No church then, yet the Gospel According to Hangover was! The night before, which had been Christmas, a festive party was held in our hometown. Oh, I didn't throw it, but a couple of older guys did--at our town's Legion Hall. No doubt the Legion Hall, known for the dance instructor who taught there for decades and bingo nights on others, hadn't seen anything like this! I was of legal age to drink, yet not so wise in the all the ways of the world--yet. I partied pretty hard. And kept my Kiss List intact.
So on this Sunday, my 5th Street Friend and I took a drive around town and sat at the park, to catch up what happened to who the night before. To read these diary pages now, I can see "Clueless" was our middle name. Nonetheless, we'd had a good time. Thought we were grown. Eventho this guy I was smoochin' with--you know how parties can be, especially when the Pabst Blue Ribbon overflows. --I called him by the WRONG name. I laughed it off. He didn't.
Like I said: Clueless
As I read on in my diary, I some how got another chum, Taxi, to deliver a gift I'd purchased for the true man of my dreams, IC (which stand for Ice Cream). Not sure how/why that happened. We drive to his house and Taxi goes up to IC's front door--this was about 11pm-to deliver the present. I watch as IC answers the door and in just a few seconds I see him shut the door. Taxi trots back to the car-empty handed. She reported as she gave IC the present, she announced I was pissed (pissed about what, I didn't write down) and IC slammed the door in Taxi's face. At least, he had my present, I rationalized...
And what was said present for the man of my dreams who thought me less of a day dream? A gift set of BRUT. I felt him worthy.
Like I said: Clueless
Let's go back to the party the night before. The band, all classmates of mine, shouted out how this song they were about to serenade us with was dedicated to me! Love IT! :
Showing posts with label Pabst Blue Ribbon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pabst Blue Ribbon. Show all posts
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
April 10, 1976 was Saturday
Remember the day better than I remember the night. Why? This day was my one and only party I ever hosted during high school years: my 18th birthday party.
In 1976, the legal age was 18. I was determined to tell the world! Or least the citizens of my hometown. How Dad agreed to this party, which really was a keggar with 2 barrels of beer. Once Schlitz and the other Pabst Blue Ribbon....I’ll never know!
Dad could have gone to jail.
However, I’m ahead of the story.
The day itself was kinda quiet. We got the kegs. Even a sheet cake which had my name on each square. OK. In grade school, that’s how my mom bought my treats every year.
Outside of that, Dad just kind of moseyed around. Kinda quiet as I recall.
Later on, he admitted he thought nobody would show up and he would have to sooth my broken heart.
When a classmate surprised me with a delivery of 3 ½ dozen red roses around 5:30, Dad knew it was ON! No broken heart here as Dad jumped to hydro-drive. Dad fixed sloppy joes and said, “We’re gonna have a party!” And I still have the card with everybody's name who chipped in for the roses!
Around 7pm, my chums and I sat in front of my house—waiting.
No cars.
Maybe I would have a broken heart after all. Then a classmate drove by and said, “There you are! We weren’t sure where you lived!”
And the night....Well, I remember getting spanked by a classmate a nd we broke the chair.
Kids everywhere. Some pretending they shot baskets in our kitchen.
Even now—all these years later, my party will be brought up in conversation.
And how cool my Dad was.
How Dad admitted to some classmates it would have just killed him if I’d decided to move to Arizona after my mom died when I was 13. My aunt, in Arizona, was my mom’s oldest sister, and I was quite close to my cousin. So my dad asked me if I wanted to move there and I shot back, “Don’t you want me here?”
Dad said that knifed him as I cried in his arms. I never heard another word about moving again.
As I grew older, Dad and I would chat about that night, Dad always said he’d never seen so many white kids in his life and he just KNEW he was going to jail.
Poor Dad. He thought those that would show up would be at least legal. He didn’t expect the whole town and some not so much.
Was it smart to throw a party like that? Of course not! Dad didn’t want to deny me a memorable anything and fought the “NO” he wanted to say about the beer, but I was legal now. Dad didn’t know and I wasn’t wise enough to even think to tell him not every party go-er would be 18.
Oh, and did I mention the police did patrol our street? To look back, I really did put my dad in a pickle. He thought his baby was just having a little get together. Dad enjoyed I had fun and the kids too, but he just knew he’d be hauled off one of those times the police patrolled the street.
In 1976, the legal age was 18. I was determined to tell the world! Or least the citizens of my hometown. How Dad agreed to this party, which really was a keggar with 2 barrels of beer. Once Schlitz and the other Pabst Blue Ribbon....I’ll never know!
Dad could have gone to jail.
However, I’m ahead of the story.
The day itself was kinda quiet. We got the kegs. Even a sheet cake which had my name on each square. OK. In grade school, that’s how my mom bought my treats every year.
