene in one magnificent whirlwind of emotion and hot firey magic. Let's make a list:
Sex. Well, what more can I say other than I turned on the TV the other day and what did I see? Two people HAVING SEX. It was a documentary about the pornography film 'Deep Throat' and it cut away before any unpleasantness was revealed, but I definitely saw a decent 70-80 per cent side-boob and I reckon if I had freeze-framed, there might have been a brief frame of urethra in shot. And then it cut to a woman speaking and she totally had a good few inches of cleavage on display! It was wicked. Admittedly, most of the people featured in the porn are likely to be dead/wrinkly by now, but it still got me very hot and bothered. So that's sex covered.
Drugs? Well, the other day I had a headache from revising too hard so I took some neurofens. But I didn't take them with water - HELL NO - I dry-swallowed those badass mofos. Then to show how much contempt I had for the 'rules', I didn't even bother to put the little silver tab thing back in the box properly OH NO I JUST THREW THEM INTO THE DRAWER AND LOUCHELY SLAMMED IT WITH A CONTEMPTUOUS FLICK OF THE WRIST. And THEN did I go back and do some more German Nationalism revision? Did I fuck. So crazed was I on my ibruphrophen binge, I fucking went and played Resident Evil 4 for about forty-five minutes, going a whole QUARTER OF AN HOUR past the end of my scheduled break.
And as for rock 'n roll... well, I'm not as rockin' as my wicked-cool friend Steve who is going to see both THE STREETS and MUSE (yes, BOTH OF THEM) and will probably be so overcome by emotion (and cheap ecstacy bought from Scotsmen) that she just STARTS CRYING FOR NO REASON. BUT I'M STILL STRAIGHT UP HARDCORE ROCK AND ROLL INNIT BLUD. I mean, I have that guitar that I bought off eBay for £44 (plus p&p), and I'm totally going to start learning chords when my exams are over. And on Thursday I listened to "Smells Like Team Spirit" on my iPod and I worked out what one of the words in the middle verse bit was (it was 'mulatto').

So that's sex, drugs, and rock n roll covered. I have found those barriers, and I have pushed them. And I have stretched them. And I have broken them. And this naturally brings me to last Friday, when I GATECRASHED A PARTY.

That's right. There was a guestlist. There were bouncers. Was I on that guestlist? No I was not. Did the bouncers - one of them was seriously a hefty motherfucker - know who the hell I was? No they did not. But did I end up in the party? YES I DID.

I'll just give you a few seconds to let that settle in.

And now. I will set the scene.

Basically, I was at a mini gathering at Abby's house. Now the majority of the readers of this blog don't know who Abby and and to be honest it doesn't really matter, she isn't that important in the grand scheme of things. In fact, the only reason I am mentioning her at all is because she recently discovered this blog (come on, where has she BEEN for the past three years? The literary wastelands, I'd say) and was like "TOM CAN YOU MENTION ME PLEASE". And I'm far too nice to turn down the request of a lady. For the same reason, I will also now say that the following people were also there: Kersh (girl), Irving (girl), Snaithy (boy), Stocker (boy), Alex (boy), and my little brother. Yes I was at a gathering with my little brother. And in fact he was invited before I was, as Abby - who is my age - has a fetish for 15 year old boys. SHE SHOULD BE FUCKING LOCKED UP. But anyway, we were all sitting in Abby's garden eating burgers that my little brother had cooked on her barbequeue. Well, I say 'Eating', I mean, 'Not eating' as they were disgusting and some idiot (me) had decided to make them into delicious cheeseburgers by ripping apart a Babybel and seeing if it would melt if placed on the burgers.

Fun fact: it didn't.

We were trying to have a civilised conversation. I was attempting to wow people by playing 'Baby Elephant Walk' on my phone ringtone and doing a comedy dance routine in which all my movements were in synch to the bomp bomp sound effects. But it just wasn't happening. This was because of what was going on next door. Yes. That's right. A PARTY. And not just ANY party. A GARDEN PARTY. With lots of girls in skimpy bikinis! I knew this because Abby had a trampoline and if you jumped on it and launched yourself sideways you got a good second's viewing over the fence and there was definitely a girl in a bikini. I did it about eight times. It was jolly exciting.

The only bad thing about the party was the fact that they were playing music really loudly. And it wasn't like it was good music, it was, like, GWEN STEPHANI and THE KILLERS and the problem was that the guy who was meant to be DJing (aka the owner of the iPod) kept either skipping songs at random, or playing the same one over and over again. After a bit I came to the realisation that 'Pump It' by those Black Eyed Peas is not that great a song and that if I wanted to enjoy the rest of the evening I would have to totally go over there and sort it out. So I pretty much kicked down the fence, beat up all the bouncers and then picked up a passing guitar and played "Leaving on a Jetplane" (It only needs three chords!) for the rest of the evening until everyone shut up. Then I played "Baby Elephant Walk" on my phone really loudly and did my comedy dance routine and everyone applauded me and carried me aloft on their backs chanting my name.

