Ryan: I really don’t understand why marijuana isn’t legal. Have you ever heard a stoner go, “Man, I’m so baked, let’s go out for a cheeky rape”? Or, “I know, let’s go bash someone to death”? No. They just eat pizza and watch Tim and Eric.

Ryan: Why are you dressed in Matt’s clothes?
Me: Because I wanted to feel closer to him.
Ryan: Are you wearing his retainer?

Me: I find the guy on the drink-driving ad really attractive.
Ryan: Of course you do. That’s your weakness. You accept any flaw in someone if they’re beautiful.
Me: No, I don’t.
Ryan: It’s fine, everybody does it. If Natalie Portman asked me to marry her, and she said, “By the way, I’m a meth addict and I have AIDS, is that cool?” I’d be like, “Totally okay. Let’s do this.”
Me: Really?
Ryan: Of course. If she said, “I also poo out my mouth and I never brush my teeth,” I’d be like, “That’s fine, babe. We’ll work it out.”

“Funny chicks are rare. They’re like an endangered species. In fact, they’re like a new species. You should be in a fucking museum. And I should be famous, because I discovered you. Shit. This is so unfair.”

Ryan: “Hey, Trent, this is my friend Skelty. She’s the funny chick I told you about. Go on Skelty, say something funny!”
Me: “Um.. I’m not really sure… Ahh..”
Trent: *cough*
Ryan: “She’s usually much better than this. I’m sorry. Let’s just leave.”

Me: “I’m going to see Janeane Garofalo tonight.”
Ryan: “Wow. Enjoy two hours of vagina jokes.”

• one dead goldfish
• four towels covered in blood
• fingerless gloves
• a broken stair banister
• a toothpaste penis on the bathroom wall
• vomit splashes on the cupboard doors
• the garage door no longer opens
• someone drank half my vodka
• my birthday book got stolen
• somebody pooped in our bin

Opportunities
Anytime anybody’s parents went anywhere ever, we had a house party. However, the best kids to host house parties were those with single mothers who were in the middle of messy divorces and/or distracted by alcoholism. They were too depressed to give a shit about what we did in their backyards, as long as nobody died or got pregnant.

Preparations
We spent every lunch break during grades 9-12 figuring out how we were going to get blasted on the weekend. We’d pool our money and then fight over what we wanted and who could buy it for us.

“Can we get a bottle of Midori?”
“No. Fuck the Midori.”
“We need cigarettes too.”
“Do we have enough for Cruisers?”
“Just steal a bottle of wine from your nanna. She won’t notice. She’s like a hundred and fifty.”

Then we’d organise for somebody’s older brother/sister/cousin/boyfriend or someone with a fake ID to do a bottle shop run for us. If that didn’t work, we simply hung out around the front of Liquor Land and smiled at every guy who walked past until one of them agreed to buy us booze. Sometimes they’d give us a lift to the party too. We were street-smart.

Deceptions
Usually you would tell your mum and dad that you were staying at a girlfriend’s house for a “movie night” or similar. They’d drop you off and you’d walk gingerly up the driveway, trying not to let your Country Road overnight bag full of Stoli’s and Woodstocks rattle. Then they’d collect you the following morning and you would lie on the backseat of the car in the fetal position, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, complaining that you ate some bad party pies and might have gotten food poisoning and could you please wind down the windows, it’s like a goddamn oven in here and where the hell are my sunglasses?

If the house party occurred at your place while your parents were away, you had to get up early, ignore your raging hangover and attempt to restore everything to its former condition as much as possible. You febreezed the shit out of the couch, stashed garbage bags full of empty liquor bottles under your bed and hoped your dad wouldn’t notice the garden hose had gotten shorter when you tried to make a bong.

Consequences
My highschool friends are now teachers, psychologists, lawyers, nurses, and some do jobs I don’t even really understand. All are functional, well-balanced, tax-paying members of society, and one has even reproduced and is now responsible for the wellbeing of another human being who is still successfully alive at the time of writing. I guess the point is that even if your kid seems like a complete fuck-up, it will probably turn out fine. So just chill out and do your own thing while they binge-drink their way through their interminable adolescence. It’s the Australian way.

Ryan: You haven’t blogged about me lately.
Me: You need to say more funny things first.
Ryan: Have you not been listening?

Me: Will it be weird if it’s just the two of us at dinner?
Ryan: Nah, that’s cool. You’ll get to experience what it’s like to go on a date with me, except I won’t try and finger you behind the restaurant after we’ve eaten.

Ryan: How was your day?
Me: Eh… I was a bit depressed this morning.
Ryan: Was it because you knew you were going to wear that outfit tonight?

The second time I met him…
Rosh: Hey, babe. *moves in to kiss*
Me: What are you doing?
Rosh: I thought you wanted to make out?
Me: Do you even remember my name?
Rosh: No…
Me: It’s Annik.
Rosh: Well that’s just stupid.

One night at the pub…
Rosh: Do you want to make out later tonight?
Me: No.
Rosh: Okay, just checking.

Optimistic Rosh
Me: What was the best night of your life?
Rosh: I dunno. It could be tonight!

Another night at the pub…
Rosh: Hey, how are you?
Me: Good, yeah.
Rosh: *moves in to kiss*
Me: Wtf are you doing?
Rosh: Shit, sorry, I thought that was a green light.

As we are getting ready to go out, approx 7pm on a Sunday night…
Ryan: Why are you bringing sunnies, man?
Rosh: Just in case I end up in a day club.

Romantic Rosh
Me: How exactly does your brain work?
Rosh: I don’t know. I just fuck chicks.

As we are walking to the Columbian…
Rosh: If any gay guys hit on me tonight, you have to make out with me.
Me: No, I don’t.
Rosh: Okay, just checking.

When I sent him this blog post for proof-reading…
Rosh: Does this mean you have a crush on me?
Me: No.
Rosh: Okay, just checking.