Shame, rotting and redemption after a heinous night out

Words of comfort and discipline

Life comes in waves. To quote Damon Albarn from Blurs 1995 hit Stereotypes; from time to time you know you should be going on another bender. I’ve found that a big fun silly night out can feel like a reset when things get mundane or repetitive. My issue is that I always think - that was great! Again! Again! Again! Until suddenly it’s been 5 months, and things inevitably spiral out of control and heinous actions are committed to the point where I find myself sitting in the kitchen considering a life of crime and jail might be easier than whatever all this is. As someone who gets an adrenaline hit from making a tit of themselves, in this current period of recovery and overt self-indulgence, what better way to cope than to blog into the void? Hello world! An 8-hour day sure is hell after a 16-hour night. My body is not a temple, my body is the Newtown bwyaaass at midnight, a soggy cigarette in a pub ashtray at 4am.

I know a woman who has been clean off skag for a while, has a child, has a husband in jail, a shopping addiction and general disdain for anything responsible and proper. She often casually, nonchalantly, and unapologetically mentions how much she loves crime and heroin and how she misses her friends in jail. In the days following a raucous, ill-behaved night out, tasting mortification and defeat, I found myself agreeing with her for the sake of ease. Yes, maybe I will also get on H, marry a gangster, have a little gangster kid, then go to jail where all my friends are. I know this is a slightly insensitive and out of touch comparison to make – likening my embarrassing 22-year-old drunken acts to the life of an obvious trauma victim, but if we can’t see the humour in things then what’s the point of it all. What I’m saying is that spiralling sometimes presents easier than progressing. I had the opportunity to meet Fran Lebowitz recently, she signed my copy of The Fran Lebowitz Reader and I asked her hopelessly, how does one redeem themselves after a truly epic night of debauchery and self-destruction? She said, keep going with the debauchery.

If you, an esoteric, have ever found yourself in this position (see fig.1) frantically trying to damage control whatever substance fuelled barbarisms you performed the night previous:

Fig 1. Desperate Spell Casting

Then it’s time to look to your favourite female writers and wonder, did they ever get completely leathered like this? Did Fran Lebowitz ever karaoke niche Pulp songs? Alas there was no singing, it was more of a relentless screech into the mic for 4 minutes and 37 seconds which believe it or not feels like an eternity up there, your friend encouragingly filming you the entire time which will definitely come back to haunt you for months, cigarette and pint in one hand, mic in the other, a tender nod to Bridget Jones karaokeing at her staff party in front of Hugh Grant? 

Did Clarissa Pinkola Estes fall down the stairs and confess her love to multiple people before pashing her best friend like she would never be given the opportunity to pash again, before having a bewildered ginger man call her a taxi home? 

Did Joan Didion have 5 margaritas and get her boobs out in the smoker’s area at her local?

Did Eve Babitz get blind, commit crime and order 3 vegan hotdogs, a chicken burger and poutine? None of which she actually consumed?

Did Patti Smith drink 2 bottles of white wine before rightfully being denied entry to the gig that her friends’ band was playing at 7:30pm?

At least we can all be comforted by the time-honoured, largely accepted rumour that Mary Shelley lost her virginity on her mothers grave.

But the answer to these questions is in some variation, probably yes. Which doesn’t excuse anything or make it okay, but it definitely brings a level of comfort knowing that fabulous smart intelligent women can in fact be heinous and multifaceted and playfully evil. Of course, take accountability, apologise to your friends and lovers, apologise to yourself and your body, and then perhaps just have a little giggle and think about the next thing. 

Embarrassment is healthy! It aids growth. Dwelling is perhaps not as productive.

It is however definitely more mortifying committing late night atrocities in small cities such as Meanjin, because guaranteed your ex-employer, current employer, potential future employer, ex-lover, current lover, and also your mum probably bore witness to whatever carnage you executed. Being well and truly sauced in London, with a tiny landmass and population that swamps you at 8.7 million, where you potter around everyday ruthlessly confronted with how small you are, is perhaps more comforting than being well and truly sauced in a city with a population of 2.6 million, all of which somehow went to your high school. On this matter I have no advice – you unassumingly, humbly must flee the country. Until of course you have carried out more debaucheries in your new residence, and the cycle continues. 

Another important thing to remember here is that most good things in the world require a level of embarrassment. Sky Ferreira was right. Everything is embarrassing. Dancing, singing, sex, love, vulnerability. Everything good is embarrassing! You can lay there and bleed for a while, but at the end of the day you simply must cowboy up. Bad days and debauchery are small parts of what is sure to be a very good fun and sexy life.

Resurrection recipe: Hashbrowns. Serves 2.

You will need:

-        Potatoes, whatever kind is on sale or cheapest. I usually use 4-5 small, washed potatoes.

-        Plain flour, 2 heaped tablespoons

-        Oat milk, enough to make a thick batter. Measure with your big, beautiful heart, you bastard.

-        Smoked paprika, 2 teaspoons.

-        2 minced garlic cloves.

-        Meredith’s dairy marinated goats’ cheese (shoplift this as is expensive. And also unnecessary, regular olive oil will suffice if you are afraid of the law or simply can’t be arsed. Alas note that when fried in the oil from this posh cheese, it tastes extra good as crime is involved.)

Grate potatoes. Squeeze as much liquid as possible out of taties and place into large mixing bowl. Add in flour, paprika, garlic and oat milk before hand-mixing into thick consistency.

Pour generous amount of oil from the goats’ cheese into a saucepan and immediately forget about it for up to 6 minutes to smoke a fag. Return in a panic, before making little flat patties and frantically whacking them in the pot. Fry on both sides until crispy and serve with flaky salt and whatever miscellaneous condiments you can find in your share house fridge. I tend to favour sauerkraut and pesto. An egg is a true luxury. Gobble up in record time as to not dwell on your past bad behaviour, you deviant you.

#bringbackoversharing #sorrymum #iamwoman  

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