Alright that didn't happen. Basically my little brother and Stocker and Alex decided that the time was ripe to break into the party. So they started fiddling with the fence until it turned out that all the panels were totally loose and thus it was possible to simply SLIDE THEM UP, Star-Trek-Stylee, and casually stroll in. This was an exciting development and after a bit we all kind of rolled in behind a bush, ninja style, and nonchalently wandered through the oblivious crowd of 15 year olds.

Yes that's right, FIFTEEN YEAR OLDS. Turns out it wasn't quite the hip-hoppin' rave that I thought it would be. It was a SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY PARTY. I was so unimpressed. And also confused - as an eighteen year old, was it legal or illegal for me to sneak a cheeky peek at the huge amounts of boobage on display? I decided to just keep my eyes to myself and press in closer between Kersh and Irving as we moved steadily through the crush, ignoring the cries of 'Who are you?' 'Who the fuck are they?' and 'I'm underage look at my boobs!' (I wasn't falling for THAT old trick, though) that came from all sides. Eventually we reached my brother and co, who were being chatted up by some girl who looked a bit like a broom with a wig. I was like dude wtf is it even legal for me to be here and he was like chillax bro have a beer and I was like omg stfu you n00b I'm driving home innit and he was like whatevs trevs.

A boy wearing a beady necklace walked past, glaring at me. I wanted to glare back but really I was too ashamed of myself. I started to re-evaluate my life. Here I was, an eighteen year old, at a birthday party for somebody I didn't know who wasn't even in the same year as me, watching my inebriated little brother being seduced by some broomwoman and another girl who had too much lip-flesh. 'Man', I though morosely. 'My life sucks. I am totally pathetic. I should be shot. Oh well, at least I'm not dead. Or Will Ferrier.' This thought cheered me up a bit. But suddenly, me and Alex were headlocked by some drunk fat fifteen year old who overflowed in all directions.
"I DON'T KNOW YOU BUT LET'S HAVE A PHOTO!" she gushed. I politely stabbed her in the chest with a wooden stake, cut off her head and filled her mouth with garlic but she didn't let go. So I tried to engage her in conversation instead.
"I don't know you either."
"WHY NOT!'
"I am not a fifteen year old and I wasn't invited to this party."
"OH!"
"So I don't know you."
"YESH!"
"I don't even like you that much. You look and smell weird. Leave me alone."
She laughed. It wasn't a joke.

About ten minutes later I had been involved in about ten photographs with various passing groups of girls. I don't think it was because I was particularly attractive or anything - although it has been scientifically proven that girls DIG my pale yellow self-sprayed Mickey Mouse tshirt - but more the fact that I was taller than them and not moving around. I was kind of like a landmark. Like a red phonebox in London. Something for them to cling onto. I like the idea that the next day, Facebook was filled with photographs of a load of happy smiling drunkards all clutched around a tall 18 year old with a yellow Mickey Mouse tshirt and a really angry frowny expression on his face. And all the guys will be like WHO THE FUCK IS THAT NEEGROW and I'll just be like not even tagged. It'll rule.

However, hardcore gatecrashing of parties is not all it is cracked up to be. Especially if you are an uninvited girl. Uninvited girls are generally hated. Like Irving was. Irving is blonde and she was sternly told off by a drunk girl. And as we all know, there is no sterner justice than angry-telling-off-by-a-drunk-teenage-girl justice. They just know how to cut into your soul with their 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' tone of voice and slightly doubled piercing gaze. Anyway, drunk girl rolled up to Irving and burbled scornfully: "Listen yeah? I don't know you but yet HERE YOU ARE drinking her parent's alcohol that like they probably paid a lot of money for and so yeah why don't you just leave yeah? Just go away nobody wants you. Innit."
Apparently, after being given this stern tongue-lashing, Irving turned to the girl next to her - thinking that it was Kersh - and said "Shall I fuck her up?" ironically. After she realised that it was just another random young'un, and at this point half the party was terrified of us/angry, we decided that it was time to go.

The important thing to do when leaving a party that you have gatecrashed is to look really confident. So, en masse, we bounced in time to the music back to the loose fence panel, shaking hands and patting people on the back. Then, slowly rocking back and forth in time to the music, I nonchalently slid up the fence panel and allowed the ladies to go first. This was not because I am a chivalrous person, but because I saw a huge snail on the fence and I wanted to stick it on Kershaw's back when she was bending to get under the fence. Which is what I did. She screamed and ran up the lawn hysterically. I laughed heartily. This is because I am, at heart, a three year old.

There was a flash of drama when I rolled under the fence. Firstly because I rolled into a patch of stinging nettles. Secondly because the fence panel fell on my leg and trapped it. I was like argh. Suddenly, I realised that in fact I wasn't leaving a PARTY but in fact a CANNIBAL ISLAND and as I lay there trapped there was a ravaging horde of angry cannibals running up the lawn trying to eat my face. Luckily I got my leg free just in time and ran away.

And THAT is the story of how I gatecrashed a 16 Year Old's Birthday party, in which the gatecrashing was done by somebody else and all of the exciting stuff pretty much happened to other people. The only thing that happened to me was that I got my photograph taken.

What an exciting life I lead.