Posts Tagged ‘the drinking piss and talking shit stage’

I think it’s safe to say that I was the only person at the recent school Quiz Night to have made my own team t-shirt.

Most certainly, if anyone else *had* made their own team t-shirt, they probably hadn’t made it for team with a name quite like ‘TEAM SPEEEDZ’ – a name born of a drunken conversation with my friend The White Lady some weeks beforehand (all I can say is thank god I didn’t name my children while under the influence).

And they wouldn’t have left making the t-shirt until the last minute and ended up using masking tape to write the words  ‘TEAM SPEEEDZ’ on a black t-shirt.

And then they wouldn’t have had to reinforce the masking tape with sticky tape in the fear that the some of the letters might fall off and they’d be left wearing a ‘TEAM PEE’ t-shirt, which would just remind everyone about that time they pissed their pants on school grounds.

So yes,  I made this t-shirt:

It’s fair to say that what I lack in brain power and ability to focus, I certainly make up for in enthusiasm. For weeks in the lead-up to the Quiz Night, I’d been pumping up my fellow team members by punctuating most sentences I uttered with “TEAMSPEEDZ!” (you have to say it as if it were one word, otherwise it just sounds stupid. Okay, so more stupid).

And then I drank just a little too much and it all fell apart. In my defence, this was the same day of my daughter’s birthday party and my husband’s rather ill-timed hangover. Let’s just say I had me some tension to release. And I was still recovering from the stress of organising two Quiz Night tables, which was not unlike doing a seating plan for a goddamn wedding with all the ‘who won’t sit with whos’ and ‘who doesn’t know anyone elses’.

By about the fifth round, I had completely taken my eye off the Quiz Night prize and set my sights on the people on the next table.

“Look at FatherOfCrankyPants looking at me. He’s soo hot for me right now,” I said to my friend The White Lady. FatherOfCrankyPants – it should be noted – was not looking at me. Not at all. In fact, I think he might have been trying to scrape something off the bottom of his shoe.

“Yes, yes,” said The White Lady, patting me on my arm like one might pat a small child on the head. “You’re a little bit bored now, aren’t you?”

Indeed I was. The other end of the table pretty much had the answering the questions bit of the Quiz Night under control. All that was left for our end of the table was to drink piss and talk shit.

“Look at that dad over there!” I continued, looking over at a table of people I didn’t know. “He’s checking me and my masking-tape t-shirt out. Again: Hot. For. Me. And that guy in the nylon tracksuit? Sohotformerightnow. ”

Yes, I had contracted a case of the ‘sohotrightnows’. This is when I make myself ‘sohotrightnow’ by telling everyone I see how hot I am at that very moment. It’s called “creating a buzz” by some PR types. By others, it might just be known as “being annoying and drunk”.

Sure enough, soon everybody was talking about how hot I was right then. By “everybody”, I mean ‘me’. Oh, and one other friend who went on to twitter to specifically mention that I was “sohotrightnow”- although he threw in the word “apparently”, which I thought showed how jealous he was that he wasn’t quite as hot as I was at that particular moment.

Anyway, the evening ended with a crushing third place defeat for ‘TEAM SPEEEDZ’ but with me being as hot as I ever was.

As we packed up, I made a point of going over to my friend McFee’s husband, whom I had discovered that evening was a complete hoot when playing lame-arse Quiz Night games.

“You are soooooo going to be my facebook friend,” I told him.

Indeed, I managed to befriend him on my iPhone while holding a full (plastic) glass of champagne as I walked home. My friend MM was witness to this amazing feat, although he had some reservations about it.

“Um, don’t you think it might be a bit ‘overwhelming’ to your new friend,” MM said to me. “I mean, we haven’t even left the school grounds yet.”

“He knows I’m sohotrightnow,” I told him, loftily. “He’ll be sohot for the friendship request.”

You have to understand that I’d manually converted my t-shirt to say ‘TEAM PEE’ by that stage and was spilling champagne on myself as I walked.

So hot right then.

And still right now.



The NDM: available for hire as entertainment at quiz nights, bar mitzvahs and ute musters.

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Mistress M and I have a plan. We’ve got this fantastic product we want to take to market. It’s truly a great idea (admittedly Mistress M’s) and it will make us rich, I tells ya. Rich! 

I can’t tell you what it is because it’s so friggin’ good that I’d have to kill you if I told you and not only am I disinclined to kill people as a general rule, it also might prove to be a very difficult thing to do via your computer keyboard, unless of course I developed one of those kick-ass superpowers which allows me to send huge currents of electricity across the internet just by thinking about it, and since that just happens to be one of the Other Things I’ve been working on for a while now, I really don’t want to put your life in jeopardy just because I can’t keep my big mouth shut. 

So just trust me when I tell you that our product idea is really good and let’s leave it at that. 

And no, for those poor poor people who follow me on Twitter, it is not the Berocca-fueled car I’ve been recently talking about. (Brilliant, I know. Two words: Ideas. Person.)

Anyway, our NPD (New Product Development) hasn’t gone any farther than the drinking-too-much-cheap-champagne-and-talking-about-it-very-excitedly stage (also known as the “Drinking Piss and Talking Shit” stage). Which we like to do a lot. Like a lot a lot. 

My husband is growing skeptical about how business-minded I really am and has started muttering about how I should be putting receipts from my alcho-mart trips aside because they might end up being tax-deductable.

“We’re brainstorming!” I told him. “We’re blue sky mining! We’re looking for white space opportunities! In fact this white space is so white because we’ve failed to do anything with it. And the champagne is an integral part: they don’t call this stage of NPD the fuzzy front end’ for nothing.”

“Okay, okay. Obviously I don’t understand the pressures of heading up a start-up company like you,” my husband conceded. “So does that make Mistress M the Product Manager and you the Marketing Director?”

“Yes. But I’m one of ‘The Creatives’ too. Don’t forget I’m ‘creative’!” I was quick to add. “Oh, and I’m also the Mail Girl, NDM in Accounts Payable, and That Strange Girl With Glasses Who Does The Photocopying That Keeps Banging On About Berocca-Fueled Cars .”

Yes, indeed. With all those strings to my bow, I consider myself to be a great asset to this venture. I’m sure Mistress M does too. 

Anyway I know there are a few more stages ahead before we can get this exciting product of ours to market: we’ve got to track consumer and retailing trends, knock up a prototype and get the product through Clinical Trials and approved by the FDA. Then there’s the viral-marketing, infomercial and thinly-disguised advertorial strategy to work out. Also we have to spend time adjusting column widths and what-not in Excel to work out profit margins and tax-efficient revenue streams (and that) and knock up heaps of animated slides in PowerPoint so that we can make future presentations to investment bankers when we’re ready to float the company. And, of course, there’s the Product Launch Party to prepare for, too. 

Hmm, my finely-honed business instincts tell me that we should probably be focusing on the launch party right now. It’s imperative that we are both able to drink a lot while still being able to talk enthusiastically (and coherently) about the product and without vomiting on anyone’s shoes. Absolutely imperative. 

So watch this space, people!

(Okay, so maybe not literally watch it as I’m sure you have other much better things to do with your lives and, let’s face it, this is going to take a long long time.)

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