Outside of that, Dad just kind of moseyed around. Kinda quiet as I recall.
Later on, he admitted he thought nobody would show up and he would have to sooth my broken heart.
When a classmate surprised me with a delivery of 3 ½ dozen red roses around 5:30, Dad knew it was ON! No broken heart here as Dad jumped to hydro-drive. Dad fixed sloppy joes and said, “We’re gonna have a party!” And I still have the card with everybody's name who chipped in for the roses!
Around 7pm, my chums and I sat in front of my house—waiting.
No cars.
Maybe I would have a broken heart after all. Then a classmate drove by and said, “There you are! We weren’t sure where you lived!”
Within about 15 mins the convoy was in place. Stream of headlights headed to my house.
And the rest was history.
How many kids were there?
Enough that all the beer was gone in gone in 90 mins.
If there were less than 100 in attendance, I’d be surprised.
My dad, step-mother, and her sister were there every minute.
And the rest was history.
How many kids were there?
Enough that all the beer was gone in gone in 90 mins.
If there were less than 100 in attendance, I’d be surprised.
My dad, step-mother, and her sister were there every minute.
And the night....
Kids everywhere. Some pretending they shot baskets in our kitchen.
Even now—all these years later, my party will be brought up in conversation.
And how cool my Dad was.
How Dad admitted to some classmates it would have just killed him if I’d decided to move to Arizona after my mom died when I was 13. My aunt, in Arizona, was my mom’s oldest sister, and I was quite close to my cousin. So my dad asked me if I wanted to move there and I shot back, “Don’t you want me here?”
Dad said that knifed him as I cried in his arms. I never heard another word about moving again.
As I grew older, Dad and I would chat about that night, Dad always said he’d never seen so many white kids in his life and he just KNEW he was going to jail.
Poor Dad. He thought those that would show up would be at least legal. He didn’t expect the whole town and some not so much.
Was it smart to throw a party like that? Of course not! Dad didn’t want to deny me a memorable anything and fought the “NO” he wanted to say about the beer, but I was legal now. Dad didn’t know and I wasn’t wise enough to even think to tell him not every party go-er would be 18.
Oh, and did I mention the police did patrol our street? To look back, I really did put my dad in a pickle. He thought his baby was just having a little get together. Dad enjoyed I had fun and the kids too, but he just knew he’d be hauled off one of those times the police patrolled the street.
We’re blessed nothing happened (back then you think nothing WILL happen) and like I said, my classmates still talk about my 18th birthday party, after all these years.
It musta been a great party—like I said, the day I remember, the night, well…
I made sure my hometown citizens knew it was birthday!
If I had kids—no way would that have such a shin-dig.
However, in 1976, it seemed like the thing to do.
I made sure my hometown citizens knew it was birthday!
If I had kids—no way would that have such a shin-dig.
However, in 1976, it seemed like the thing to do.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
So Saturday
Had my HTW Writers' (aka Critique Group) Meeting today. The HTW stands for "Honor The Words." Our encouragement, conversation and laughter tangoed through the air! We're all excited since a member will be part of a new Chicken Soup for the Soul. This is for Twins (which she is) and other other multiples. We kidded her how she owes us our fee for critiquing it! Her story was picked to be one of only 101 chosen for this Chicken Soup! We hope by our next meeting she may have a copy of it--which goes on sale March 10.
As for me. It's Saturday. Gorgeous day. Still coming down from the chocolate pecan ice cream pie buzz I had at our meeting. My gut tells me I need to take an avid interest to get back on my diet. Indeed, love yourself at all costs, however even I'm not keen of hips wide enough to show a double feature. :)
Nonetheless, a wonderful day. Took me back to a time in 1976, when Saturday Nights meant to shag the drag (Happy Days was BIG then, so we had 50's lingo), mingle with chums and drink g Pabst Blue Ribbon (we were legal then). Ya know, the important stuff.
Cue up a corny, but make ya smile kind of song: Bay City Rollers and : S-a-t-u-r-d-a-y Night!
As for me. It's Saturday. Gorgeous day. Still coming down from the chocolate pecan ice cream pie buzz I had at our meeting. My gut tells me I need to take an avid interest to get back on my diet. Indeed, love yourself at all costs, however even I'm not keen of hips wide enough to show a double feature. :)
Nonetheless, a wonderful day. Took me back to a time in 1976, when Saturday Nights meant to shag the drag (Happy Days was BIG then, so we had 50's lingo), mingle with chums and drink g Pabst Blue Ribbon (we were legal then). Ya know, the important stuff.
Cue up a corny, but make ya smile kind of song: Bay City Rollers and : S-a-t-u-r-d-a-y Night!
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